Playing for Hearts (95 page)

He returned to her and with quick efficiency handed her a pole, ready to go in the water. “Let's go to the front, that way our line doesn't come back under the boat.”

She followed him and stood at the railing. He laughed at the way she wrinkled her nose at the expired chum on the hook. He'd fished with her before and knew she was game for everything but hooking her own line.

“Think you can cast without hooking yourself?” He looked at her while he threw out his line.

She flipped the tab on the reel, pinched the line with her finger, and proceeded to cast her pole exactly the way he'd taught her years ago. “I only did that once, and we were in a raft. It was hard to stay out of the water, much less keep my balance while casting.”

“We've had good times together.” He planted his forearms against the railing and leaned over.

Too many hours spent together, relying on each other for support and spilling their guts. She knew everything about him, good and bad. They'd gotten drunk together, they'd been each other's date at friends' weddings, and he even went to her parents' house every few years at Christmas, so she'd have an excuse to get out of there, and vice versa with his parents. His stomach cramped. To think he'd almost blown their friendship because he kissed her made him sick.

What other kind of woman would go out, on the spur of the moment, and go fishing with him? Who'd put up with him crashing at her apartment and voluntarily setting him up with her archenemy? He stared out over the water. His friendship was on the line, and he couldn't lose her.

“Sorry about the other night, sweetheart. You were right. The kiss meant nothing,” he said, adjusting his fishing line.

Of course, he was giving her a line of bullshit she needed to hear to keep secure in their relationship. If she couldn't go forward knowing she rocked his world and had him lusting after her every second of the day, he'd lie. He'd lie again and again, if it smoothed things over between them.

Nothing?

Nothing?

Crista dug her fingernails into the cork-cushioned handle of the fishing pole. How could Bruce forget how she'd clung to him while they'd kissed? He'd had his tongue in her mouth. She'd felt the proof of his arousal against her. He'd stolen her breath, her dignity, her independence.

Of course she was going to claim it was nothing, but he wasn't supposed to throw that back at her. She swallowed her hurt. It was
something
. A huge something that changed her entire thinking and left her questioning her sanity.

Her stomach rolled and not in a good way. He'd once confessed to getting a hard-on if the wind changed direction. From his stories, she knew better than to go off the signs of a man who was enjoying himself. She glanced over at him and peeked at the front of his jeans. Knowing him, the skank, he was probably getting ready to hump the breeze whipping over the side of the boat.

Only a complete, pathetic loser would think he'd actually enjoyed their kiss. He was a player, a dog, a male bitch. She clamped her lips together. He deserved Janelle and all her baggage.

The reel on Bruce's fishing pole trilled. She glanced over at the same time his line went taut and the pole arched down toward the water.

“That's right … ” He jerked up on the pole and set to reeling the fish in. “Got him.”

She reeled in her own line and set the pole on the deck. “What do you need, a net?”

“Hook, sweetheart.” He motioned his chin. “Right back there on that rigging. Looks like an enormous fishhook, but really heavy, so don't hurt yourself. Pull hard, but be careful, it's sharp.”

It took both her hands to pull the piece of equipment out of the wheelie-ma-jig. She tugged and dragged the hook with the cable attached over to the railing and hooked it on the side of the boat, close to Bruce. Then she stood back to watch him bring in the fish. She had no idea what they were trying to catch. It certainly wasn't bass. He'd informed her in the car that bass only came from fresh water, not salt water.

It didn't matter because the only reason she'd agreed to go on a fishing trip with him was because that's what she always did. If he asked, she'd do whatever possible to make sure she helped him. The first time they met, at a media gathering, she'd broken the heel of her shoe walking from the banquet room to the bar across the street from the hotel. Bruce, Dominic, Gary, Juan, and Grayson, who were right behind her when her shoe blew out, stopped and tried to fix her heel. Bruce had finally asked her for her other shoe—and chucked both of them down the alley. He'd then squatted in front of her and told her to hop on his back.

