Chapter 9
Hunter
I didn’t tell Roddy about Renleigh joining me on this trip when I borrowed his camping gear.
He’s made his opinion about her and me quite clear, so I’m pretty sure he’d have words about me showing up with a tent and sleeping bag meant for one with the hopes that two of us fit inside.
We won’t fit comfortably, but that’s kind of the point.
We pull up to the campsite after a few of the guys have already arrived. Jasper has his fishing gear ready, and two of our teammates seem content to kick their feet up on a log while lounging in two old-ass lawn chairs with a cooler of beer between them.
“Thank God for girlfriends,” Renleigh says as she steps around to the front of my truck and ogles the two shirtless dudes now sunning with their cold beers clutched at their bellies. “Aren’t you guys supposed to be in tip-top shape?”
She gives me side-eyes, and I scoff before lifting my shirt and slapping my tight abs.
“Don’t look at me. It took a lot of sit-ups to get here. Brady’s a bullpen catcher, though. And Adler isn’t really motivated to get called back up. He’s trying to get traded,” I whisper.
“Not sure how many teams are in the market for beer-chugging slowpokes.” Renleigh makes her way to the back of the truck, so I follow behind.
“He’s not as slow as he looks. Besides, he’s a first baseman. He just has to hit bombs.”
I flip the tailgate down and snag Roddy’s tent and sleeping bag, which are tightly bound together in a hiking pack.
Renleigh pulls out two fishing rods, along with a gear box.
I don’t know how any of that stuff works, but she was excited about showing me, so I’m willing to wade in the cold stream for a few hours if it means we might have to sit close after to warm up.
“He ever hit a bomb off you?” She glances at the now snoring Adler, and I laugh and shake my head.
“Nobody on our squad hits home runs off me,” I scoff.
Renleigh’s eyes narrow, and I mentally replay my tone. This must be what Roddy means when he rips on my ego. Yeah, I hear it now.
“Not that he couldn’t. We haven’t done that many live at bats,” I explain, image clean-up in full effect.
“Ooooh, was that you being humble?” Renleigh teases.
I drop the tent pack on the far corner of the campsite, far away from the lawn-chair boys. “I am humble; what do you mean?” I give her a crooked smile, and she laughs.
“Yeah, Mr. Modest. That’s you.”
Shit. Roddy is on to something.
I shrug nonetheless, and take one of the poles from her before following her lead toward the stream.
We tread along a small trail cut through the rustling trees, and I give in to my most basic urges and study the smooth curves of her shoulders and her long, tempting neck.
She’s wearing a tank top under denim overalls that she’s rolled up to her knees, and her shoes are a slightly beat-up pair of blue sneakers.
Her dirty blonde hair is poked through the back of a white ballcap with a maroon S on the front.
My guess is it’s from the high school and her dad’s team.
She seems so comfortable in her own skin, and she’s right at home out here in nature’s playground.
She’s completely unbothered when one of the legs of her overalls unravels enough to touch the water’s edge as she steps into the stream.
She simply giggles and rolls it back up.
“It’s not that cold if you want to take your shoes off. I brought spares,” she explains.
I’m wearing slip-on sneakers and socks, and I wasn’t as thoughtful with my packing. I was too damn focused on getting a tent and a warm sleeping bag.
“Okay,” I say with a shrug before slipping my shoes off and tucking my socks inside.
I tread into the water carefully, my toes flexing against the smooth, moss-covered stones.
If I slip, I’m going to break my ass and get soaked head to toe.
Rather than pushing my luck, I halt when I reach a wide flat rock, then look on while Renleigh ties a tiny fly to the end of my line.
She hands it to me then steps back, as if she’s expecting me to . . . oh.
“I’ve never fished with a hook. Not sure why you think I know what to do here.” May as well build on this new humble, modest guy persona.
Renleigh chuckles, then maneuvers herself behind me, balancing her rod on an outcropping of rocks while sliding her palms along my biceps, then forearms. Her fingers wrap around my arms as she nestles in close.
“You want to make sure you have good balance, so unlock your knees.” She nudges her knee between mine. I feel a bit dominated, but I’m surprisingly okay with it. I do what she says, relaxing my legs. “Good,” she says, her breath tickling my the skin of my bare bicep and making goose bumps rise.
