by Jewel E. Ann
“You don’t need to worry about me.”
“I know. I’m not. I’m sure Fisher is keeping a close eye on you whether you like it or not.”
“Yes, he’s … all over me.” I bit my lips together to hide my grin.
“I knew it. I had a feeling he’d be a big brother to you.”
That comparison nauseated me a bit.
“Anyhoo, I’ll let you go. Let’s talk again this weekend when we have more time. Maybe video chat so I can see your beautiful face.”
“Sounds good.”
“Bye, sweetie.”
“Bye.” I slid my phone onto the counter and stared at the staircase leading to him.
I wasn’t sure if my mom’s call was bad timing on her part or good timing on God’s part. And what happened next? Was I supposed to go upstairs to continue what we started? Ending where? In his bed, sans my virginity?
Why did he have to be twenty-eight and my mom’s friend/landlord? Why did he have to be twenty-eight with way more life and sexual experience than me?
I grabbed a pre-made salad from the fridge and ate it with a handful of wheat crackers. Then I changed into jogging shorts, tennis shoes, and a tank top. I assumed Fisher was eating dinner or taking a shower, but as I trekked around to the front of the house, I was proven wrong.
Shorts. No shirt (of course). Bare feet.
He used a hose and spray nozzle to water some plants and flowers by his front door. Shirtless Fisher was not a good idea for me. My body still hadn’t recovered from his hands on my legs, his thumbs dangerously close to the top of my inner thighs.
“Going for a jog?” he asked.
“Walk.” I didn’t stop. Stopping was a bad idea.
“Want company?”
Bad idea.
“Okay.” I turned with a little too much bounce to my step, too much enthusiasm in my voice, and way too big of a grin on my face.
Rory was coming home in one week. And I didn’t know what that would mean for Fisher and me. I wasn’t in his head. I could guess that Rory wouldn’t like the idea of me having a physical relationship with a man ten years older than me. And if I was being honest with myself, I wasn’t sure how I felt about it either.
Him … I knew how I felt about him, but I couldn’t turn off all common sense, ignore the logistics of our situation. What I wanted and what made sense were not the same things.
“Let me put on some shoes.” He shut off the hose and disappeared into the house via the front door.
When he returned with only shoes, still no shirt, I had a mild panic attack. When he grabbed my hand and grinned, it escalated to a moderate panic attack.
“So Rory’s coming home in a week,” he said as we strolled down the street, my fingers laced with his.
Every new touch brought a new sensation. Holding hands wasn’t kissing, yet it felt equally as intimate. I’d held his hand before, during the storm prayer, but this was different. That was an awkward clasp; this was more.
“Were you eavesdropping?”
He chuckled. “No. She called me after she called you.”
“Oh. Well … what did you say?”
“I said you’d be excited to see her.” He glanced down at me for a second.
“No.” I kept my gaze in front of us. “What did you say about us?”
“I told her you have a fantastic mouth and a silky tongue that tastes like heaven, legs that bring me to my knees, and a truckload of attitude.”
“Oh my gosh …” I stopped and turned toward him, yanking my hand away from his.
He narrowed his eyes. “What? I didn’t tell her about the bathtub incident or that you stole beer from me.”
“Fisher!”
His brow relaxed as that stupid smirk appeared. “Stop being so gullible.”
“Ugh! Jerk!” I hammered my fists into his chest.
He grabbed my wrists and held me to him, held my hands to his chest. “I’m not saying a word to her.”
I stared at his chest as my fists relaxed, as my palms pressed to his firm muscles and tan skin. Another new and intimate feeling. “I … I don’t think …” My gaze inched its way up to meet his. “I don’t want her to know about …”
Rolling his lips together, he nodded several times. “Yeah. I don’t either. She wouldn’t be very happy with me.”
Grunting a laugh, I glanced to the side, “Then what’s the point of this?”
“I don’t know.” His honesty bled through his words. It was a brief moment when I didn’t feel that Fisher was a decade older, a decade more mature, a decade more experienced.
Maybe connecting with someone didn’t have boundaries or timelines. I liked the idea of him feeling as drawn to me as I felt to him. It made me feel like we were equals in this, whatever this was.
“So we just …” I wasn’t sure if the thoughts in my mind reflected my true emotions or if I needed to say them to ease his burden. “We just stop when she gets home. Like it never happened.”
Twisting his lips, he studied me for a few moments before returning a single slow nod. “Like it never happened.”
Chapter Thirteen
Our “It Never Happened” agreement put a damper on the rest of the evening. We walked. He kissed me goodnight, but it wasn’t like the kiss in the kitchen. And that was it.
Friday morning I got a text from Fisher as I was buttering a piece of toast, freshly showered with wet hair, but dressed sans shoes and socks.
Fisher: I’m leaving early for a meeting. You can work in the office if Hailey has stuff for you or you can have the day off.
Immediate let down.
I dropped the butter knife and sprinted to the front of the house without any shoes on just as Fisher started his truck. “Stop!” I smacked my hand on his window.
He jerked his head to the side and started to roll down his window, but I opened his door instead.
“Didn’t you get my text?” He squinted.
