Page 9 of A Father's Bliss

While I want nothing more than to drown these annoying nerves that I rarely ever get in alcohol, I know that crosses a line. Shaking my head, I reach for the menu on the table. “I’ll have water, please.”

“And for you, sir?”

“Same.”

“Very well. I’ll return momentarily.”

“It’s Father's Day.” I note when our server disappears between the tables. “You don’t want a glass of Jack? Maybe a beer?”

He shakes his head, reclining in his chair. “I don’t drink, actually.”

Considering his son consumes alcohol like water, I should have figured as much. Besides physically, they seem to be complete opposites in almost every way. Where Harrison is loud and outgoing, Marcus is calm and rather introverted. Where hisson is cocky and a low key narcissist, he is always humble and kind, even when my dad just got done rubbing it in his face that he landed a deal bigger than him.

I’ve always been curious as to why they were so different, and even gone so far as to wonder if they’re the opposites in bed, too.

There wasn’t a single time I can remember being truly satisfied with Harry. Not one moment I felt like putting up with the less than ideal parts of him was worth it.

Why did I stay with him so long again?

Before I can answer my internal question, Marcus clears his throat. “Do you enjoy being on the water?”

I blink twice, realizing while I was lost in thought, I was staring out of the window again, my eyes unfocused on the black boat.

Clearing my throat, I turn my attention back to him. His dark gaze is a mix of serious and curious, and the weight of it settles somewhere low in my stomach. I would tell myself to get a grip, but who am I kidding? When it comes to Marcus Debois, my hands are slick and anything I’d try to grab onto would just send me plummeting to my death.

“Actually, I’ve never been.”

His surprise—if that’s what I’d even call it—is evident only in the small line that forms between furrowed brows. “Ever?”

I shake my head. Even though our city is one of the most popular getaway spots in the state for our renowned Bliss Lake, I’ve yet to visit it. “Not once.”

His lips draw down in the corner. “Interesting. May I ask why?”

Shrugging, my fingers play at the edge of the menu I still haven’t looked at. “My old man and I always had our nose in a book. I guess neither of us really had a desire to.”

“What about when you were in school? None of your friends dragged you over there during spring break?”

Though my friends were more considered a group of like minded individuals who all just sat around and read, my answer is the same. “Not really on our agenda. But, I have always wanted to learn how to fish.”

This garners a reaction, albeit a small one, from Marcus as he leans forward. “And what would make someone who has no desire to go on the water want to learn how to fish?”

I shrug again. “I read it in a book once and thought it would be fun.”

I leave out the part where I tell him it was a dark romance book and I thought it was hot how the hero was stalking the woman and made her come with the pole, because you know, professionalism and all.

Marcus is quiet for a moment that stretches on so long, I almost think I did say that part out loud. But then as Pierre approaches with our waters, and my insides are all but on fire with potential embarrassment, he nods toward the window. “I can teach you how to fish.”

“What?”

He smirks, that damn dimple on the right making an appearance. “I can teach you how to fish.”

“No, I heard you, I mean—” I accept my water from the server with a thanks before taking a long sip. I hadn’t realized how unbelievably thirsty I was until it hits my throat. “You know how to fish?”

He thanks Pierre and asks for a few extra minutes to look over the menu without taking his eyes from me. When he leaves, Marcus simply nods. “Amongst other things, yes.”

The responding eruption of intense tingles that work their way through my body should have me worried about some obscure medical condition. Somehow, though, I manage to clear my throat and form a coherent question. “How often do you fish?”

“About every other weekend, if not more.” He picks up his glass and takes a long pull. I watch his throat bob with the swallow, and for a second, can only focus on the involuntary clench my core does to match. “It’s nice to be out there where I can read for pleasure.”

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