Sam’s beard is rough against my mouth as I grab the lapels of his jacket and arch my neck up to flatten my lips to his. When he realizes what’s happening, he goes stiff as a board for a minute, and I fear that he’s going to out fisherman me and release me back into the wild.
But then, his shoulders drop. His hand releases the fishing pole he was in the middle of re-rigging and cinches tightly around my waist as he pulls me up on my knees. Now we’re both kneeling in front of each other, sucking face like a couple of largemouth bass at the bottom of the lake. Our snowsuit-covered bodies are flush against each other, the thick fabric rubbing against all my sensitive nerve-endings that have come alive under this surprising and unexpected embrace. Sam’s tongue parts my lips and sweeps inside with an unwavering confidence he wants me to feel. And man do I feel it. I think I even whimper a little when he yanks off his gloves, and his warm, dry hands cup my face. His palms are rough, but his touch is tender as his thumbs caress my cheekbones.
I may have started this kiss, but he’s completely taken over now, and his deft touch makes me feel like an inexperienced, never-been-kissed teenager. Oh my heck, is this what it’s like to kiss an older man? Someone with experience? Someone who’s rugged and rough around the edges? Who’s clearly not only lived life but also made life his bitch? Because if so, I had no idea what I’d been missing out on by dating college boys. Preppy college boys have nothing on this…fisherman.
But this fisherman is also a complete stranger. A familiar stranger but still a stranger I’m kissing in the middle of nowhere after recently getting dumped. I am an idiot.
As if the ghost that possessed me earlier has left my body, I jerk back, then press my hands flat against his chest to put some space between us. Our breaths are foggy and ragged as I lick my lips that are now raw from his beard and burning in a way that I basically love.
“I really didn’t mean to do that,” I pant, looking up at him with blazing eyes.
He smolders back at me, his gaze holding a wicked promise as he pulls his lower lip into his mouth. “It’s seriously okay.”
I bite back a groan. “No…but like, I really didn’t mean to do that.” I move away from him, extracting my body from his and shaking my head from side to side as I reposition myself on my stool a solid two feet away from him. It suddenly feels horribly hot and cramped in here. Did the heater get turned up?
“I’m not complaining,” Sam replies, his voice still deep with arousal. He moves to his own stool, and I swear I see a bulge in his snow pants. Holy shit! How big is he if he has a bulge showing through thick snow pants?
“Going ice fishing wasn’t a ploy to get a new guy, you know,” I state firmly as I begin tugging at the chest of my snowsuit to get some air to my clammy skin underneath. I’m literally sweating! How can I be sweating on a frozen flipping lake? The heater isn’t that warm. “I’m supposed to be finding myself. There’s more to me than just my hormones. I graduated a semester early and at the top of my class in college, ya know?”
Sam chuckles as I fiddle with the zipper under my chin. “I thought you were interesting the moment I heard your voice today, sparky.”
I look over at him, and he’s staring back at me with complete, unhindered attraction. I swear his green eyes have somehow darkened with desire. Oh my heck, maybe I should dunk my head in the lake because I get a really funny feeling between my legs when he looks at me like that.
“I just don’t want you to judge me,” I mumble because if I was judging myself right now, I’d say I’m a silly girl who can’t handle a simple life change without going off the rails and deciding on a whim to become an ice fisherwoman. “Why is it so hot in here?” I ask, unzipping my snowsuit and trying to stop this hot flash from taking over my body. Gosh, maybe I’m going through “the change” like Sam’s mom! Is that possible at my age?
Sam’s silence has me looking over to find him staring at my chest with a downright sinful expression on his face. I look to see what he’s seeing, and my eyes go wide. “Shit!” I exclaim, grabbing the edges of the snowsuit and closing it up quickly. “Motherfetcher, what was I thinking?”
Sam’s laughter is shaking his entire body. “You’re typically supposed to wear clothes under your snowsuit.” He turns his head to try to hide the fact that he’s laughing so hard, and I hate that he looks so cute doing it.
“Ugh!” I exclaim, covering my face in horror because I know Sam got a good eyefull of the hot pink bra I’m wearing under my snowsuit. I had wondered if I was supposed to leave my clothes on underneath it, but it was such a process to get it on that I couldn’t stomach the idea of doing it again just to put my sweater on. And I figured, who would know?
Sam would know.
Because I’m an idiot.
I shake my head, and mumble, “I’m a mess.”
Sam’s still laughing. “Hey, you’re a hot mess at least.”
Nibbler
Most chicks would have bitched about the cold. Most chicks would have bitched about spending $474 on something other than a pair of designer shoes. Most chicks wouldn’t have touched a fish with their bare hands.
This chick…wasn’t like most chicks.
The following Monday, I’m back at work at Tire Depot, but my mind is most definitely not on tires. It’s on all things Maggie, which is actually really fucking embarrassing because I’m thirty years old and the sales manager of a successful company I’ll be taking over soon. I shouldn’t be obsessing over some young chick who happened to look really hot in a snowsuit. And also out of the snowsuit as it turns out.
I could have forgotten about the kiss we shared a lot easier if it wasn’t for the little peep show she gave me as a bonus. For the next two hours we spent fishing together, I had to threaten to dunk my cock into the icy lake every time he got a mind of his own and puffed up a little.
But all these Maggie thoughts are pointless right now because I have responsibilities I need to focus on. Like how I can bring Tire Depot to the next level and set myself up for early retirement just like my uncle.
Tire Depot is a huge car care center that my uncle Terry owns in Boulder. I’ve been working here since I was a kid, back when he and my dad used to run it together. Until they didn’t. Regardless, I have fond memories of coming here after school. I’d always get a soda and a cookie and mosey into the garage to gawk at the nudey calendars posted at the guys’ stations.
Now my uncle is prepping me to take the reins so he can retire and cruise up to Canada on his Harley. The guy is sixty-four years old and ready to drift off into his golden years like the lone wolf he’s always been.
“Sammy!” Uncle Terry bellows my name from his office in the back so loud that I can hear it all the way up in the reception area where I’m working at the high-top customer counter. “Come back here for a sec.”
I save my work and turn to make my way down the small hallway to his office. The walls are papered with classic car posters, various tire awards, and vacation pictures he’s taken throughout the years. Piles of papers that need to be filed cover his desk, but he never makes the time to do it.
I stare down at what he’s holding in his hands, and my blood runs cold when I see my three-ring binder opened in front of him. “This is your business plan?” he asks, scratching his white beard as he flips a few pages.
“Um…yes,” I reply, rubbing the back of my neck and shifting nervously. “But I wasn’t ready for you to see it yet. I’m not quite done.”
He looks up to me with a serious look in his eyes. “Well, this is a much bigger idea than the customer comfort center.”
“Yes, it is,” I acknowledge his reference to the first proposal I presented to him almost ten years ago.
I was fresh out of college with all these business classes swirling through my head, and I got the idea that providing complimentary beverages and snacks to our staff and customers would cultivate a positive company culture. Enter the customer comfort center, which resulted in a huge boost for business.
“So when do you want to go through this with me?” Terry asks, eyeing me seriously. “I’m not going to be around much longer, you know.”