I glance to my left and find her close, her gaze flitting up to meet mine, her blue eyes mesmerizing me through the hood of her golden lashes. She’s a fucking angel.
“I respond well to praise.” My devilish smirk earns me another knock on my legs, this one less gentle.
“Oww!” I play along, and she shakes her head at me.
Her smile gives her away, though. We’re flirting.
She can call this fishing all she wants.
“Okay, okay. I’m listening.” I breathe in deep, then let out a heavy exhale, relaxing my arms under her touch.
“Have you ever skipped stones on water? You do have water in California, don’t you?”
Even her sarcasm is cute.
“Uh, does the Pacific count?”
“Right, that little body of water. Well, there aren’t waves here. The ripples are more subtle. But there’s a rhythm to them. You want to use that. Feel it when you cast your line.”
She glides her hand over my left one, unraveling a few feet of line with me, then adjusting my grip on the rod before guiding my right arm up and back.
“When I count to three, we’re going to flick the line forward a few times. You ready?” She’s basically driving my entire upper body, and still, I’m perfectly fine with that.
“Let her rip,” I say.
“One . . . two . . . three!” she whisper-shouts, urging my arm forward and back as the line stretches out across the water. The tiny fly splatters across the surface, then quickly sinks under the current.
“Is that what you mean? About the ripples and that rhythm stuff?” I squint one eye as I glance at her.
She’s tucked close to my arm, and it’s tempting to throw the rod into the water and swoop my arm around her, but there’s this proud glimmer in her eyes as she smiles up at me that makes me want to keep the lesson going a little while longer.
“That’s exactly what I mean.” Her gaze settles on mine for a quiet moment, and it’s strange, but I feel oddly proud of myself. I also feel like maybe, just maybe, I understand Renleigh Blackwood a little more than I did before we stepped into this freezing cold water.
“Let’s go again,” she prompts.
I chuckle through my shivers and nod.
“Okay.”
We repeat the steps, and while her touch isn’t as firm, it’s still there. In fact, the graze of her fingertips along my forearms as I whip the rod through the air is somehow better. It’s doing things to my chest, to my heart. Fuck me, I’m full of nerves.
“You know that move is usually the other way around, rookie,” Jasper says, breaking our quiet little solace with his wisecrack.
“Ha ha,” I say over my shoulder. Renleigh takes a step back and her hands fall away, and I consider slapping Jasper in the neck with my rod for being such a cock blocker.
“This your first time?” he asks.
I nod, still a little pissed that he didn’t read the room before wading in near us.
“Don’t be mad if you don’t catch shit. It takes a while.”
No sooner did the words leave his mouth than there was a slight tug in my line.
“Holy shit!” I pull the rod toward my body on instinct, but my gaze zips to Renleigh for help. Her eyes widen, and she steps to my side, grabbing the rod with me and pulling up the line in fast swoops.
“What is it?” I don’t even know what types of fish are in these waters, but something is floundering near the surface as Renleigh and I tug at the line.
“Trout,” she says, a grin plastered on her cheeks so wide her dimples have quotation marks around them.
“Is that good?”
I’m clueless, which amuses Jasper, who laughs and says, “It’s amazing you caught anything your first time. You’re one lucky fucker, Hunter!”
With a final jerk on the line, a tiny fish pops out of the water, swirling through the air as it struggles to break free. Renleigh grabs hold of it within half a second, and without pause, she pulls it free and releases it back into the water.
“Wait! We’re not eating that?”
I’m kind of bummed I didn’t get a photo with it, at least.
Renleigh’s palm flattens on my back, drawing my attention back to her pink lips and blue eyes.
“That was the size of a pet, Hunter. I don’t even know if there would be food left after we skinned it and put it on the fire. But . . . nice work. You can officially say you’ve caught a fish.”
I stand taller and grin like a stupid fool, but damn it . . . I am proud. And I’m going to tell every person I know that I caught a fish, and it was massive.
We spent a solid three-and-a-half hours flinging line over the water and came back to camp with nothing to show for it.
Renleigh did catch another trout, and hers was bigger than mine, but we decided it wasn’t worth the effort to cook a single fish.
Especially when Jasper told us Adler brought up a kettle of his famous chili.
Dinner is nearly ready, in fact, when we get back to camp.
