Fish Out Of Water
“Next in line!” Marv shouts gruffly as he plunges his white-haired arm back into the basin full of fresh chubs.
An older gentleman shoulders past me with his clear plastic tub, ready to collect his bait as though it’s the body of Christ being passed out by the pope himself. Several other men press up against my back, all anxiously awaiting their turn because finally…ice fishing season has begun.
Boulder, Colorado, hasn’t seen a winter this warm in years. Normally, we’re ice fishing before Christmas. But it’s already early January, and there haven’t been enough cold days in a row to make the ice safe enough to venture out on.
Until now.
I tug at my short beard impatiently as I itch for the smell of my nylon fishing tent. After being ignored for months now, it misses me. I can tell. The smell of the icy lake water permeates my nose as my imagination takes flight. I swear I can even feel the rubbery stiffness of my silicone gloves.
Ice fishing is my escape. It’s my sense of freedom. It’s something that’s only mine.
Marv hollers for the next patron, and I can’t help but shake my head at how this eighty-year-old man is still alive and kicking. Every year. Every season. Every weekend. Marv is here.
Marv’s Bait and Tackle is an institution in Boulder. Located on a dirt road outside of town and boasting the best bait and burgers within a hundred miles, the restaurant/bar/bait shop is always brimming with die-hard Colorado outdoorsmen from near and far, looking to chew the fat with the infamous Marv.
Marv was a pro fisherman and even had his own television show for a while, but when his father, Marv Senior, passed away, he quit touring and took over the bait shop. Now, he’s the go-to guy for the best places to fish around Boulder. He gives advice on the proper bait for the weather, and he’s always getting demo rigs in the shop before the big box stores. He’s a fishing legend tucked away in this dilapidated old shop.
“I’m next in line,” a female voice exclaims as she clicks her heeled boots on the damp concrete floor.
I frown, wondering where this chick came from because there’s no way I would have missed the likes of her in a place like this. She doesn’t exactly blend in with the old, weathered, smelly fishermen. Myself excluded. I may be out of my twenties now, but my balls aren’t sagging to my knees like most of these guys.
The girl is tall and slender with a backside on full display in a pair of tight leggings that cling to her ass. Her very supple ass. An ass that every guy in here is now staring at. She flips her silky black hair over her shoulder, and I catch a glimpse of her profile. Damn, her face is just as beautiful as her ass…which sounds fucking weird, but my dick is doing all my thinking at this point.
Marv spits his toothpick out, letting the wood drop to the floor as he looks the girl up and down. “Next in line for what?” he asks, his voice sounding like he smokes a pack of Marlboro Reds a day…probably because he does.
“I need the fish!” she replies, jutting her chin out defiantly.
“Do you mean bait?” Marv asks, scratching his white whiskers that makes a noise like sandpaper.
“Yes, they are little fish, right? Used for bait?” The girl shifts nervously, fiddling with a piece of hair draped over her shoulder. When she notices the whispering around her, she drops her hair and stands tall.
Marv’s face scrunches up like the girl’s words just hurt a piece of his soul. “They are chubs, darlin’. And they are used to catch muskies. Big muskies.”
“Perfect. That sounds great…I’ll take them.” The girl crosses her arms and waits expectantly.
Marv shakes his head. “They’re heavy.”
“They don’t look heavy,” she retorts with a quizzical brow, looking down into the basin of live bait.
“The muskies, not the chubs,” Marv corrects, plastering a painfully polite smile on his face.
“Get out of here, little girl!” an older guy shouts from behind me. “Go back to the mall or whatever nail salon you fell out of. We’re actual anglers here, not playing make-believe.”
The girl turns on her heel to eye the man behind me, and I get a full-on assault of just how beautiful she is. She has a heart-shaped face and the most vibrant blue eyes I’ve ever seen. Dark hair and light eyes are like catnip to me. And my dick agrees.
The girl licks her lush, peach-tinted lips before replying to the man. “You can go…” She falters for a second, glancing around at her audience once before adding, “Fuck yourself!” She blanches at the sound of that word leaving her lips.
The men behind me erupt into shocked laughter, and I watch Marv wince and dry his hands off on his dirty apron. “Young lady, that language.”
“What?” she exclaims, turning back to Marv. “This is a bait shop. Are you telling me you’ve never heard that word before?”
Marv shakes his head. “Not from a young lady.”
“So because I’m a female I can’t curse? What kind of sense does that make in this decade? Please, I’ve been driving for a long time, and all I want to do is go ice fishing. I’ve got cash, so just sell me a bucket of fish and I’ll be on my way. Easy peasy.”
“When?” Marv asks quietly, twisting his face in discomfort as if it’s been years since he’s been around estrogen.
“When what?” the girl asks.
“When are you going ice fishing?”
“Right now, of course!” she retorts, putting her hands on her hips. “I’ll need a pole and a fishing hook as well, please. And whatever you use to break the ice.”
Marv looks down the girl’s body, slowly shaking his head back and forth. “Do you have more clothes than what you’re wearing?”
“I have gloves,” the girl replies, digging into her pockets and producing a pair of fingerless gloves. They look like children’s gloves, gold sparkles and all. She puts them on and waves her fingertips to Marv, who does not look impressed.
“Darlin’, I can’t let you go ice fishing in that getup. You’ll freeze to death, and my old heart can’t be worrying over you out there all alone in a spring jacket.”
“This has down feathers!” she exclaims, pulling her black jacket tight around her body. “It’s really warm. It just has the illusion of being lightweight.”
He tsks. “Those boots there are worse than a pair of summer waders. Your feet would get cold in those if you were fishing from the shore in the spring, darlin’. I’m sorry. I won’t be selling you bait and tackle today. You look more like a warm weather darling anyways.”
The girl lets out a strange noise from her throat. “Oh, come on. I’m trying to step out of my comfort zone here and I am so tired of being labeled, I could just scream.”
“I’d like to hear her scream when I’m balls deep in her,” a man old enough to be her father mutters not so quietly from behind me.
My teeth crack as I clench my jaw and turn around just as his buddy high-fives him. Toothless smiles greet me as if they think I’m joining in on the joke. I open my mouth to say something but am pummeled in the shoulder by the young girl as she launches herself at the two men.
Everyone erupts into shouts as she shoves the big guy with all her might, but she only ends up knocking his camo hat off. Big guy looks scary pissed, so I quickly wrap my arms around the girl’s waist and lift her off the ground to yank her back away from him. He leers at her, almost perversely turned on by her attack.
“Easy, sparky,” I murmur into her ear as a whiff of her floral shampoo invades my nostrils.
“Say that to my face, you old pervert!” the girl shouts, flailing her arms as if she’s going to claw the man’s face off. One benefit of her fingerless gloves, I guess.
The two assholes blink slowly at her, clearly feigning innocence as I struggle to hold her back. She’s a wiry one, for sure. A lot tougher than she looks.
“Come with me,” I urge, pulling her away from the group of men who clearly just want to entertain themselves with this spectacle. I move around to face her with my back to the guys. I grab her shoulders and look her square in the eyes. “They’re fucking dicks and not worth it. Your actions are just encouraging them, so I’m asking you to please come with me.”