Most men would've carried her back to her room in a gallant show of being a gentleman. She smiled as she watched Bruce talk to himself as he fought with the fish on the other end of the line. No, that night, Bruce gave her a piggyback ride into the bar and planted her ass on the stool. One thing led to another, and they all became best friends … Bruce even more than the other guys.

“All right, you son of a bitch.” He rocked back on his heels and groaned through the effort of pulling the fish closer.

She moved toward the railing to peer down into the water. “How big is it? Like the bass you always catch?”

“This is the ocean, sweetheart. This is a halibut.” He strained to keep the tip of the fishing pole out of the water. “Real fucking big.”

She peered over the railing into the water to see if she could see the fish. “Like the fish and chips kind of fish? Those aren't very big.”

“Wait and see.” He strained under the pull.

His biceps bulged. She stepped back to get a proper view and wished she hadn't. His tight ass looked good in those jeans. She pulled her gaze away and took in the broad shoulder and thick neck. It wasn't like she was blind to how good looking he was, but she'd never had the time to see him in a different light. That kiss knocked her loopy.

“I need you,” Bruce said.

Her mind froze, but her stomach fluttered at his words. She almost swallowed her tongue. “N-need me?”

No one went crazy over their best friend, but she stood in shock, mourning what they could have had together, wanting him, and knowing her life would never be the same because she'd had a taste of him. All because he kissed her.

She wasn't willing to let the possibility of loving him go.

“Sweetheart, you have to move if we're bringing in this fish,” he said, snapping her out of realizing she was falling in love with Bruce, or maybe she'd always loved Bruce and needed, no
wanted
more.

“Hurry.” He grunted. “As soon as I put the pole in the holder, flip that lock, and move out of the way.”

“Okay.” She moved into action, doing exactly as he instructed.

Bruce leaned over the side of the boat and a wave rocked him away from the water. She gasped, afraid he'd lose his balance. He situated his legs on the other side of the railing, between the two bottom rungs.

He grabbed the hook from the railing, winked at her with a silly grin, and then pitched head first toward the water. She screamed. Fear paralyzed her. One second he was there, then the next he was gone.

Then his feet, stuck in the railing, moved.

She hurried over to the edge of the boat and peered down. Awe and respect filled her. Instead of him diving over the side into the water, he hung upside down on the side of the boat, hook in hand, and waited for the right moment to catch his fish. Her gaze wandered over the surface of the water. All she saw was the rolling movement of the dark blue sea.

A light grew underneath Bruce in the depth. She shielded her eyes from the setting sun and squealed as the water turned white under the surface and the fish took shape. He was right. The fish must be as big as her sports car.

“Right there.” She pointed, jumping up and down. “Holy shit … look at the size of it.”

Bruce curled his body, flung the hook, and rolled up until he grasped the railing. She grabbed his shirt, pulling him over into the boat. He instantly moved to hit a button she hadn't noticed on the wall of the yacht, and a whirring noise grew louder, reeling in the cable and hook. She turned toward the railing and watched as the fish—no, a freaking whale of a fish—rose above the water.

“Oh my God.” She stood, mesmerized by the size of his catch. She'd never seen a fish the size of the halibut.

Bruce grinned, and his happiness reminded her of all the times she'd witnessed him landing a fish. It didn't matter that this was a different creature than the normal bass that he was known for catching. He was excited and pumped on the catch.

“You're going to have a freezer full of halibut, sweetheart.” He laughed.

She could only stand there, shaking her head. No one, especially one person, would be able to eat all the meat. Bruce, in all his he-man, hunt-like-the-savages glory, had taken care of her with a lifetime of fish meat. She melted. He'd always looked out for her, and she'd been too busy to see how much she depended on him.

