Page 36 of Faking the Pass

A Big One On the Line

R osie

Tuesday morning, I emerged from my room to find Presley waiting in the living room instead of holed away in his gym or out for his daily swim as he usually was at this time.

He was wearing shorts and a t-shirt that stretched perfectly across his chest and shoulders and biceps.

He gave me a once over as well. And frowned. As usual.

There were no cameras around of course, so he didn’t have to fake anything.

The vacation attire he’d seemed to fully enjoy on the island now seemed to displease him. Today I wore a hot pink halter and shorts set that would have been ideal for the French Riviera.

“Good morning.” Presley delivered the traditional greeting in the least cheery tone it had likely ever been said in.

I tried to be chipper and upbeat anyway. I couldn’t be his sexual playmate, but I didn’t want us to be enemies either.

“Good morning. What’s today’s episode of the ‘Rosie and Presley Show’ going to be?”

“Deep sea fishing,” he said. “Ever been?”

“No. I haven’t.”

Though I’d grown up in the same seaside town as he had, my coastal life had not included expensive activities like deep sea fishing excursions. The only seafood I’d eaten back then had come from a can with a blonde mermaid on the label—and only when it was on sale.

“But that sounds fine if it’s what you want to do,” I said.

I knew Presley loved fishing. And considering I was denying him the pleasures he really wanted, it was only fair to spend the day doing an activity he enjoyed.

“Great. I’ve got us booked to depart from the marina in about an hour,” he said.

His gaze traveled up my body, lingering over my bare legs before settling on my bare midriff.

“You might want to change into something more… casual,” he grunted. “You’ll need to wear sneakers so you don’t slip on the deck. A pair you wouldn’t mind getting wet. And make sure you apply sunscreen if you’re going to show that much skin. It’s a hot one out there today.”

Then he turned and walked away without another word.

Arriving at the Eastport Bay Yachting Center Marina in the center of the town’s historic harbor district an hour later, we made our way to a private slip where a large white fishing boat awaited.

The captain leaned over the side and yelled a greeting to us.

“Right on time. Welcome aboard.”

He was a young guy with a wild shock of blond hair and a deep tan, and Presley introduced him as Matt.

Matt offered us both life jackets, which we put on, and some motion sickness medication, which Presley refused.

“Do you tend to get seasick?” Matt asked me.

“I don’t know. I’ve never been out on the open ocean.” I glanced at the blister-wrapped pills in his hands. “Do those things have side effects?”

“Drowsiness mainly. Some people get dry mouth and some blurred vision.”

“I think I’ll pass.”

It seemed to me the last thing you’d want on a rocking boat deck was to be drowsy and have blurry vision.

Matt led us to a tall storage locker in the back of the boat to check out a selection of fishing gear. Presley sifted through it deftly, choosing a rod and reel for himself and one for me.

“This length should work,” he said, standing the rod up next to me to gauge its height. “It’s a good size for you. Not too unwieldy but strong enough not to break if you catch a big one.”

His familiarity with the proper gear for a woman hinted that I wasn’t the first one he’d taken deep sea fishing.

The thought irked me a bit, though I wasn’t sure why.

Presley had been fishing all his life, and I already knew he’d had a lot of girlfriends.

He would no doubt have many fishing partners after our arrangement ended as well.

My smile belied the sudden sinkhole in my chest.

“I seriously doubt I’ll be catching anything,” I told him and Matt, “unless Save the Bay missed some trash floating around out here. I’ve never caught a fish in my life.”

The captain swiped a bright yellow stripe of zinc oxide down his nose and laughed.

“You gotta think positive—the fish can feel it. Plus, it’s a pretty active day today. They tend to bite when the water is a bit choppy like this. I think we’re in for a good catch.”

Presley had been correct about the weather. While it was windy, there was not a cloud in the sky, and the sun did get hot after a while.

He apparently felt the heat as well, because about an hour into the excursion, he stripped off his t-shirt.

Matt did the same, but it wasn’t his body I couldn’t tear my eyes away from.

I hadn’t seen Presley shirtless since we’d been on the island, and the sight was bringing back all kinds of unwanted memories—and feelings.

My fingers literally ached from the desire to touch that golden skin and the clearly defined muscles beneath it.

As I watched him fishing and joking around with Matt, I realized I hadn’t seen a genuine smile like that on his face since we’d been back in Eastport Bay either.

Our last few days on the island, it seemed like Presley had smiled non-stop.

