THE MORNING PASSED in a flurry of fishing and endless fantasies of a repeat of last night’s mind-blowing orgasm. I let my mind wander back to the way his hands slid down my hips. How effortlessly he’d grabbed the back of my thighs to hoist me onto the counter.
Damn. I was pretty sure he’d ruined me forever. How could you top spontaneous, rough-in-the-best-way, toe-curling sex like that?
All morning, I couldn’t get out of my own head and had struggled to focus on providing high-quality customer service.
You got some high-quality customer service last night . . .
Oh my god, that was exactly what I meant. Focus.
Smiling to myself, I tied a new fishing fly on Sean’s line. I hoped the green and purple feathers would give him better luck in this stretch of the river. Looking out onto the water, I could see the current was strong—but Sean was learning quickly—and by listening to my tips, he was becoming the best student in the group.
Brandon walked up, nodding at the fly I was tying. “She’s a beaut. That should do you right,” he said to Sean.
Sean stepped away, wading his way back into the deeper parts of the water to try casting again. I stayed, mentally critiquing his technique so I could continue to help him improve his casting.
Brandon turned to me. “This is the best guide I’ve been on in forever,” he said.
“We have had great weather,” I agreed, tipping my head up and closing my eyes to feel the warm sun on my face.
“That’s not what I meant,” he continued. “I know we’ve fished together before and Finn said you were a good teacher, but shit, Jo. You’re an amazing guide.”
I turned to look at Brandon, who was squinting out across the water. He really was a genuinely nice guy. I was used to hearing things like “You sure can fish—for a girl” or “You can tie a good knot—for a girl” or “You know a lot about equipment—for a girl.” It was rare to get a compliment that didn’t have the qualifier “for a girl” tacked onto the end. It kind of caught me off guard.
“Thanks, Brandon. That really does mean a lot to me.”
“I can’t believe Finn and Linc haven’t snagged you up before this.
Surely he’s offered, right?” he asked.
I chewed my bottom lip at his question. Finn had asked. Insisted, almost. He’d mentioned me being a partner in the guide service for as long as I could remember. We’d been eating dinner at a dive bar one night when Finn started scribbling ridiculous guide service names on a napkin, like we were a new Hollywood couple.
FinnJo LincJoFin FinLiJo
He was truly terrible at it. I laughed to myself at the memory. But he had been so excited about the idea.
“He’s asked,” I responded. With a lift of my shoulder, I added, “I’m kind of a roamer. I guess I haven’t found my home yet.”
“Chikalu is as good a place as any. Family isn’t always who you’re born to,” he said and stepped away to help a client, Steve, with a tangled line.
Since when did Brandon become Buddha?
I thought about what he said and of my own family. Relating to my parents seemed hopeless. For people who were born in the mountains, they were terribly buttoned up. Over the past three years, monthly visits had dwindled to holidays and birthday phone calls. I knew they loved me, but they’d given up on trying to understand me. Honey was my only real tie to them. No matter how dissimilar we were, she tethered me to my parents, never allowing me to drift too far.
Thinking of her, I decided I’d text her a quick picture. Turning my camera to selfie mode, I snapped a portrait of me against the curving river with the large pines dotting the shoreline.
Me: Don’t you wish you were here?
Honey: Not unless there’s a spa.
She was hopeless and perfect and I loved her so much, despite our differences.
“You know, in this light, your eyes are a beautiful shade of moss green.” A deep voice had my head shooting up from my phone. Lincoln.
My tummy dropped at the sight of him. His tattoos peeked out from underneath his T-shirt sleeves, and I briefly remembered how soft his skin felt under my fingertips last night.
“What are you up to, Joanna?” He ignored, or at least didn’t seem to mind, my obvious ogling.
“Checking in with my sister. She appreciates a status update—knowing I haven’t fallen into a ravine.”
“Can I see that?” he asked, motioning to the phone in my hands.
I warily handed him my phone. I was mid-text, and I wasn’t sure what he was doing, but the way he smelled and the intensity of his blue eyes had me handing over my phone without question.
Still looking up at him, he pulled me in close to his side, outstretched his arm, and snapped a picture. He looked down at my phone for a second, tapped a few buttons, and handed it back to me with a simple, “There you go.”
“There I go what?” I asked, looking at my phone to see what he’d just done. He had texted the picture to Honey—me tucked under his arm, his handsome face smiling into the camera while I looked up at him. He looked happy, and I looked like a love-struck moron.
“Just sending her a status update,” he confidently answered, and with that, he walked away, me still gaping after him.
Of course, my phone blew up after that. In a flurry of texts, Honey demanded every detail, but I had work to do. I gave her the basics and promised I’d catch her up as soon as I could. I also needed to talk with Finn. He’d probably be surprised, but I hoped he was happy for me and not too upset that Lincoln and I had hooked up. I knew their relationship leaned toward complicated, and I just hoped I wasn’t making it worse for either of them.
For the better part of the afternoon, I tried to convince myself that what had happened between me and Lincoln was nothing more than the heat of the moment getting the best of us . . . twice.
