Once Upon A Half-Time 1(45)

“Are you sure you’re allowed to do this?” Elle asked.

“My contract says nothing about rafting.”

“I think you’re supposed to read between the lines on extreme sports. What if something happens? What if you get hurt and can’t play? You might not get another chance.”

“Come on, Red,” I groaned. “We’re supposed to be having fun. Stop worrying about the team.”

“I always worry about the team. I have to. And so should you.”

“I do, but this is just a little boat ride. I wanted to bring you out here. I needed a break, and what better way to enjoy my day off than by spending it in the company of a beautiful woman?”

“Suave,” she said.

“I’m trying to give you the best date of your life so you can give me the best night of mine.”

“Not so suave.”

“Points for honesty?”

She laughed. “Believe me. I know how badly you want to sleep with me.”

“The plan isn’t to sleep. I’m gonna rock your world.”

“Rock my boat is more like it.”

I grinned. “That’s the spirit!”

I wouldn’t beg her to raft with me, and I wasn’t going to force her, but I needed to do this. Something fun and wild. A couple hours of pulse-pumping, muscle-rending fun that I could use to forget how fucking terrible I was doing at training camp.

I’d rather face some Class III rapids than another red-faced coach, hurdling linebacker, misread route, or blown catch.

Except the outpost felt a little strange. No groups waited for their turn with a guide. No tourists took pictures. No little vendors selling ice cream and t-shirts. No music. No people.

Just one particularly surprised middle-aged woman enjoying her never-ending game of Candy Crush. She lowered the phone as we approached.

“Hi, folks!” She pointed to the stack of over-sized inner-tubes behind her. “Ready for some relaxing river tubing?”

Elle got excited. “You have tubing?”

“Yes, ma’am. A leisurely, four-hour trip down the river, with a shuttle service to pick you up at the end. Even has some complementary ice cream waiting for you on the trip back.”

“Wait.” I pointed to the calendar on her wall, proudly displaying a raft with six people battling their way through rocks and white caps. “Tubing? What about the rapids?”

“Oh, honey.” She laughed, snapping a piece of gum between her teeth. “Haven’t had any rapids for two years now. Whole region’s had a bit of a drought and some odd weather. No rapids now. Just a slow and steady float down the river. Perfect for the elderly or children!”

“Aw, we should have brought Bast,” Elle said.

No. This was all wrong. “Look, there has to be rapids somewhere.”

“Best I can tell you is to travel down to Maryland or up to New York. Weather changes have affected us all. The rapids used to be a big tourist draw here, but now…we tube! I can also rent you bikes if you like. There’s a lot of trails.”

Elle pointed at me. “No bikes. You’ll jump right off a cliff. The tubing sounds great.”

I nearly swore. “I wanted rapids, Elle. This was supposed to be something fun.”

“Tubing sounds fun. You’re not getting a do-over on this one, Mr. Reed. Are you in or out?”

She dropped her bag and peeled off her shirt to reveal a deliciously wicked, vibrantly purple bikini top. The violet material caressed her curves with an almost vulgar modesty. Her dark skin complimented the decorative beading, shimmering across good and perfect in the sunshine.

She took a tube from the clerk. “You coming, Lachlan?”

“Not if I think about baseball.”

“Get in a tube before I drown you.”

I paid for the event—including an extra inner tube to carry an overpriced cooler and her photography supplies as the river had to have some beautiful landscapes to shoot.

The clerk showed us to the cement ramp loading us into the river. Elle squealed as she fell backwards into the tube and paddled off the shore. The most excitement I’d get was nearly toppling out of the tube and into the clear water.

And we were off.

At a breakneck speed of stationary.

But Elle seemed to love it. She relaxed in the tube and sighed, letting the sun warm her already toasted body. She kicked her toes—painted the same coral purple as her bikini.

Was she really content to let the river carry her in this fucking monotony?

“How long is this trip?” I asked.

“She said four hours.”

“And how long have we been in the water?”

Elle peeked open her eyes. She pointed behind me, to the little bend in the river that was only now hiding the trading post.