“Yeah, but didn’t you get the memo that Rory’s coming home soon?” I stepped up, forcing him to wrap his arm around my waist to keep me from falling out of the truck as I planted my face an inch from his.
He grinned. “Your hair is still wet.”
“So?” I whispered, my gaze sliding along his face from his eyes to his full lips so close to mine. “Are you going to kiss me?”
Wetting those full lips, he lifted his right shoulder into a half shrug. “I was thinking about it.”
My foolish grin showed all my teeth. “Don’t think.”
Fisher lifted his other hand and cupped my face, ghosting his thumb along my cheek. “I never do when I’m with you.”
A soft breeze blew my wet hair into my face and his, but it didn’t stop him from kissing me.
“Now, if you don’t get out of my truck,” he said releasing my lips, “I’m going to want more.”
I giggled, kissing along his cheek as his hand moved from my waist to my butt.
“Like that book If You Give a Mouse a Cookie, have you read it?”
I nodded, relishing the feel of his scruffy face against my lips. “Fisher,” I whispered at his ear, feeling brave enough to tease his earlobe like he had teased mine with his teeth, “are you saying you want my cookie?”
He laughed, threading fingers through my wet hair and bringing my lips back to his. “Your cookie.”
Kiss.
“Your muffins.”
Kiss.
I giggled against his mouth.
“I’m going to want the whole fucking bakery.”
Kiss.
I wanted his crude and dirty mouth. The kisses … I wanted all of his kisses. His laughter. And the way he looked at me like I was the bane of his existence in the most beautiful way.
“Well…” I stepped down, rubbing my lips together to relish the taste of toothpaste, coffee, and the naked fisherman “…you have work. And the bakery is closed.”
“Killjoy.” He adjusted himself. Again, it made my grin double. “Are you going to work?
”
Twisting my lips, I slipped my hands into my pockets. “I figured I would. I haven’t called Hailey yet.”
“Take the day off.”
I frowned. “And do what?”
“Take a bath in my tub.”
I giggled. “I just showered.”
“Roll around in my bed naked.”
Another giggle.
Our banter felt a little wrong—the way we felt a little wrong. And that wrong felt perfectly right in that moment. I knew the upside down version of my world wouldn’t last long, so I didn’t try to fix it. I just let it be whatever it was meant to be.
A little wrong. A little right.
Just … us.
“Bye.” I took one step back, then another.
Fisher shook his head, but his smile made the bigger statement as he shut his door and put his truck into drive. I pressed my fingers to my lips and kissed them, blowing it to him. He winked and drove out of the driveway.
“Oh, naked fisherman … this is going to hurt.” I crossed my hands over my chest to comfort my heart. Who was I kidding? I knew I was already too invested in him. And even if I also knew I would have to let us end when Rory returned, it still hurt. Even if Fisher didn’t share the same emotions, I knew he would always be my first love—that really good kind of love where my brain had no say. The kind with no logical explanation. The kind that took a special place in my heart as first.
God willing, I would go on to love another. Have a family. And die in the arms of my husband. But … first would always be Fisher Mann.
Hailey wasn’t feeling well, so I went to work. I delivered lunch to the roofers.
“Thanks. You must be Reese.” A guy with black hair and a major suntan smiled at me; it made his teeth stark white.
“Yes.” I handed him the sacks of food and slipped my hands into the back pockets of my jeans.
He inspected the sacks and smiled a little. I ignored his smirk, his unspoken observation. “I’m Jeremiah. Hailey was telling me about you.” He peeled his eyes from the big sacks filled with little sacks.
Jeremiah was hot. That wasn’t really up for debate. I could see why Hailey thought I’d like him.
“Funny, she might have mentioned you to me as well.” I tried to control my grin.
“I missed her party. I heard you were there … alone.”
“Yeah, I was.”
He glanced over my shoulder. “I’d better get to eating my lunch. Bossman’s here.”
I twisted my body and squinted at the white truck and Bossman climbing out. Aviators on. He sipped something red from the straw of a big plastic cup from a convenience store.
“Boss,” Jeremiah said.
“Jeremiah,” Fisher said in a fairly neutral tone.
“Can I get your number from Hailey later?” Jeremiah asked me as if Fisher wasn’t hearing every word. “We could hangout this weekend if you don’t have plans. My parents have a place near Breckenridge.”
Fisher stepped right next to me. My attention shifted between the two men. I anticipated Fisher saying something, but he didn’t. Instead, he sipped his drink like a ten-year-old who just got his favorite beverage and couldn’t stop nursing it.
“I … uh … have plans already. But thanks.” I pressed my lips together so Fisher didn’t think I was flirting with Jeremiah.
“Maybe another time?”
I didn’t know how to reply, so I nodded just before Jeremiah took off with the bags of food for the crew.
“What are your plans?” Fisher asked, taking a two second break from his straw.
“What are you doing here?”
“Working.” He shrugged, taking a longer break from his drink. “What are you doing here?”
“Delivering lunch.”
“Did you bring me lunch?”
I shook my head. “I can get you lunch. What do you want?”
“You.”
