down to that tender part on your neck. Allowing my teeth to scrape it. Then I'd undress you."
“What else?”
"Kiss your perky breasts and tease your nipples until you squirm and your panties soak for me.”
"God," I moan. "I didn't know you could be so dirty."
His chuckle is throaty and tingles roll up my spine. "There's a lot you're going to learn about me. We are just getting started."
15
JORDAN
The last two days just drag by. I can't tell if it's because the seminars are so dull or if it's being away from home and away from her. It's like now that things are right between us. I want to be with her all the time. It's so fucking liberating. I don't know how I survived for so many years, not being able to kiss her. And I swear, I don't ever plan on going back to the way it used to be. The seminars themselves weren't really that long. Most of it was PowerPoint presentations about academic policy, academic integrity, and a bunch of other bullshit. The drive back wasn't bad, but by the time I got home last night, I crashed in the bed like I’d just come from an eight hour day trip. Summer session starts in four days and I'm really looking forward to getting started.
This morning, I'm meeting my father at the lake for fishing. This has been our monthly tradition for as long as I can remember. It was something my mother even enjoyed.
Turning off of the main road and onto a dirt path, my car vibrates along the stretch leading straight to that lake. My father is standing next to his car pulling out a large tackle box and three fishing poles.
By the time I park next to him, he’s walking to the lake's edge.
“About time you showed up,” he says over his shoulder.
“You're the only person I know who tries to beat the sun up before fishing.”
“It's better to get them early. Now get over here and help me bait these lines.”
I laugh, shaking my head as I open my trunk and pull out a fishing pole, a bucket, and a small cooler. My father grunts as he pushes the pole stands into the ground near the edge of the lake, readying them to hold the lines.
“You bring beer?” he asks
“I did.”
“Good boy,” he says.
It's funny. I don't make it a point to drink this early in the day usually. But I think fishing and beer go hand in hand. It's the only exception to the rule and the one time my father actually will have a beer with me. I wouldn't say he's uptight, but he's kind of old school. Respect and all that. Granted, he's not someone I would consider to be a good drinking partner anyways.
After a little while, we fall into our natural rhythm, baiting poles, casting lines, and sitting under a shade tree as we wait for a bite.
“So, did you ever talk to Xia?”
“Yeah, I did.” I say. “Thanks for the advice, by the way. It went well.”
“Good,” he says.
Trees crinkle and the leaves sway as the wind blows over the lake. My eyes move to the fishing lines, where one seems to be bobbing. I can't tell if it's the wind blowing in the water or there's an actual bite. My father pops a can of beer and tilts it up but stops before it reaches his lips.
“It seems to do you right to get it before it gets away,” he says, rising to his feet and nodding toward the water. I jump up and move over to my pole which is placed on a stand in the ground right next to his three. I never knew why he uses so many but he claims a real man has more than one pole.
As much as I enjoy coming out here with my father, the worst part is how quiet he is now that Mom’s gone. My parents would always bicker because even though she loved the fish and totally understood it, she always brought a small boombox and played music as we sat and watched our poles and it drove my father crazy. He felt it scared away the fish, which a lot of people would’ve agreed with, but it made her happy and that made me happy. But now it's just us. No music. No Mom, only fish. By the time I make it to my pole; the line goes still as if I lost the