Their Protector: An MC Outlaw Halloween Romance, page 82
“Well, for one thing,” Chelsea says, her cute dimple appearing in her cheek when she smiles, “When it comes to gear, you want to keep things really simple. All you need is a pole— it can be cane like these, or fiberglass or graphite. It’ll cost you a whole ten bucks at a bait shop or discount store. So don’t go trying to be some big spender.”
“The way you say graphite is so sexy,” I joke, but really, I’m turned on, and I want her to keep talking about how to fish.
Luckily, she does.
“You’ll also want to buy a small spool of monofilament fishing line.”
“Yes. Monofilament. You want six or eight pound test for freshwater, or ten or twelve pound test for salt water. You’ll need a couple of plastic bobbers, some BB-sized split shot sinkers, and some hooks. They can be size two for small bait, or up to size 3/0 for bigger bait. A small tackle box with divided trays and a carrying handle, like this right here—” she says, patting the tackle box we’d brought along with us from the lake house— “will do just fine.”
“I see,” I say, in a way that begs her to tell me more.
I won’t remember any of these things. But I like to hear her talk about them.
“You need bait,” she continues, to my great delight. She seems to know that I enjoy hearing all the many details she knows about how to fish. “You can buy minnows, night crawlers, redworms and rickets at a bait shop. We’ve got some redworms right here. You can carry your bait in a small plastic bucket.”
She pats the one we brought.
“But it’s more fun to catch your own. You can get minnows out of any creek by using a dip net. You can look under stream rocks for crayfish. You can find redworms and crickets under logs and leaf litter.”
“That’s so hot,” I can’t help but tell her.
As if encouraged, she continues. “Other baits work, too. Saltwater fish love shrimp, whether they’re dead or alive. Trout will bite kernel corn and cheese. Catfish will eat pieces of ivory soap!”
“No kidding!” I say, and laugh.
“Yeah, I know,” she says. “Crazy. Okay, so here we are with our equipment and bait already, and we’re about to start fishing. To do that, you just cut off a length of line about a foot longer than the length of your fishing pole.”
She does that, and then I follow.
“Now you want to wrap an end around the tip of your pole and make sure to tie it tightly.”
I watch her exert her strength in doing so, making a mental note of how cute she looks, and then I follow suit.
“Now, you match your hook to your bait. In our case, it’s a size 3/0 for long worms. If you were hooking a small shrimp, then it would be size 1/0.”
“Oh I see,” I say, as if I have any idea what she’s talking about.
“Tie the hood to the opposite end of the line using a knot that won’t slip. This one is called the Palomar knot.”
She ties a fancy knot that I hope I can mimic.
“No, Silly,” she tells me, laughing at my feeble attempts. “You need to make sure to wet all knots before pulling tight. Bad knots lose good fish!”
“Bad knots lose good fish,” I repeat.
“Exactly. Good job,” she says, as I finally tie the knot correctly.
I feel like an unsuccessful boy scout, even though that’s never even been my thing. I’m only getting so into this fishing thing because she is, and it’s so much fun.
“Now we’re ready for the fishing hole,” she continues. “For us, it’s this lake, since there’s no ocean anywhere around. If we lived near the coast, we could of course catch all kinds of saltwater fish around piers and large rocks close to the shore. But if we were even more inland, a pond would be our best bet, since most are loaded with bluegills and bass.”
“Would be nice to live close to the ocean,” I interject, and she looks at me wistfully and then says, “I agree.”
“We can try bobber-fishing,” she says, after letting a few seconds pass. “After baiting your hook, you want to attach the bobber above your line. It can be two feet for starters, and longer if the bait needs to go deeper.”
We attach the bobber, and then she says, “Now just extend the pole over the water and lower it until the bobber floats on the water.”
She casts her pole, and I cast mine. But mine looks a lot clumsier than hers.
“Keep the pole horizontal, silly,” she says, laughing that contagious laugh that I can’t help but join in on. “Hold it steady.”
“Okay, okay, yes ma’am,” I say, and steady my pole.
We look at each other, and after a while, I say, “So now what?”
“Now we wait,” she says, with a self-satisfied grin on her face. “We wait for the fish to bite. Fishing takes patience.”
“Okay,” I tell her.
But patience has never been my fucking strong suit.
Take fishing, for example. I’m enjoying it. But I also can’t wait to jump Chelsea’s bones.
Chapter 14 – Wesley
After a few minutes of my pole being in the water without any fish biting, I say, “Nothing’s happening.”
“It’s fine,” she says. “Keep being patient. It’s common for fish to take several minutes to find your baited hook.”
While I’m staring at my bobber and starting to get bored, it starts jumping and shaking.
“Well look at that!” I exclaim.
And suddenly I’m very excited.
“Shhhh,” she says. “A fish is nibbling your bait!”
“You don’t want to scare the other fish away. So don’t get too excited and loud. But when the bobber goes completely under the surface, set the hook by quickly raising your pole. There you go. Just like that. Now point your pole straight up in the air, so that the fish swings to you.”
“Oh my god, here it is!” I say, in a loud whisper, trying to remind myself to keep it down.
