Off Limits

by Jules Barnard

  My last two customers—middle-aged mother types—have managed to break even for a half-hour. The longest stretch so far.

  Dealer shows a ten. Not looking good, ladies.

  The woman with frosted blond bangs scrunches her nose. She whispers to her pal, her fake pink nails shining in the overhead lights as she cups her mouth. With a nod from her friend, she swipes the table, indicating a hit.

  I deal her an eight of hearts and her lips press together in a subdued smile, but her eyes dart warily to my ten.

  Her friend hits as well, then holds.

  I flip my hidden card. Ace.

  House takes all.

  Again.

  I’m even winning when it comes to getting Gen hooked up, so what the hell is wrong with me? What is it about Jaeger that has me on edge?

  My tight ponytail is giving me a headache. Holding my hands over the table, I clap them together, and show my palms to the ceiling—and the creepy people watching from the surveillance system—before tugging the strands loose near my temple.

  The pressure on my scalp eases, but the sledgehammer inside my head persists. Flashing my hands again, I show I haven’t pulled any cards from behind my ears and deal another hand.

  A new customer sits at my table while I’m looking down, and the fine hairs on the back of my neck tingle.

  Jaeger is seated in front of me, his shoulders practically taking up two seat widths.

  My heart ricochets inside my chest like a pinball. I can’t control the smile that tugs at the corners of my mouth.

  Stop smiling! I compress my lips in a straight line.

  Jaeger doesn’t say anything at first, but when it’s his turn to hit, he swipes his hand and says, “What are you doing after work tonight?”

  The first thing that comes to mind is that he’s hitting on me. Well, he’s hitting—for me to deal him a card—just not hitting on me. I need to stop thinking about him like a guy I might be interested in. I’m not interested in any guys. I have Eric.

  I pass him his card. “Not much. Why, what’s up?”

  Peering at the cards on the table, he says, “You and Gen feel like joining me and Mason for a Tahoe sunrise tradition?”

  Sounds promising.

  Jaeger, or it could be Mason, probably wants to see Gen tonight, and Jaeger’s checking in with me because she and I are a package deal.

  I’m thinking champagne on the beach… He has skills, if this is how he’s going to play it.

  “I’m game. What did Gen say?” I flip my hidden card and add a six to my seven. I deal myself another card.

  A king? Dealer busts.

  And just like that, my winning streak breaks.

  The frosted sisters lost as well, and have already abandoned the table. Jaeger’s eighteen is the winning hand.

  “She says she’ll go if you do.” He scrapes up his winnings.

  See, I tell myself, he’s just checking in with me. He asked Gen out first.

  But I search his expression anyway, only he’s not looking at me. All I see are the tips of his lashes, a full bottom lip, and a square jaw line framed by broad shoulders. I can’t tell if he’s making sure I’m going so Gen feels comfortable, or if he wants me there. Which is stupid. It doesn’t matter whether he wants me there or not. Gen’s the available one.

  Why the hell am I thinking about this at all? “We get off at three. What time do you want to meet?”

  Jaeger shoves his chips into his pocket—and I’m staring at the corded muscles along his forearms again.

  Dammit! Can’t the guy wear something other than flesh-baring T-shirts? What is this, a strip club?

  “I’ll pick you up at the front entrance at three thirty.”

  I force my gaze up.

  “Wear something comfortable.” His eyes dip, only for a moment—a glance that takes in my polyester uniform as if it were revealing.

  My uniform is the same one every dealer wears—unisexed—and it’s not attractive. But that glance was proprietary. And hot. Shit.

  Jaeger merges with the crowd, and my pit boss hands me a new stack of cards. I force myself to focus on my kickass riffle shuffle, and not the beautiful man striding away from my table.

  Chapter Four

  “Fishing? You’re taking us fishing?”

  In the time it took us to grab food before the “sunrise tradition,” the sky turned from black to dark blue, shedding light on the back of Jaeger’s truck. Four fishing poles glint like spears from his truck bed.