She swallowed hard. Most times, they teased, competed, and, yes, argued. Half the time she had no understanding how his brain worked, but before now, it hadn't mattered if he had thoughts that she couldn't figure out. She was okay if they had different views and challenged each other to outdo the other when it came to buying gifts for each other. The fact that he bought her something on every trip meant the world to her. He thought of her when they were apart. That had to mean something.

She couldn't imagine a future without him. He wasn't only her best friend, he was everything to her. She wouldn't be happy without him in her life. He wasn't a
want
, but a
need
. She needed him every day to be truly happy because they were more than friends; they were a part of each other's lives.

She sat in the nearest seat and watched Bruce work. Every few minutes, he glanced up at her and smiled, and she melted a little more. She had to tell him what she was thinking, how she was feeling, and get his opinion on whether or not she was absolutely bat-shit crazy to even think that what they'd developed over the years was in fact … love. It was insane, but he was her go-to-guy for all advice, even about whether what she was feeling right at this moment was love.

But she'd have to wait.

She blew out her breath and returned his smile. Fishing came first because she knew him that well. Tonight, she'd spill her guts. Then she'd kiss him. And hopefully he wouldn't say it was nothing.

Despite how fast Bruce cut up the halibut, filled her freezer, and delivered a box full of fish to the Fredricksons, an older couple who lived on the first floor of the apartments who Crista knew were on limited income, it was still ten o'clock by the time they called it a night. She plopped down on the chair in the main room, while Bruce collapsed on the couch and yawned. She'd helped, but he'd done the majority of the work because she had no clue what she was doing.

“I bet you're starving,” she said.

He rubbed his face and then looked at her. “Nah. Eating the sandwiches on the trip back filled me up. You?”

She shook her head. “I'm good.”

She was stalling. The longer she thought about how wonderful and exciting it would be to intimately know Bruce, the more she wanted him. Okay, her neediness was scaring her to death.

Everything about relationships came easy for him because he was a guy. He'd never understand that she was only now seeing him as an available man for the first time. She wanted to share that with him one second and keep the knowledge of her feelings to herself the next second.

God, she was a mess. No wonder he wanted women like Janelle. He went for the girls who had no self-doubt and never hesitated over what they wanted. She couldn't even talk about her feelings. She lacked social skills. If her friends Shauna, Dana, Diana, and Angie were here, they'd know what she should do.

But confiding in them meant Bruce and their whole circle of friends would find out. Then they'd want to get involved. That was the last thing she needed. For her to honestly believe in what Bruce was telling her—if she managed to talk with him—he couldn't have any outside forces pressuring him one way or another.

What she had to do was blurt everything out, and then the awkward subject would no longer be something between them. She glanced at Bruce. He lay there with his arm on his forehead. It was perfect timing. The hour was late, and he'd be unable to make an excuse to go out. Besides, they always did a lot of talking as they both fell asleep.

She had to think of admitting her love for him like a race. For years they'd jogged side by side, no destination in mind, but today she saw a path and if they ran really fast, it'd lead them to a cliff, and if they held hands, they'd fly. She grimaced. With her luck, it was a cliff in the desert and she just got them both killed. She paced the small room. No, she'd visualize a lake, a clear blue lake at the bottom of the cliff.

I can do this.

She sat back down. “Bruce, I need to talk to you and it's pretty wild. Don't interrupt me because this is hard enough as it is, so I'm just going to blurt it all out.”

“Okay … ” She moistened her lips and swallowed one more time for courage. “Something crazy weird happened when you kissed me—no, I think I was a little freaked out even before you kissed me or I kissed you, I'm not sure who made the first move. You grabbed me, but I was naked, so maybe it was a tie. Anyway, that's beside the point. I think my head got messed up when you started flirting with Janelle or when you asked me to help set you up with her.”

Bruce remained lying down, his eyes covered. She inhaled deeply. This was good. He was letting her talk.

“To tell you the truth, I'm starting to think what I'm feeling inside for you was always there. Even clear back when you threw my heels away and hung out with me at the bar, even though I was the only girl in the establishment with bare feet and way underdressed.”