I raise the pole and she says, “Be sure to handle it with care.”
“Why?” I ask. “Will it bite me?”
“Nah. Most of the fish that come to the shore don’t have sharp teeth,” she explains. “But many have spiny fins. Grab the fish gently but firmly behind its head.”
I do so, feeling the slimy, slick texture of the fish’s body. She rifles through the tackle box in the meantime.
“Here you go,” she says, handing me some pliers. “Use these needle-nose pliers to remove the hook.”
I look down at the fish and say, “Poor little fellow.”
“That’s a pretty fish,” Chelsea replies. “Good job. And don’t worry, new research says that fish can’t feel pain.”
“Yeah. They don’t have the necessary brain power. Their wriggling around is just an unconscious reaction to a threat.”
“So, like ants?”
My conscience assuaged, I continue on. Chelsea catches a lot of fish and I catch a few more. Soon the cooler we brought is full of them.
“We’d better head back,” she says, taking out her cell phone to check the time. “Fish spoil rapidly so we don’t have a lot of time to clean and cook them. Also, Taylor will be back soon, if she’s not already.”
“I had a lot of fun,” I tell her, sincerely.
I never thought I’d enjoy have a girl teach me how to fish. But with Chelsea, it’s somehow sexy and different.
I lean over and kiss her. Our dirty hands mingle in a disgusting mess but somehow I’m still turned on.
Chapter 15 – Wesley
When we get back to the lake house, Chelsea drapes a newspaper over a table outside, and lays out a bunch of new tools: a bucket that she says is for the fish parts, gloves, a sharp cutting knife, and a container that she says is for the cleaned fish.
I watch, even more impressed than I was at the lake while we were fishing, as she cuts, skins, cleans and guts the fish.
“That’s so sexy
“How can you seriously be turned on by such a gross process?” she asks.
“I don’t know, but I seriously am.”
Once she’s finished, she says, “Well, Taylor still isn’t back yet, and I clearly need a shower.”
I don’t know if that’s a hint or not, but I choose to take it as one.
“I’ll come join you,” I tell her.
She looks at me shyly, but smiles. I follow her to the bathroom, and then we’re both standing by the bath tub.
Lessons about patience during fishing aside, I’m not able to fucking stand it much longer. I reach down and pull her shirt over her head. And then I pull down her shorts.
She’s standing in front of me in only her bra and underwear, and she looks so damn sexy. I quickly remove my own clothes, and she tentatively takes off her undergarments, turning slightly away from me as she does.
When she turns back around, I’m looking at the fucking most gorgeous naked woman I’ve ever seen. Her breasts are full and ample, yet still perky. That curvy ass is on full display for me. And she’s looking at me like she wants me jump her bones, which is exactly what I want to do.
She gets into the shower and turns on the water, which only increases my excitement. I have to remind myself that she’s a virgin. I shouldn’t rush things too much.
I get the soap and start massaging her back with it. But when I move my hands down towards her ass, I can’t help but grab it.
“Wesley,” she whispers, backing up closer to me, the water falling on both of us.
“I want you so bad,” I tell her, wrapping my arms around her stomach and pulling her closer to me.
I massage her breasts with the soap, under the water while kissing her neck.
She moans, and I feel my cock getting so hard and erect up against her. I want so badly to just fucking take her, right here and now under the water…
“Chelsea?” Someone calls, and there’s a knock at the door.
I jump, because even though the voice is distinctively feminine, I can’t help but fear that it’s Coach Thompson again. Our last close call should have warned me away from Chelsea for good, but here I am naked and trying to fuck her once again.
I know I could lose my football scholarship and my last chance at having a football career over her, but I can’t help but want her so fucking bad…
Chelsea pulls herself away from me, but laughs lightly and says, “Yeah Taylor, we’re in here.”
“Oh my god ,” Taylor groans. “I give you guys nearly three hours of privacy and you’re still in the shower together when I get back?”
Chelsea gives me a look that says, “Oops,” and I’m pretty sure the same look is on my own face.
“I suppose Taylor thought we’d take advantage of the time we had in her absence to get it on,” I say. “But while that thought did cross my mind, I have to admit that I enjoyed fishing so much that I think we found a use of our alone time that was almost as good as having sex.”
“I’m so glad you think so,” Chelsea says, laughing against my chest. “I was beginning to feel like such a prude, once I realized what Taylor thought we were doing, and why she was gone so long. Taylor!” she calls out. “We’ll be right out.”
“Uh huh,” Taylor shoots back. “I’ll believe it when I see it.”
We both soap up and then I help her out of the shower.
“I’m sorry that I wasted our time with fishing when there were other things we were apparently supposed to be doing,” she says.
I look her up and down: her naked, glistening body the image I hope to see before I fall asleep tonight.
“It was definitely not wasted,” I tell her. “And we still have plenty of time to do all the other things.”
She laughs, and I’m hoping that means she wants me to fuck her, and soon.
We towel off and I dry her hair with my towel before wrapping it around myself to go find spare clothes that I’d brought, back when I was hoping that the party would turn into alone time for Chelsea and me, without knowing exactly how much fun it was going to be. The night had turned out much differently— and even better— than I’d hoped.