On a nervous laugh, I glanced around to see if anyone heard him. “I don’t think I know what that means.”
“I think you do.” He brushed past me to the crew sitting along the side of the house in the shade, eating their lunch.
I didn’t move, mostly because I wasn’t sure if he wanted me to head back to the office or get him lunch … me … which … yeah, I had an idea of what that might have entailed. But it wasn’t on the menu. However, just thinking about it, made me feel an unfamiliar need, a foreign feeling between my legs, and the recently new wet feeling that wasn’t a bladder issue.
It had to be better than men getting untimely erections. After all, I could hide it. Still, I felt like everyone who looked at me somehow knew.
As Fisher chatted with his crew, inspected their lunches while shaking his head, I thought long and hard about the definition of sex and temptation. I tried to make a case for sex being only intercourse. That left a lot of options.
“Let’s go.” Fisher strutted toward me, sipping his red drink.
“What is that?” My nose scrunched.
“Fruit punch and iced tea.” He held it out for me.
I eyed the guys eating their lunches, making sure they weren’t watching us before I took a sip.
“Don’t do that.” Fisher grimaced, taking his drink and crossing the street toward his truck.
“Do what?” I followed him since I was parked behind him.
“Lick your lips like that.”
I chuckled. “I didn’t lick them like anything. Why?”
“Because I’ve been dealing with a fucking hard-on since you climbed into my truck this morning.”
Fisher … so uncensored.
He had no idea—or maybe he did—how much it thrilled me to know that I could slowly unravel him in that way. It made me feel powerful, yet incredibly weak at the same time because I had no clue what to do with my accidental sorcery.
“Do you need a formal apology?”
Fisher opened the door to his truck then rubbed the pads of his fingers over his mouth like he was trying to wipe off his smile before I saw it.
“Say it.” Everything I didn’t want to hear or see three weeks earlier had become my obsession, my new education, my real-world path to enlightenment. Fisher thought something, but he didn’t want to say it. He didn’t think I could handle it.
“Nothing.”
I took the four long strides to get from my driver’s door to his. With my hands on my hips, feeling way more confident than I should have been, I tipped my chin up. “Say. It.”
“It’s not for your ears.” He eyed me, pushing back with as much confidence—probably more.
“That’s code for it’s inappropriate. Since when has that stopped you before?”
On a small, controlled chuckle, he shook his head and focused on something over my shoulder, avoiding eye contact with me. “You offered an apology. I was going to say apologies were just lip service. Then I thought …” He dragged his teeth over his lower lip and met my gaze.
“You thought?”
“I thought lip service wouldn’t be the worst thing for my problem.”
It took me a few seconds … then I got it. My eyes widened, brows sliding up my forehead.
Fisher was a little extra that day.
If someone wouldn’t have coined the term oral sex, oral sex, I would have been able to make a better case for it. Why couldn’t it have just been oral or something else like … tonguing? I needed a line, a line I wouldn’t cross. And I was okay with moving the line a smidge if I could rationalize something. I couldn’t go there … not yet.
Oh the hypocrisy …
“Nothing that ends in the word sex. I just can’t.”
His eyebrows jumped, one slightly higher than the other. Fisher’s expressions were so sexy. How did I expect to not perform any act ending in the word “sex” when the man before me was the definition of sex?
“So … everything else is on the table?”
What was I missing? I knew it would come back to bite me in the backside. Still, I nodded while
chewing on the corner of my bottom lip and wringing my hands together.
“Meet you at home.” He turned and climbed into his truck.
“Wait … you’re done for the day? It’s only one?”
“I am now.” He shut his door and started his truck.
Chapter Fourteen
Regret multiplied the closer I got to home.
Home …
Was that my home? Was my grandparents’ house my home? Did I truly have a home? I wasn’t sure I’d ever felt so emotionally and physically displaced in my life. Saying I was at a crossroad was an understatement. “Finding myself” was not right either.
Fisher was getting his mail as I slowed to a stop. How could he so casually get his mail and thumb through it? I barely made it home without wrecking Rory’s car because my hands were shaking so much. I climbed out and heaved my bag onto my shoulder, taking cautious steps toward the house.
Fisher kept his head bowed at his mail. “I can hear your teeth chattering. Are you cold?”
I clenched my jaw to stop the chattering. “No.”
“Having second thoughts about your offer?”
That felt like a direct challenge to my age, my maturity, and my sexual experience. Did he want me to back out? Was this another lesson?
“No.” I infused as much confidence as I could muster, which was very little.
“You know …” He continued into his garage, and I followed, leaving a good ten feet between us. “When you’ve had sex, things aren’t so awkward and scary. I’m not implying you should abandon your morals.” He held open the door for me, and I removed my boots and set my bag next to them. “I’m just saying it becomes a little more thrilling and less scary. You know what to expect. You know the end game and why you should want to experience it.”
“I take it…” I padded my feet into his kitchen and slowly walked around the island, dragging my fingertips along the countertop “…you’ve had a lot of sex?”
He tossed one piece of mail onto the counter and discarded the rest in the pullout recycling bin. “I’m twenty-eight and single. Yes. I’ve had a lot of sex.”
