Revolting
Chapter 46 -

Chapter Eight Go Fish William

It was a beautiful day to go to the lake. The sky was partially overcast, which would be perfect for fishing. I whistled as I packed my tackle box and my best pole into the back of my car. I'm not going to lie, I was excited for my "playdate" with the Alpha. He was different from any of the men I had ever dated, of course first and foremost because he wasn't merely a man. He was a wolf, and a powerful one at that. Was that the appeal? Was that what was drawing me to him? The man practically oozed with self-confidence and charisma.

It was a forty-five minute drive to the little lake. It was tucked away in a pocket of national forest, so far off the beaten path that there were hardly ever any other people there. Motorized boats were prohibited, so the silence was sweet and unbroken, except for the lonely call of the loons. I parked my car and happily took deep breaths of the water-scented air.

Michael was already there, waiting for me. He was leaning up against the side of a black extended cab pick up, wearing a tank top which beautifully displayed his bulging biceps. He was wearing sunglasses, which obscured his expression, but his lips were quirked upwards in a half smile as he watched me pull out my pole and the plastic box. "Hey," he called to me, pushing off the side of the truck, and reaching into the bed for a pole. "Hey yourself. Great day, isn't it?"

He looked up at the sky and nodded. We fell in step beside each other as we headed for the trail that wound around the lake. "Do you come here often?" He asked me.

"Yeah, as often as I can," I said, picking my way over the roots of the oak and maple that flanked this part of the lake. "Its a great spot to get away."

He followed me, alternately watching me, and gazing out over the water when it was visible through the trees. "I've never been out here before. I knew it was here, but... you know, being an Alpha..."

I grinned at him over my shoulder. "Yeah, yeah. All work and no play."

He grunted at that. We hiked for about half a mile before we came to one of my favorite fishing spots. Once, there had been a house here, but all that remained now was a cellar hole, a bit of broken chimney, and the remains of a cement pier poking out into the water. "Here, we are." I said happily, setting down my box. "This is a great spot. I catch a lot of big mouth bass from here."

Michael looked doubtfully over the water. "Okay," he said with shrug, setting his pole down. I opened up my tackle box and took out two plastic cartons. "I've got dillies, or nightcrawlers. Or you can borrow one of my lures if you want to try your luck."

He blinked at me as if I were speaking a foreign language. "Uh, which do you usually use?"

"Depends on how they are biting." I pulled the cover off the nightcrawlers. "I think I'll start by drowning a couple worms."

I pulled out a big, fat nightcrawler, that was twisting and curling between my fingers. I looked up just in time to see the hilarious look of disgust flash over Michael's face. Suddenly, I was clued in. This guy was not a fisherman. And the big bad Alpha didn't like worms. I debated about calling him out, or teasing him about it, but I decided not to. I would let it play out for awhile. I slid the worm onto the hook, doubling and redoubling it so the barbed edge passed through the slimy body several times. I slid a covert glance back at Michael, but he had deliberately looked away. I turned my head so he wouldn't see me smiling, and cast out into the water.

I set the line and watched my bob float quietly on the surface for a minute. "You gonna stand there all day?" I couldn't resist, "Or are you going to fish with me?"

"Right," he said, trying to hide a grimace. "I'll just, uh..." he picked up the carton of crawlers. I watched him out of the corner of my eye as he gingerly pulled out a worm, pinched between his thumb and forefinger. His face looked almost green as he held the worm in one hand, and the hook in the other. He slowly brought the two together, but he halted right before he would have impaled the nightcrawler. "Fuck." he swore, and flung the worm down. "I can't do it!"

I laughed out loud. Mr. Too Perfect, Mr. So Masculine it Hurts couldn't bait his own hook. I set my pole down and came to his rescue. "No problem, Mike. I'll help you out." I deftly threaded a worm onto his hook and handed him back the pole. He looked chagrined as he took the rod from my hand.

"Okay, you got me." he admitted with a self-depreciating smile. "I don't know how to fish. I really just wanted to spend the day with you."

My heart tugged at his admission. It felt nice, really nice, to have someone show that much interest in me. "Its never too late to learn," I said cheerfully. I rinsed my hands off in the water, because, lets face it, worm guts are not romantic, then I came beside him. "Let me show you how to cast."

I fully took advantage of the situation, stepping up behind him, letting my chest rub against his back as I circled him and showed him how to handle the fishing rod. "Put your thumb here, and hold it down." I slid my hands, cool from the water, over his warm, dry ones. "Now, use your wrist and forearm to cast it out, like this, and release your thumb." I guided his hands, and the line glided out, and his bob plopped into the water, about ten feet out from the shore.

I put a hand on his back, "Perfect. Reel it in, and try again." I could feel his muscles ripple under his shirt as he slowly and carefully turned the reel and brought his line back in. This time I let him do it himself, talking him through the motions as he cocked his arm back, and flung it, a little too hard, straight into a nearby tree.

"That's just great," he growled impatiently. I could only laugh as I scrambled through the brushy undergrowth to untangle his line.

"Okay," I said quietly, "Gently this time... its not about power... its about finesse. Nice and easy."

This time he let his wrist do the work, and the line whirred out sweetly, and the bob landed with a satisfying plop in a good spot on the water.

"Perfect!" I reached around him and showed him how to set the line. "Turn the handle once, just to lock the line. Here that click? That way the line won't continue to feed out." Our faces were very close now. I'm tall, but Michael was taller, forcing me to look up into his eyes. I wish he wasn't wearing the damn sunglasses, so I could get a better fix on what he was thinking. His head tipped toward me, and my breath hitched. He's going to kiss me.

I was leaning into him, totally ready to get a taste of those plump, beautiful lips. We were barely an inch away, when the end of his pole suddenly tipped down, and his bob disappeared beneath the water. "Whoa!" he yelped, turning his attention back to the pole.

"You've got one! Pull your pole up, set the hook!"

Our would-be kiss was forgotten in the excitement of catching his first fish. It wriggled and pulled, and gave him a good fight. By the time he pulled the small-mouth bass to the surface, he was grinning from ear to ear like a little kid. "Holy shit I did it! I caught a fish!" he did an adorable little dance, as though he'd just made a touch down. Then he looked at the fish, still squirming on the end of the hook, the hook snagged through its upper lip. He looked at me appalled. "Now what do I do?"

"Take it off the hook."

He shoved his sunglasses up on top of his head and gave me an incredulous look. "You've got to be kidding me."