Total pages in book: 19
Estimated words: 16728 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 84(@200wpm)___ 67(@250wpm)___ 56(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 16728 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 84(@200wpm)___ 67(@250wpm)___ 56(@300wpm)
With each inhale and exhale coiling between us, I can feel our bodies relax together, and the last remnants of the day fade away. Eric’s hand still traces along my arm, spiraling me deeper into a state of bliss.
Chapter 9
Eric
The morning sun spills across the deck of the yacht as I finish off the last bite of my breakfast burrito, the taste of eggs and spice lingering on my lips. The salty breeze flips through my hair, and I take a moment to breathe, soaking in this unexpected escape from reality.
Just as I’m about to slide my plate away, the captain strolls back onto the deck, his face lighting up with enthusiasm. “Alright, folks! We’ve got everything you need for some deep-sea fishing,” he announces. “If you’re interested, just let me know.”
I look over at Eve, who’s leaning against the railing, her eyes sparkling with mischief. “What do you think? Up for a little fishing adventure?” I ask, already knowing her answer.
“Heck yes!” she replies, a grin spreading across her face. “Let’s see what we can catch out there!”
With an enthusiastic nod, I push away my plate, the idea of fishing sinking in. It’s been decades since I baited a hook, and while I’m pretty sure my skills are rusty, the thought of spending more time with Eve makes me eager to dive in, literally and figuratively.
“Let’s do this then,” I say, trying to mask the flutter of nerves creeping in.
Once we gather the supplies, we find a spot at the back of the yacht. The captain hands us some cut bait, and as I take the bucket in hand, Eve’s expression morphs into a mask of comedic disgust. She glances at the bait, nose wrinkling as she makes the most exaggerated faces at the smell wafting from the tin pail.
“Ugh! That’s disgusting!” she fake gags, holding her nose in mock horror. “I’m having second thoughts about this.”
“Cut bait is pretty nasty.” I laugh, holding my breath so I don’t have to smell it. Maybe the real challenge here isn't catching fish but keeping my breakfast down. “I’ll bait your hook for you.”
She hesitates, biting her lip as she stares at the bait like it’s going to jump up and bite her back. “Alright, fine,” she concedes, rolling her eyes but maintaining that playful spark. “But I’m doing it myself.”
“Sure you don’t want a little help?” I ask, holding up the bait with a devilish grin. “I can take one for the team.”
“No way. If I’m going to learn how to fish, I’m going to get the whole experience,” she fires back, determination hardening her resolve as she yanks her fishing rod closer. “Even if it is disgusting.”
I watch her as she tries to tackle baiting her hook, fingers fidgeting and twisting as she faces the foul-smelling lump. The whole process would be comically inept if it weren’t so darn cute. Out here, amid the open sea and the salty air, I can’t help but take a moment to truly appreciate her spirit, and it warms me in a way I haven’t ever felt.
“Alright, how about we make it interesting with a bet?” I propose, my competitive edge surfacing. I wiggle my eyebrows as an idea pops into my mind. “Whoever catches the biggest fish gets a massage from the loser.” What can I say? It’s a win-win situation no matter who wins.
“Deal!” she replies, her eyes lighting up with the thrill of competition.
We begin the fishing frenzy, figuring out the ropes, and casting our lines with all the elegance of a couple of amateurs. I can't help but laugh as she tries to maneuver her rod. Her usual elegance deserts her, and she’s all arms and legs, a total mess, flailing like a fish out of water.
The sun is shining, and the sea spray dances around us as we settle in, the calm of the ocean making it easy to forget any worries. After a good twenty minutes, I finally feel a tug on my line, excitement bubbling through me.
“Holy shit!” I yell, reeling in with all my might. “I think I got something!”
“Keep it steady!” she shouts, bouncing on her toes like a cheerleader.
With a little finesse, I reel in a decent-sized fish, feeling a rush of victory surge through me. “Look at this beauty!” I laugh, holding it up for her. I’m prouder of this fish than my first Oscar. Crazy, but no matter what I’m doing with Eve, it’s better than anything I’ve ever done.
“I’m naming him Fred,” I chuckle, flicking a glance her way.
She rolls her eyes, but the competitive fire in her gaze is unmistakable. “I’m going to catch a fish that makes Fred look like a tadpole!”
Game on. The afternoon sun continues its lazy descent as the yacht bobs gently on the waves. After over an hour at this, I’ve only managed to haul in Fred while Eve’s caught several smaller fish. Smugness practically radiates off her like sunshine as she holds up her latest catch for me to see.