Say You Want Me (14 page)

“This is really gorgeous, is this the same lake Presley and Zach are on?” I ask, scanning the tree line again for their house.

“No. They’re over on the east lake.”

I stop and look at him, and I’m sure I look silly with my mouth hanging open and my hair a wind-blown mess. “Wait. How many lakes do you guys have?”

“Five, but we only stock this one so that we can fish when we want. I love fishing at the river, but this is much calmer, and I didn’t think you wanted to do fly fishing.”

Yeah. No. “I don’t know the difference really, but I’m going to assume you’re correct.”

He laughs. “I’ll grab the canoe, you stay put.”

I’m sorry, did he say “canoe”? “I can’t go in a canoe.”

“Well, it’s actually a Jon boat. And it’s going to be awful hard to fish if you don’t get in.”

“Can’t we just stay on the shore? That way if a bear or some other hungry animal shows up, we can get to the truck thing?” His eyes gleam with humor. It seems I’m entertaining him. I slap his chest. “I’m serious!”

“I bet you are, baby.” Wyatt kisses my temple. “I never picked you for being a chicken shit. I figured a tough city girl like you could handle bein’ out on a boat. But,” he puts his palms out, “I guess you’re not up for the challenge.”

Well played, my friend. He knows damn well what he did. I have two choices. I can steal the Gator, as he calls it, or I can go out there and show him I’m not a wuss. I’ve never been fishing. I’ve never even contemplated wanting to do this.

There’s also no way I can back down.

“Fine.” I surrender. “Go get the boat.”

Wyatt steps forward, grips my elbows and pulls me against him. “I’ll reward you, I promise.”

I lean in, letting my lips graze against his. “I plan to make you pay.”

“I have no doubt about that.”

He lets me go and gets busy. I never realized how intensive fishing is. He’s got all kinds of gadgets and different boxes. I’m praying the Jon boat or whatever it’s called is bigger than what I’m imagining, because I don’t know where all this crap will go.

Wyatt pulls a silver flat boat over. It has two benches on the inside and two oars. I cannot believe I’m entertaining this.

At. All.

He puts the boat half in and waves me over. “Hop in. I’ll push us off.”

I start to freak out a little. Not because I can’t swim, but because I don’t have any spare clothes or a bathroom close by. Does he expect me to handle fish? My stomach rolls at the thought, but I refuse to look like a baby, so I get in the boat.

Wyatt gets us out into the water without issue. It’s clear he knows what he’s doing. Maybe I’ll be okay.

“All right,” he says, breaking the silence. “Move over on this side, and I’ll get us set up.”

“Move?” I ask.

“Yes.” He nods. “Come sit over here. I’m going to put the blankets out and move this bench so we can sit on the bottom.”

“Yeah, it’s the moving part that I’m not really all that keen on.”

If we move . . . we rock the boat. I will freak out.

“Here,” he says, holding his hand out. “Trust me.” I close my eyes and count to three. I can do this. My hand touches his, and he slowly helps me over. “See, you did just fine.”

I’m so out of my element.

“We’re doing a spa next time.”

“Whatever you say, baby.”

Wyatt arranges the bottom of the boat with blankets, creating a bed-like spot for us. He helps me back down and curls up with me. His arm is around my back, and my head rests on his chest. I close my eyes and listen to the sound of his heart. “You know we could’ve cuddled at home in bed,” I joke.

“But this is more intimate.” He kisses the top of my head.

He’s right. It is. Even with the chill in the air, I could fall asleep.

There are no sounds other than a few crickets and the faint sound of water lapping against the side of the boat. The only light is from the rising sun, and I know that if I opened my eyes to look, I would still be able to see a few stars. Normally the silence would freak me out, but it’s exactly like it should be here. The world moves around us, but right here, it’s only Wyatt and me. This is the most tranquil I’ve ever felt.

I doze off, so comfortable in his arms. The sun is finally overhead, and it wakes me. I lift my head to find him looking at me with a grin. “You feel better?” he asks.

“I feel good.”

His eyes grow serious as he stares at me. “I want to always make you feel good. You and that baby are my world, Angie. I know you’re scared. I see it, but little by little, I want to help show you that you have nothing to be afraid of.”