I listened to the river lapping my legs while I rhythmically whipped the line over the running river water. Lincoln’s playfulness and eagerness to cuddle after we had sex were surprising. Mostly he seemed serious, stoic, and intense. The way he had tenderly stroked my arm and back until I fell asleep was not at all what I had expected.
I want you. I want this.
My stomach tightened at the memory of those words. I had never felt so desired in my entire life. Lincoln’s sheer manliness and control ignited the most feminine parts inside of me. A flutter ran through my body.
I had opened myself up to him, completely and without hesitation. I was afraid that in the morning light, things would get awkward and I really didn’t want to endure another “that was fun, you’re a nice girl, but we’re better as friends” conversation. Especially not coming from him.
That’s why when I’d woken up, limbs still tangled around Lincoln, I’d only allowed myself a moment to appreciate the hard lines of his face and the earthy pine-smoke smell of his skin. I snuggled my face against him a moment longer, breathed him in, and quietly eased myself out of the bed. There was plenty to get ready for our trip back to town, and I was determined to save myself the embarrassment of Lincoln’s rejection.
Now, with playful Lincoln back—taking selfies and texting my sister—I was more confused than ever. Beneath his growly, moody exterior, he was actually really fun. It was a shame that he and Finn had such a hard time connecting. They were more alike than either of them realized.
Perched on a fallen tree along the riverside, I tied tiny feathers to a hook, creating a sparkly new fishing fly. I looked out over the water, watching the sunlight wink and shimmer, and thought about the brothers.
Between classes, and sometimes instead of them, Finn and I spent hours on the river. There was an easy rhythm to our friendship. He was loud and charming and always joking. I was quieter and more studious, and I think Finn secretly loved getting me to play hooky. Most people assumed we dated, but after I’d asked about girlfriends, Finn confided that he had known he was gay since he was seventeen, though he’d suspected for far longer than that.
Lincoln had already been overseas by that point, and it was an easy secret for Finn to keep. No one seemed to suspect that one of the most eligible bachelors in Chikalu Falls had a reason for turning down so many girls. Sometimes, Finn would visit me in Butte, and at the bar, I’d see him
flirt with men he was into. It was nice to see him shed the façade. Finn feared telling Lincoln would change their relationship, and I’d promised to protect his secret. Although, at that time, keeping the secret from a man I’d never actually met seemed so much easier than the situation in which I was now living.
Blowing a wisp of fallen hair out of my eyes, I refocused on what I was doing. Any feelings for Lincoln that resurfaced after so many years were not going to work. This trip would be over tomorrow, and I’d go back to my regular life—building clientele, finding new places to fish, wandering wherever the water took me.
So why was the thought of my dream life giving me a stomachache?
DINNER WAS A SUCCESS. All five guys were proud to try fish fresh from the river that they had helped catch. Lincoln surprised me again by adding lemon and fresh herbs to the fish, taking it from good to exquisite. The fact that he was a decent cook was not helping me put him solidly into the friend zone, but I tried my best to keep my stolen glances to a minimum. The mood was light, and as the fire crackled, the stories and beers came out.
“Jo! Take a load off, have a beer,” Steve called as I started to head toward my tent. Apparently, I had proven myself capable of hanging with the guys tonight.
“Just one,” I said. “Long day back to the trucks tomorrow.”
I sat again, popping the top off the not-cold-enough beer that Sean handed me. As the fire crackled between us, they told stories about each other, pranks they’d pulled in college, typical fire talk.
Lincoln sat quietly next to me. He didn’t engage with the group but sometimes would quietly chuckle at their ridiculous stories. The whole while, his head was down, and he was weaving something with his hands.
Once curiosity got the best of me, I leaned my body toward him and whispered, “Whatcha got there?”
He flicked his eyes to my face, and as the fire danced in those pale blue eyes, he said, “Just keeping busy.”
Undeterred by what felt like a brush-off, I continued, “Macramé?” “Am I supposed to know what that is?” He didn’t look up again.
“You know, macramé. Don’t tell me you didn’t have a grandma with a macramé plant holder. Everyone did!” I smiled at him, hoping my casual banter would show him that I was okay with us acting like what happened between us was fine, normal.
At that, he did glance up, and I couldn’t help a smile from blooming across my face. The tension in his shoulders eased, and he tipped his head lower. I leaned my body closer to him to hear his deep, low voice.
“Actually, that’s not too far off,” he whispered, opening his hands to show two long strands of olive-green rope. “Paracord,” he continued. “You know it.”
I couldn’t help the spread of pleasure at his assumption that I knew that parachute cord had all kinds of uses—from tying gear to being used as an emergency rope. I actually always carried several feet of it in my backpack. It was handy.
Lincoln shifted his body back to his space. I watched him as his long fingers deftly maneuvered the cords. One strand, wrapping behind the others, tucking the end through itself in a small loop, pull. He worked quickly, too quickly for me to accurately figure out how to do it. He worked his way down, methodically creating repetitive knots along the length.