“Have fun facing Taylor,” I tell Chelsea, as she heads out in a different direction, towards the living room.
“Oh I will,” she says. Then she winks. “And you’re right. We have plenty of time for all those other things. You just have to learn a little patience.”
“Patience,” I concede. “I guess it’s the lesson of the day.”
She doesn’t need to know that I’m not good at being patient. I like fishing with her, showering with her, and just hanging out with her.
But now that I’ve seen her entire naked, amazingly hot body, I want to do everything with her. And I have a feeling she’ll enjoy it even more than she might think she will.
Chapter 16 – Chelsea
“Sooooooooo…?” Taylor asks, as soon as I’ve thrown on a sundress and joined her in the living room. “What happened in my absence? Did he pop your cherry?”
“Shhhh!” I tell her. “Very funny. But for your information, no. We weren’t doing that. We actually spent the time fishing.”
“ Fishing ?”
“Yeah, and it was his idea. There are a bunch of delicious, clean fish waiting to be cooked and eaten.”
“Well, if I had known that, I would have joined you,” Taylor says, scrunching up her nose. “And I wouldn’t have had to waste time walking all around town getting a lot of groceries and giving you guys your privacy.”
“Taylor, I hate to break it to you but there are a lot of things that two people can do one on one that don’t involve sex,” I tell her.
“I know that,” she says, obviously offended. “I just didn’t assume that Wesley Reynolds would be interested in those things.”
“I didn’t mean to offend you,” I tell her. She’s more experienced than I am, but I certainly wasn’t trying to slut shame her or anything. “I’m just equally offended that you think that what I have going on with Wesley is only all about sex.”
“Well, maybe you should look into his past and be sure you know what you’re getting into,” she quickly shoots back.
“What?” I ask her.
“Nothing,” she says. “Never mind.”
“No, seriously, what do you mean?” I demand.
“I’ve just heard some things…”
But then Wesley walks in, saying, “So how about those fish?”
“Yes, let’s get cracking on cooking up those fish that the new champion fisherman caught, shall we?” Taylor says, a fake smile spreading across her face.
“Very funny,” Wesley replies. “Although I was a pretty good fisherman, for it being my first time and all. Isn’t that true, Chelsea?”
“Yes, you were actually—”
But before I can finish saying “pretty impressive,”— while thinking in more ways than one — Taylor cuts back in to shoot a jibe back at Wesley.
“Yeah, I heard all about how Chelsea popped your fishing cherry,” she says. “You were so inexperienced but she guided you through, until you became half competent.”
“Yep. Pretty much.”
Wesley looks at me, as if trying to figure out if she’s joking or meaning to offend him. I shrug, a cringe on my face. I’m really not sure.
We cook the fish on the campfire outside, Wesley holding my hand and Taylor trying to act happy. I’m curious to know what she has heard about Wesley, but I also don’t really care. Or don’t really want to care.
I just want to focus on the here and now: him and me, hand in hand, and I only wish my best friend could be happy for me instead of trying to ruin the moment.
Once the fish are cooked, to my relief, Taylor seems genuinely more content.
“This is some great fish,” she says, begrudgingly, but with a sincere grin. “I guess it’s too late to drive back Wesley back tonight. He can just ride back with us tomorrow.”
“Really? Are you s
I want to hug her, but I also don’t want either of them to see how happy I am that Wesley can stay an additional night.
“Sure,” she says, with a shrug barely visible in the light of the fire. “I wanted some BFF time, but it’s already late, and I can make a sacrifice every now and then, in the name of luuuuuurve.”
“Very funny,” I laugh, shooting a nervous glance in her direction, hoping that Wesley’s not too scared off. “And there’s no reason we can’t all three have fun and hang out together. We can watch a scary movie!”
“Sure, so during the terrifying parts you can jump into Wesley’s arms, and I’ll have no one to comfort me,” she fake pouts.
“You’ll have me !” I tell her. “Jump into my arms!”
“All right, all right,” she acquiesces. “You’re right. It’ll still be fun. Thanks for the fish.”
“Any time, Bestie.”
I know she feels left out— she’s not used to me having a guy around— but I’m glad she’s feeling generous enough to share me with Wesley during what was supposed to be the rest of our BFF lake cabin weekend.
I love having Taylor as my best friend, and I wouldn’t want to lose her over a guy. Even though, as far as I’m concerned anyway, Wesley is turning out to be a pretty amazing one.
Chapter 17 – Chelsea
It’s late, and Wesley and I are snuggled up in bed, after a fun night of watching movies and eating the fish we’d caught together. He reaches up to gently tug on my hair, and kisses me.
But then there’s a noise outside, and he jumps nearly a mile high.
“Calm down,” I say, returning his kiss. “It’s just a firework. Someone across the lake is probably setting off leftovers from the Fourth of July.”
“I’m sorry,” he says, laughing. “I just keep thinking your dad’s coming back. Maybe with a gun this time.”
“Nah, he goes to church early on Sundays,” I assure him. “He’s probably in bed, resting up so that he can lead the youth group choir tomorrow.”