I’m not afraid, I’m freaking petrified. I don’t know how to be the girl he wants. I don’t fish or hunt. I don’t do dirt or animals. I’m the girl who paints her nails and shops like a pro. This isn’t me, and I don’t know how long he’ll find that cute.

“I think you underestimate how different we are.” I rest my chin on my hand.

“Different is sometimes better.”

“True.” I sigh. “It also can mean we’re not right for each other.”

Wyatt looks at the sky, rubs his hand on my back, and then moves my face closer to his. “I think the fact that we can lie in this boat, driftin’ on the water together, and not need to fill the silence is all the right we need. You’re not like any woman I’ve ever known. I think, considering all the women I’ve been with, the fact that I’ve never wanted more with anyone but you says something. You’re right; you’re different. You’re mine because I want you to be.”

I smirk. “So I’m yours?”

His grin grows playful. “You will be again.”

“Does that mean that you’re mine?”

“I’ve never been anyone else’s.”

I think about that. Neither of us have taken the steps to be with anyone on a serious note. We’ve both kept ourselves without strings. I think that means something. But Wyatt has known love. It may not have been reciprocated, but he’s felt it. I haven’t.

Instead of pushing and possibly ruining a tender moment, I just nod.

“Enough bein’ lazy. Fish need to eat, and we need lunch.”

“Umm.” I sit up a bit straighter. “I thought you were kidding. The only way I like my fish is rolled around some rice.”

Wyatt laughs. “You really have a love for food.”

“Shut up. I’m serious! I’m not really a fish person.”

“Have you ever fished before?”

“No.” I shake my head.

“Well,” Wyatt chuckles, “how do you know you don’t like it? Plus, if you don’t catch anything, you’re going to be hungry,” he says as he grabs the poles. “I only brought stuff for a good fish fry.”

My stomach churns at the thought. I’m not a seafood person, especially not if it’s a fish we’re going to have to handle. I shudder. “That spa better have a salon attached.”

He ignores me and hands me the rod. “The line is ready, bait the hook.”

I have no idea what the hell he said. “Can you talk city to me?”

“You gotta put the food on the hook.” He hands me the tub full of worms.

I shake my head. “No, no, no. Not happening.”

“It’s a worm. It doesn’t bite.”

He opens the top, and I start to gag. Oh, I can’t. I put my head over the side of the boat in case this baby helps me a little.

“Hey.” He touches my back. “I’ll do it, baby. Don’t get sick.” Wyatt runs his hand up and down as I try to focus on anything but hurling. Because
that
won’t be embarrassing at all.

I take a deep breath through my nose and push it out of my mouth.

“Better?” he asks as I sit up.

“I’m okay.”

The nausea fades, but I know better then to watch what Wyatt is doing. So. Gross.

Wyatt tosses the line over the edge of the boat and then hands me the rod. “Just hold it out there, and if it gets a tug, start reeling it in.”

“Sounds easy enough.”

No one tells you that fishing is literally the most boring thing. We sit like this for five minutes, and I’m ready to row my butt to shore. After another ten minutes pass with Wyatt sitting there not doing anything and not talking, I can’t stop myself. “So?” I ask, looking at nothing. “What do we do now?”

“We wait.”

“For the fish?”

“That’s the goal.”

Wyatt looks content. I try to follow his lead, but I’m no longer tired thanks to our nap, and I’m going out of my skull. There’s nothing to watch. No people doing weird things that I can observe. The trees move. That’s about it.

“Wyatt, what happens if no fish . . . get snagged?”

“You mean, bite?”

“Sure.” I huff. “Bite. Eat. Hook. Whatever the right word is. What happens then?”

He lies back on the blanket and covers his face with his hat. “Then we wait until one does.”

“
All day
?”

“All day, Big City.”

I can do this. This is country life according to him. People, who I don’t know or understand, enjoy this. I guess it would be relaxing if I could actually relax, so I try. I have to remind myself that he made an effort to bake with me, so I can do the same with fishing.

My leg starts to bounce as I wait for a fish to . . . bite. They should be hungry, right? I don’t know what stocking a lake entails, but I’d assume that only the Hennington’s come here. I’m also safe to assume that they don’t come every day because they work. If that’s the case, they should want to eat.

“Here fishy, fishy, fishy,” I call quietly.

“Angie?” Wyatt’s smirk is visible from under his hat. “What the hell are you doing?”

“I’m calling the fish! Maybe they come like a cat?”

