Page 82 of Don't Call Me Daddy
Feeling a little too vulnerable for my liking, I shrug. “Yeah, it sucks, but Fern wouldn’t have wanted me to dwell in sadness. She’d have wanted me to enjoy my life. It’s why she made the list.”
His mouth turns down for a moment, but his eyes don’t leave mine. “Ivy, you don’t have to do that, you know?”
“I don’t have to do what?”
“Pretend to be strong. Pretend that you’re not sad or that your sister’s death wasn’t painful or that it still doesn’t hurt.”
He places a hand on my shoulder, and I feel that familiar knot start to form in my throat.
I force myself to cough, pushing it back down to the empty hole in my heart, where it belongs. “I’m not pretending anything. Now, are we going to fish, or did you bring me all the way out here to give me a therapy session?”
Leo’s lips press into a flat line, like he’s holding back his words, but then he reaches down and pulls out a shiny pink fishing pole that he no doubt bought just for me. I don’t bother to ask him when he had time to get it because if there’s one thing about Leo Kingsley, it’s that he can be incredibly thoughtful when he wants to be.
He’s only known about Fern’s list for a few days, and he seems to have committed it to memory. I hardly expected him to join me jumping off the waterfalls yesterday, and I guess this is no different.
At this rate, I’ll have checked off the entire list by the time the Phantom Festival rolls around, and then I’ll be off to Romania for the final hurrah. That thought used to excite me, but lately, I’ve been feeling more anxiety than anything. Probably because it’ll be over, and then what am I supposed to do with myself?
I shake the thought away, bringing my attention back to the moment, back to the sexy man sitting in front of me, teaching me about different baits and where to cast, depending on what kind of fish I’m trying to catch.
I stare at his hands as he ties a bobber to the line, remembering how they felt when his fingers were inside me and how desperately I wanted them to touch me last night.
I can feel the blush creep up my neck, and when his eyes meet mine, I swear I see a flare of desire igniting behind them. Maybe I’ll get to pick up where we left off last night after all? A girl can only hope.
“I prefer to use live bait, but since I didn’t have much time to prepare, rubber worms it is.”
Images of last night keep rushing back into my mind, and we’re really sitting here, talking about bait?
He passes me the rod. “Here, use both hands and hold the bottom like this …”
He moves behind me so my back’s nestled against his chest, his muscular thighs caging me in as he teaches me how to cast in slow motion. I can feel his heart beating in his chest, and mine picks up speed to match. I feel safe and protected; it’s a feeling I’ve come to associate with Leo, like I don’t have to think quite so hard when I’m with him, like my survival instinct can finally relax and I can let down my guard.
“Then, you release, just like that,” Leo says as the line soars ahead, landing in the water with a faint plop.
He holds the fishing pole lightly as I stay seated between his legs, neither one of us moving even though the lesson’s finished.
I brush fingers along his jaw, which is scruffier than I’ve ever seen it, noticing the patches of silver and white hair that sparkle in the sun. He’s got a faint crinkling around his eyes, a testament that he does indeed smile enough to form a wrinkle or two. Or maybe those are old … from an earlier time when smiling was more common than furrowing his brow or scowling.
“What are you doing?” he asks as I trace my fingertip over the fine lines around his eyes.
“Just admiring your gray hair and wrinkles. I forget how much older you are than me sometimes.”
“Thanks for the ego boost.” He grabs my hand and places it back on the fishing pole, covering it with his own. As if to remind my wandering mind that we’re supposed to be fishing.
“I didn’t mean it as an insult. I like your wrinkles and your gray beard hairs. It makes you look distinguished and gives you character.” I try to spin around to face him, but he tightens his hold around me to keep me in place.
“You have an interesting way of complimenting someone.”
I glare at him from the corner of my eye. “Are we really just going to sit here and pretend that either of us cares about fishing right now?”
Leo doesn’t even flinch, just keeps his eyes on the water as he casts his own fishing rod. “You know what makes a great fisherman?” he asks rather than answering me.
I roll my eyes and stifle a frustrated laugh. “Do tell, Boss Daddy. What makes a great fisherman?”
I catch the slightest twitch of his lip out of the corner of my eye. This man is so frustrating, always dodging my questions and deflecting.
“Patience.” He slaps a palm over the exposed skin of my thigh, and it makes a loud thwack, stinging for just a moment before he rubs the pain away in soothing circles.
Great. And now, I can’t stop thinking about how badly I want him to do it again.
