Page 73 of A Little Twist

“She can’t watchNemoafter this. Fish are friends, not food, remember?”

He shakes his head. “What do you suggest?”

“I’ll think about it.” Instinctively, I lean over, and put my head on his shoulder.

Last night he slept in my bed again, following another round of incredibly hot sex. I’ve never had so many orgasms with a man. He knows exactly how to eat my pussy.

My lips press together, and I grin at my dirty thoughts.

“Before my grandfather died, we’d come out here and fish almost every weekend.” His voice is thoughtful, and I lift my head to study his profile.

“Just the two of you?”

“Yeah. He loved making whiskey and overcast days.” He drops his chin in his hand and glances up at me from under his brow. “He taught me to wait for good things.”

The tingle in my stomach spreads lower into my torso. “He seems like more of a dad to you.”

Shifting in his seat, he gives his rod a little lift and turns the reel. “Dad never understood why I didn’t want to be a cop. I never understood why he and Aiden did.”

I copy his movement with the rod, giving it a little lift and turning the reel to take up the slack. “So you didn’t get along with your dad?”

“It’s not that we didn’t get along. We just never really understood each other. Not like Pop.”

“He sounds really special.”

“He’d have loved you.” Alex’s eyes hold mine, and it’s like we’re in our own place.

I lean forward, forgetting Pinky, forgetting everything, ready to kiss him when my rod jerks violently in my hand, and I squeal. “Shit! Something’s banging on my line!”

“It’s a fish.” He wraps his arms around me, grabbing the rod with both hands over mine. “Pull it back…” We pull my rod straight up. “And tighten the line.” I turn the crank on my reel.

“Keep doing that.” He steps to the side, staying close as I repeat the movements again and again until I lift a fish, wiggling and flapping out of the water.

“What do I do?” I hold the fish out of the water, swinging it around to where we’re standing and let it fall on the grass.

Pinky squeals and claps from her little perch down below us, but when I see the large, silvery fish flipping all over the dry grass, I wave to her. “Stay right there for just a second, okay?”

“I want to see it!” She’s running to the end of the boardwalk so she can circle around, up the bank to where we’re standing.

“We’d better hurry.” My eyes are large when I meet Alex’s. “What do we do?”

He walks over to where the fish is flopping in the dry grass and lifts the line. “That’s a good-sized one.” Reaching out, he places his hand smoothly over the head and fins, gripping it tightly, and slides the hook out like a pro.

“I caught that.” Awe fills my tone.

“I want to see! I want to see!” Pinky is charging through the grass to where we’re standing. “Look at it! It’s like those silver fish that do charades.”

“It’s a bluegill. We need to take a picture of you holding it.”

“We do?” My nose wrinkles. “I don’t think we do. We can just tell everybody what happened.”

“You have to document it, or it’s just another fish story.” He cocks an eyebrow at me. “And who knows? You might never catch one again.”

“Hold it up, Mama Cass!” Pinky jumps beside me, tugging on my arm.

I bite my lip to keep from telling her not to call me that, and a laugh puffs through Alex’s lips. “Okay.” I step over to where he’s holding the fish that’s slightly larger than his palm. “How do I do this?”

He holds my hand, positioning my fingers over the top and bottom fins so they don’t cut me. Pinky stands in front of me doing a little victory pose with her hands, and I hold my rod and reel as Alex takes the picture.

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