  I scratch my head, trying to figure out what the hell these guys are thinking. This is not my idea of a good time. Was this Mason’s idea, or Jaeger’s? I’m adjusting my assessment of their seduction skills by the second.

  It’s getting close to five in the morning and we’re on a beach north of Stateline that I’ve never been to. Small rowboats are moored at a narrow dock.

  Hello? Anyone ever hear of boats with engines? What are we, in the sixteenth century?

  My mood is pissy, but I’m freaking tired. And it’s cold out here.

  Jaeger lifts a box I assume contains tackle and grabs the fishing poles. I’ve seen people fish. I understand the requisite accoutrements. I just never thought I’d be using them in this lifetime. There’s a time and place to acquire fish—laid out on ice in the meat section of the grocery store is my preference.

  “Scared?” Mason raises a brow, his dimple in effect. He’s goading me?

  I cross my arms. “How hard can it be?”

  Jaeger is wholly focused on putting together the fishing gear. He’s not saying anything, but I think he’s aware I’m not excited about this. Could be the extreme animosity I’m giving off.

  Jaeger was vague when he invited me, and the two of them have kept the details of our adventure a secret until now. Very cunning of them.

  They walk to the water’s edge and untie the twin drowning contraptions from the dock, then drag the boats to shore. I glance at Gen, who’s watching intently. She shrugs and heads for the boats.

  Great. How am I going to find her a good guy if she doesn’t have the natural instincts to know when she’s being properly wooed? The Last Stop for a quick bite and a fishing trip are not what I consider wining and dining.

  “Have you done this before?” Gen asks after I reluctantly join her, her face alight with excitement.

  Am I the only one who doesn’t find the idea of fishing at five in the morning the least bit entertaining? “No. You?”

  She peers out longingly at the water. “I used to go with my grandfather when I was a kid, but I haven’t been in a long time. This is going to be fun.” She wraps her arm around my shoulders and squeezes the blood from my limbs.

  Oh God. My headache is returning. I glance at the truck. Is it too late to back out? There’s something about luring innocent fish and then manhandling their slimy bodies until they die that makes me want to hide beneath a rock.

  Mason turns around. “Gen, you and I are together. Hop in from here. It’s easier than from the dock.”

  Wait, what? I’m going with Jaeger? Alone?

  “Shouldn’t Gen and I go together?” I say. “She’s fished before. She can help me out.”

  Mason shakes his head. “She told me a couple of days ago that she doesn’t have a fishing license.”

  Gen nods in agreement.

  Wait, is this the reason we’re out here at five in the morning? Gen and Mason talked about fishing and now Mason’s taking her? Not exactly my idea of romantic, but if he was listening to something she wanted to do, I can’t argue.

  “Technically, neither of you should fish without a license,” Mason adds. “But we can probably get away with it if we split up. These boats are too small to accommodate both me and Jaeger, anyway, and I don’t want to leave you girls alone.”

  I could admire Mason’s protective nature if I wasn’t so panicked about being marooned with Jaeger. My stomach is so taut it’s threatening to eject the large meal I just ate.

  Eric would do this—b
e a friend’s wingman and hang with a girl’s best friend so his buddy could get to know someone. That’s all this is. That’s all Jaeger’s doing too. He doesn’t care if he’s alone with me. Why should I care?

  Releasing the involuntary clamp I have on my airways, I breathe deeply and approach Jaeger’s boat. The fishing poles are loaded inside, along with a tackle box and a small cooler.

  Jaeger reaches out and I take his hand. It’s padded with muscle, warm and firm, and it engulfs mine. A shock of heat rushes through my chest, previous dreams of that hand on my body dive-bombing any hope of rational thought. I stagger into the boat, my butt landing with a jarring thud.

  Jaeger steps inside and passes me a paddle. I brace myself against the side of the boat, digging my fingers into the metal. Fantasies aren’t cheating. Still, this has got to stop.

  “Head for the outcrop.” Jaeger points to the dark rock wall a quarter of a mile away.

  I dip my oar in the water and we attempt a rhythm as we paddle out on to the lake. I’d like to say it’s a smooth ride, but I’m chopping and splashing, maneuvering my paddle like a hacksaw. My coordination leaves something to be desired.