And everyone’s finally arrived. I don’t know many of the guys well, but I recognize everyone.
We buzz through introductions around the campfire, and Renleigh is surprisingly at ease—even more so than the two girlfriends who are clinging to the guys who brought them.
Once dinner is dished out, everyone starts sharing war stories from their time in the minors.
Jake and I are the only true rookies, so the only stories I have to share are from my days at Pacific Coastal.
I have the benefit of having played on national TV a few months ago, and the guys are interested in my tales from our play-off run.
Though even those don’t quite measure up to their stories of late-night travel bus drives through Missouri or Kansas.
“Dude, hope you know we don’t get first class from Sweetwater,” Jasper jokes.
“You fools don’t. They’re picking me up in one of those ride-share jets,” I joke.
Jake pulls one of his shoes off and tosses it at me before jokingly calling me an asshole.
I promptly toss it into the woods, which earns me a less gentle fucking prick.
It does make everyone else laugh their asses off, though, so worth it.
“Dude, you’d better get your tent set up. We’re all done, and it’s hard to hammer shit into the ground when the sun fully sets,” Jasper says, and then offers me a hand up from the boulder I’ve been using for a seat.
“Yeah, probably . . . I’ll just . . .” I turn to face the spot where I left the gear. Jake has made his way back with his shoe and is standing right over it.
“You’re sleeping in that piece of shit?” He points at the bound tent, and chortles.
“Tent’s a tent, right?” Fuck if I know, but I sure hope it is.
Jake snickers and utters, “Good luck with that.”
“Come on. I’ll help,” Renleigh offers.
I unfurl the slick fabric wrapped around a set of folded poles, and a few metal stakes clank together as they fall to the ground.
Fucking Roddy. Man has major league money, and this is the piece of shit tent he sends me out into the woods with.
Renleigh studies the various pieces before us, her hands tucked into the back pocket of her overalls. “Well, let’s get started.”
Her shoes are drying by the fire, and I’d give anything to have a pair of those fuzzy boots she’s wearing right now. My feet have yet to recover from the cold water, and the hems of my jeans are never going to dry.
Renleigh picks up one corner of the tent so I take the opposite side, and between the two of us, we manage to poke poles into the right seams and produce a semi-stable structure. A triangle tent. Perfect for one.
“Please say you have two of these.” She blows up at the flyaway hairs that have slipped from under the brim of her hat.
“I don’t even have this one. It’s Roddy’s,” I confess.
Her gaze sticks to mine for a few long, quiet seconds.
Everyone else has drifted off into their own thing, the couples in their comfortable, double-wide tents, the single guys either crashing out under the stars or chugging more beers with Adler near the log.
And then there’s me and Renleigh, and a situation that seemed way sexier in my head but is starting to look more like I’ll be sleeping in my truck.
“Yeah, so I’ll just . . .”
I thumb over my shoulder, toward my pickup, and Renleigh laughs out, “Yeah, you will.”
She unfurls the sleeping bag next, holding it up to her body and glaring at me as if to say, Duh, you idiot. It’s meant for one.
“Like I said, I’ll just . . .” I tilt my head toward the truck this time.
Renleigh nods.
“Uh, yeah,” she breathes out. She scoots me in that direction with a hand in the air, and I follow orders, opening the king cab door and investigating the back seat for comfort. At least I’ll be warm . . . ish.
Renleigh has already slid the sleeping bag into the tent. The backpack she brought is in the passenger seat, so I snag it and carry it to her as she’s fastening the closure on the tent.
“You probably want this stuff,” I say, holding her bag out and making my best sad puppy face.
“Thanks. I brought sweats for the night. I don’t suppose you did?” She lifts a brow and chuckles. “You really are bad at this.”
I wince and hold my palms out, holding out hope for a last-second invitation to join her inside.
“Well, good night, then. Your truck should be warm enough. And at least you won’t have to worry about the bears.” She starts to snap the opening shut again, but I hook a finger in and catch her gaze.
“You’re joking about bears, right?”
She maintains her serious expression for several long seconds, but her lips finally pucker into a tight smirk.
“Yes, Hunter. I’m kidding about the bears. Not that I would count on you to know what to do with them.” Her eyes roll back as she presses the final snap in place and shuts me out of the tiny tent for one for good.