Wyatt bursts out laughing.

I remember the old
Sesame Street
episode that my brother loved. It was Bert and Ernie in the boat. Ernie, of course being the sensible one (that’s me in this situation), knew he could get the fish to come into the boat. But Bert (Wyatt) thought he was nuts. But the fish jumped up. It was brilliant.

“Laugh away, babe. I’m telling you . . . it’ll work.”

He sits up, unable to even attempt to control his hyena-style laughter. “I’ve been fishin’ since I was little, and I have never seen anyone call for a fish.”

“It worked for Ernie!” I defend.

“Ernie?”

“Yeah!” I say as if it should be obvious. “From
Sesame Street
. He was always the smarter of the two.”

Wyatt’s jaw drops as his shoulders bounce. “I’ve gotta see this.” He leans back and crosses his arms over his chest.

“Fine.” I perk up and lean over the side of the boat again. “Here fishy, fishy, fishy,” I say it again, reenacting the scene as I remember it. He sits there, trying to hold it in. I slap his leg. “Stop! Don’t laugh at me,” I complain playfully. I look at the line that still doesn’t move. “The fish are sleeping. That’s all. You came out here too early. They’re late risers.”

His warm, rich laughter filters the air. “You’re probably right.”

“I know I am. Fish would love me if they knew me.”

Wyatt shifts forward on his knees. His hands cage me in. Slowly he leans forward, careful not to jostle the boat. “You,” he says, his eyes melting into a hooded softness, “are the single most beautiful thing in this world. The fish would be lucky to get hooked on your line.”

Everything inside me clenches. My breathing becomes slightly faster as his lips inch closer. “Me?” Wyatt nods. “Are you hooked on my line?”

“Yes,” he confirms. “You’re out here on my boat, on my land, and in my life, makin’ me see things for the first time. I’ve never felt like this before. I’ve never wanted to be something so much, and yet hope it eludes me a little more.”

My hand touches his cheek. “You want me to keep fighting this?”

His eyes close as he rubs his face in my palm. “I love watching your walls crumble. I love watching your reasons diminish. I’m really going to enjoy it when you finally realize just how much you want me.” His voice drops, and he looks at me again, serious this time. “Because make no mistake—you’ll want me. I’m makin’ damn sure of it.”

I don’t doubt him for a single second.

I shift in my seat a little bit and try to slow my racing heart. “I think we should make a bet.”

He grins. “Name the terms.”

“If I catch the first fish, you have to bring the fish home and cook it with your brothers on a different day so I don’t have to eat it.” He nods. “And if you catch it, I’ll do this fish fry thing you speak of.”

Wyatt puts his hand out. “Deal.”

We shake, and then I start praying to the fish Gods, if there are any, to please let me win. First, it would be funny to watch him lose to a city girl. Second, I really don’t like fish. They have those beady eyes and some have teeth . . . no thank you. I would much rather stick with an animal I don’t have to look at before I eat it.

I’m weird, but I can’t do it.

After another hour of trying to guess what shape the clouds are, which sucks after three minutes, Wyatt closes his eyes. I do spot a penis-shaped cloud, but that’s only slightly amusing.

I’m too bored to nap again. I truly have no idea how people find fishing fun. My fish calling doesn’t work, and gazing at the horizon is about as fun as trying to count leaves, which I got to one thousand four hundred and twenty-two before I quit.

“I’m bored,” I mutter.

“Let yourself relax, baby.”

Fat chance of that. “This is me relaxed.”

He opens one eye and smirks. “You could always try to call for the fish again.”

“Shut up.”

Wyatt laughs. “You never know, it could work.”

“Don’t make me throw you off the boat,” I retort.

“You could try.” Wyatt takes my hand, pulling me on top of him. “Or you could kiss me again.”

My heart races as I look into his eyes. Now that would be fun. My lips slowly make their way to his, but I freeze when I hear this cranking sound.

Both our eyes snap up, and I see the fishing pole moving and the reel spinning. A fish! I don’t know whose line it is, but someone has a fish.

Then it dawns on me it could be his line.

Shit.

“Wyatt!” I slap his chest. “Something is hooked!” I climb on to my knees and go to grab the rod, but I have no idea what to do. It keeps spinning and making that noise. I look over at him with a mix of fear and excitement. “Aren’t you going to help?”