  “Why over there?” I ask as we near the place he pointed to. “Shouldn’t we go deeper?”

  “This is deep, and the fish like coves. It’s also closer to shore—less labor on our part.” He sets his oar down, his gaze intent on my face. For a moment, he doesn’t move, he simply stares, his jaw working as if he’s trying to decide whether or not to say something.

  Gen and Mason are closer to shore than we are. Hushed conversation floats over from their direction, but nothing I can decipher. Jaeger and I might as well be alone. I glance away and focus on the obsidian water.

  Jaeger’s warm leg brushes my calf as he reaches for a pole. “You’ve never done this before?”

  For a moment, I wonder what he’s talking about. The heat from his leg and the proximity of his body has me thinking of make-out sessions and cheating on boyfriends. Multiple yeses to the former, no to the latter.

  Then I remember we’re supposed to be fishing. “No.”

  “I’ll bait your hook.”

  “Excuse me?” Why does everything he says sound like a pickup line?

  He raises an eyebrow and pulls a wiggling worm from a Styrofoam container. He spears the worm on the end of a hook the size of my pinky.

  I throw up a little in my mouth. Why am I here again?

  Gen and Mason’s boat has drifted farther away and I can’t hear anything from them now.

  “Here.” Jaeger holds out the fishing rod with the worm still wiggling on the end. “Press the button on the reel and drop the line in to the water.”

  I’m trying to concentrate on his words, but I can’t stop staring at the impaled worm. I gingerly take the reel, holding it so Mr. Worm doesn’t touch me, or get knocked against the side of the boat, adding insult to injury. Lowering the tip of the pole, I let him float on the lake’s surface. Maybe the little guy will get lucky and escape his torture device while Jaeger finishes his instructions.

  “When I tell you to, lock the line in place.”

  Bossy, are we? Who am I kidding; I absolutely need point-by-point instructions.

  I press the button and the line sinks, whistling as it descends. Now the worm is drowning. Fishing cannot be humane.

  Jaeger gives the signal and I press the button to stop the reel. I grip the rod as if it were an ax and stare at the end, no clue what I’m supposed to be waiting for.

  Jaeger pulls another worm from the Styrofoam container and I look away. I know what’s about to happen. I can’t watch this one’s fate at the end of Jaeger’s hook.

  Why does that bring to mind my own destiny?

  At the sound of his line going in the water, I peer over. Jaeger locks his reel and reaches for the small cooler, pulling out a can of Budweiser. He pops the top and passes it to me.

  Cheap beer at five thirty in the morning? I will gladly take said beer and drink it like it is mother’s milk. The carbonation might settle my stomach. At the very least, a light buzz could dim the sexual tension and sense of doom in the air—or make it worse. Jesus, that’s all I need.

  If I’m the only one with dirty thoughts, I can deal, but if Jaeger is attracted to me, too… we have a problem.

  “How will I know when I’ve caught a fish?”

  He shushes me and glances over like I’ve been naughty, which I have—in my mind. “You won’t catch a fish if you scare them away by talking too loud,” he whispers.

  I lower my voice. “Are you going to tell me how this is done, or what?”

  His mouth twitches. Without looking at me, he says, “They nibble.”

  A tingle shoots down my belly and past my thighs. I squeeze my legs together. Again with the dirty fishing talk!

  “It will feel like a vibration, maybe a few quick tugs. Don’t react right away. Let the fish take a nice bite, then jerk your hook. If you feel more movement, you’ve caught something.”

  He pops open a can for himself and we sit in silence, me chugging my beer and waiting to be nibbled, him as still as a stone two feet away.

  After a few minutes, I hold out my hand for another beer and my line vibrates. I don’t react right away, but my rod has all my attention. Taking the second beer he hands me, I wait, sipping carefully and white-knuckling my pole.

  Another small jerk and rattle occurs.

  With his gaze on his own line, Jaeger doesn’t seem to notice.