Well, his face had done other things when he’d been in the heat of the moment—intense and fiercely beautiful as he sank deep inside me.

Speaking of heat, the memory poured molten desire through my abdomen and lower, my body apparently confusing the past with the present.

Chill out, girlfriend. Not gonna happen.

My intimate parts didn’t listen, convinced that it was time to prepare for an experience that was never going to occur again.

Just then, as if he could hear my thoughts and sense my rising body heat, Presley turned and locked eyes with me.

Oh God, what must my face look like right now with those thoughts going through my head?

Thankfully, the sea gods provided a timely distraction in the form of a hard tug at the end of my line.

“Hey, I felt something. I think I might have a fish,” I said in a high, nervous voice.

“Good for you,” Matt yelled and gave me a thumbs up gesture with one hand while holding his own fishing rod in the other.

Presley smiled at me—for what felt like the first time in years.

God I’d missed that smile.

He came over to stand beside me, and the line jerked again, even harder this time, causing my rod to dip lower over the side of the boat.

“Yeah, you hooked one alright,” he said. “Grip it tight with both hands.”

The next tug on the line almost ripped the fishing pole from my hands. “Whoa. How big is this thing?”

Presley grinned. “Big enough to keep.”

Turning to look at him, I offered him the rod. “You reel it in.”

Shaking his head, he backed up a step.

“No, it’s your first catch. You can handle it, Rosie. You’re strong enough. Just brace the butt of the rod against your stomach and hold on. He’ll get tired eventually.”

Eventually turned out to be an hour and a half later.

During the time it took my aquatic opponent to finally surrender, the guys had pulled in catch after catch, filling the deck cooler with cod and sea bass.

Presley looked like he was having the time of his life—and while he was sweating, he made it look good .

The sun gilded his wet skin, caressing his muscles and making him resemble a sports trophy cast in pure gold.

Meanwhile, I was exhausted and probably looked like a drowned rat. My arms felt like overcooked noodles.

I’d managed to reel the fish in to the point I could catch glimpses of it just beneath the surface of the waves.

“Do you think you could maybe give me a hand with this last part?” I asked. “I must have a Plesiosaurus on the end of this line from the weight of it.”

Presley hesitated, but then he moved to stand behind me.

Stretching out his arms, he tucked them against my sides and placed his hands over mine where they gripped the rod. His bare chest pressed against my back, and I could feel his heartbeat through my thin t-shirt.

There should have been nothing sexual about it, but I immediately regretted asking for his help.

It was too much like those blissful final days back on the island. Once again I was enveloped in his heat and strength, and it felt far too good.

This position brought back vivid memories of other times when his powerful form had been lined up against the back of mine, when I could feel the unmistakable evidence of how much he wanted me.

Damn it. Who wanted to eat a dinosaur fish anyway?

“Let’s just forget about it,” I said, desperate for some separation from Presley’s body. “Can’t we cut the line or something?”

“After all that work? You can’t give up now,” he said.

Then he lowered his head so he was speaking directly into my ear.

“Once you’ve got a big one on the line, Starfish, you don’t let it get away. This guy’s a keeper. Don’t give up on him now.”

I knew he was talking about the fish, not himself, but a shiver ran down my spine where delicious energy had collected between our bodies, and goosebumps rose on pretty much every inch of my skin.

Wriggling to free my hands, I ducked beneath Presley’s arm and took a step away, creating some desperately needed distance between us.

“I can’t keep going,” I said. “You pull it in if you want it.”

Presley gave me a disappointed look then, with one powerful jerk, hauled the aquatic behemoth into the boat.

Turned out it wasn’t a fish at all but a mako shark. A small one, but still, the sucker had been strong. And feisty. Still was.

When Presley lowered it to the deck, it thrashed and flopped from one side to the other, its sharp teeth and red gums exposed and terrifying.

Jumping on top of the closed cooler, I watched Presley and Matt subdue the shark before climbing off again so they could stow the sea monster inside.

Shutting the lid, Presley smiled up at me. He looked invigorated, while I felt a little queasy.

“Congratulations on your first catch. Ever eaten shark before?” he asked.

“No. I’m not sure I’ll be able to either. Not anytime soon anyway.”

Maybe ever.

I couldn’t imagine putting something that was recently so fiercely alive into my mouth. My head spun dizzily, and the sweat I’d worked up now felt ice cold on my body.

“Maybe we could freeze it for a long, long time first,” I said.