Page 16 of Next in Line
Fuck, I don’t even know her last name yet. We had our hands so full of fish and each other, we really didn’t get to talk a whole lot. And when we parted ways outside Marv’s, I could tell she was acting all twitchy because of our kiss. So young and innocent—hell, it’s fucking hot. And I did nothing to calm her nerves either. I just let her fumble her way back to her car without saying a word. Asking for a chick’s number is against my rules. I prefer to just let nature take its course. If I see her again, so be it. If I don’t, I won’t lose any sleep over it.
But I really hope I see her again.
When I maneuver my snowmobile into the parking lot of Marv’s, I’m grateful that the helmet I’m wearing is covering the way-too-fucking-happy smile on my face.
Sitting right outside of Marv’s on the curb in her puffy red and white snowsuit, Maggie wears an adorably sullen look on her face. Her black hair is hanging out the bottom of her red stocking cap, and she’s punching away at her phone so aggressively, she doesn’t even notice me pull up in front of her.
When she finally looks up and sees me climbing off my sled, she rolls her eyes like I’m the cherry on top of her clearly shit-tastic day. I stride over to her and slip my helmet off, noticing a heap of something by her feet that looks like the corpse of a fishing hut on the ground.
“Don’t say anything, all right?” she barks, looking away from me with a firm shake of her head and cold air puffing out between her ruddy lips.
I halt in front of her and close my mouth.
“I can already guess what you’re going to say,” she snaps again, kicking her booted feet out in front of her to shove the offensive pile farther away from her.
Again, I say nothing. My mother always said I was like a Labrador—great at following commands.
“You’re going to say that I’m still a rookie, and I shouldn’t think I can do this all on my own after only one session.” She stares up at me, and her vibrant blue eyes sparkle in the sunlight.
I cross my arms over my chest.
“And you’re going to say I wasted money on this fishing hut because it’s a pile of crap, and if I had asked you for advice, you could have suggested something more suitable for a beginner.”
I exhale, my hand coming up to stroke the hair on my chin slowly as I listen.
She stares up at me and flicks her hand in my direction. “But honestly, after I assaulted you last weekend, I just didn’t think I could face you again.”
A small huff escapes my lips because that kiss was no big deal. Don’t get me wrong, it was a great kiss. Really great. But it wasn’t going to scare me off her.
She rolls her eyes at my expression. “Well, say something, won’t you?”
My shoulders lift once as I ask, “Wanna go ice fishing?”
An hour later, she’s apologized no less than nineteen times about that kiss, and she’s sworn twenty-four times that it won’t happen again. I’ve reassured her eight times that it’s no big deal. And once that conversation is done, we’re on my sled and heading back to the same spot we fished last weekend.
The heater in my hut has just finally taken the nip out of the air when I decide to fish for some details from the chick who swears on her life she won’t be kissing me ever again.
“So what’s the real reason you’re so determined to be an avid ice fisher?” I flick my line roller up and release some slack out of my pole, allowing my rig to fall deeper just as a small school of muskies ventures closer to where we’ve dropped.
Maggie exhales heavily and mimics my actions. “I hate to say it’s because of a guy…”
“But it’s because of a guy,” I finish.
She nods. “It’s stupid, and I’m certain you don’t want to hear all the hairy details.”
I clench my jaw, trying to determine if I should write her off because she’s on the rebound. Normally, rebound girls are like catnip to me. They’re horny and emotionally unavailable…just my style. But it’s one thing to be recently rejected. It’s a whole other thing if they’re still hung up on the guy. If Maggie is going to these lengths for a guy, she’s clearly not ready for a rebound.
“I don’t need to know all the details, but I’m curious what kind of guy would inspire a person to take up ice fishing?”
“He’s a quarterback.” She states those two words as if they’re supposed to impress me. When I have no reaction, she quickly adds, “And he’s being drafted by the NFL this spring.”
“Okay,” I reply noncommittally, trying to conceal what I’m really thinking.
Now look, I don’t consider myself a judgmental prick most days, but growing up in Boulder, there were two kinds of guys: athletes and adventurists. And since I always preferred the rush of snowboarding down a black diamond hill or rock climbing a 5.15 mountain over shooting hoops and playing catch, I definitely ran in a different crowd than the athletes. I even tried ice swimming once when I was drunk.My poor balls have never forgiven me.
The point is, I’m an adrenaline junkie who loves the outdoors more than a “hey man, let’s play catch or get tickets to a game” type. So I never really understood why girls put athletes on a pedestal. I’m not condemning them for it, girls can be attracted to whoever they want. But part of me feels a pang of disappointment when I find out Maggie is one of those girls. I knew we were opposites when I met her, but after she held that fish, I had hoped she was different.
I guess I was wrong.