  The next tug from the mysterious creature below the surface has my rod slipping a fraction from my fingers. I lurch the pole up and wind the reel a couple of times to take up the slack. The end jerks like crazy. I’ve caught something for sure.

  Spinning the reel with quick, uncontrolled strokes, I fight to bring in the wild animal at the end of my line, my adrenaline kicking up a notch. I’m getting this fishing business now. Woman versus beast!

  What exactly is down there? Are there freshwater sharks? Because I think I caught one. This fish is a wily bugger. I’m straining and not making much progress.

  Jaeger scoots closer and our arms brush. I sense when he sets his pole down. “Need help?”

  Before I can answer, the boat dips and my grip loosens on the pole as I correct my balance. Jaeger sinks behind me on the bench I’m straddling, his front to my back.

  “What are you doing?” I ask nervously.

  “Figured you wanted to know how to reel it in.” His deep voice, the light cologne he’s wearing, and the feel of his body against mine have me frozen in place.

  I choke. “I think I know how that’s done.”

  His hands cover mine, and I instantly release the pole, dropping my hands in my lap. He draws in the line with quick, efficient strokes, and the fish breaches the surface of the water.

  It’s the size of a minnow.

  What the hell? I had a dolphin on the end of that line.

  I scoot to Jaeger’s previous position as he makes a grab for Mr. Slimy and gently unhooks my fish’s lip. He tosses the minnow overboard, and the little guy arcs and swims away.

  “Why’d you throw him back?” I worked hard for that fish, and Mr. Worm sacrificed his life.

  “Catch and release. We’re not keeping them, even if you had caught one big enough to eat.” His mouth curves.

  Sounds like a guy’s dating motto. “Hey, now. I don’t see a fish on the end of your hook. I guess it takes a delicate touch.”

  His eyes dart to my fingers curled in my lap and a warm sensation runs down my spine. He looks me in the eye. “Feel free to exhibit your delicate touch anytime you like.”

  It’s official. Jaeger’s brain is in the gutter too.

  Now I’m in trouble.

  He re-baits my hook and hands me the line.

  Time to nip this attraction in the bud. Most hot guys drop about ten notches after I get to know them. I’ll ask Jaeger a few pointed questions. That should douse the ardor.

  “So whatever happene
d to you? I thought you were a star athlete. Skiing, wasn’t it?”

  A beat passes. He stares at the water. “Downhill.”

  I wait for him to continue. He seems relaxed, but still, like I’ve hit on something important.

  “I don’t ski anymore.” He adjusts his feet into a wider stance on the boat’s metal bottom, elbows braced on his knees. “A bad injury took me out of competitive sports.”

  Definitely a sore spot, though he appears calm enough. According to my brother, Jaeger was an amazing athlete. He was on track for the Olympics, from what I recall. That’s a big deal in a small town. It’s also one reason I never thought he noticed me. I was Tyler’s skinny little sister. Jaeger had a serious girlfriend and barely glanced my way when he visited.

  “What do you do now?”

  He takes a swig of the beer he’s been nursing since we rowed out. “I carve wood.”

  An image of the logs with bear heads etched into them and wooden totem poles on the side of Highway 89 flashes through my mind. Wow, this poor guy’s life has seriously declined since high school.

  “What about you?” He looks over, studying my face. “You just graduated. What’s your next step? I’m assuming the casino gig is short-term.”

  God, if it wasn’t, my mom would kill me. She busted her ass at the casinos for twenty-two years to keep us afloat. I have one of those deadbeat dads who calls a couple of times a year and, despite his brilliant brain, can barely hold down a job long enough to cover his expenses, let alone pay child support. Dad’s never had his shit together, which meant my mom had to be the adult and raise Tyler and me. She gave up asking Dad for help long before they separated when I was two.

  “Yeah, short-term.”

  Jaeger continues to stare, and I realize I haven’t exactly answered the question. I clear my throat. “I’ve been accepted into law school.”

  He nods, but the gesture is stiff. “Where?”

  “Harvard.”

  A long pause follows, and I can’t tell if the silence is all me and the worries I have over school, or something else.