by Jewel E. Ann
“What if I don’t die and you fondle me now? Why does it have to be a choice?”
Fisher grinned. “See, that’s why we work. Two great minds.” Pushing off the door, he took three steps, slid his good hand behind my neck, and kissed me.
I giggled into his kiss. The kiss lasted longer than I expected, his casted hand idle at his side and his good hand on my neck. Fisher was killing it at first base. It was everything, but not nearly enough. Not when I knew what it felt like to have Fisher sliding into home plate but falling a few inches short.
My hands rested on his T-shirt clad chest for several seconds before heading south.
“Oh …” He pulled back, a single brow lifted as he glanced down at my fingers making a move on the button to his jeans. “Second base is everything above the waist.”
Above the waist. Was he kidding? That left chest and abs for me. Not that Fisher didn’t have a great chest and abs, but men had nothing forbidden above their waist. Second base was clearly defined by a man.
Or … and this thought was the most disturbing … Fisher Mann was never going to have sex with me.
Not. Ever.
We were destined to be professional flirters who dabbled in foreplay, an occasional dry hump. The players who never reached home plate.
“I don’t trust Rory and Rose. They could show up any minute. Let’s get to work on that shelving unit and showing me how to use that jiggy thing.” I brushed past him and around the corner to the garage door.
“Whoa … whoa … whoa …” He followed me. “Are you mad? Did you think that back there was me rejecting you?”
My feet made fast work taking me down the stairs. I so badly wanted to turn around, ball my hands, and tell him how I’d secretly felt rejected by him for more than five years! But that day, I saw Angie in a wedding gown that she picked out to marry the boy she fell in love with before she could ever imagine her life as a biologist, her life as a woman, her life as an orphan. My problems seemed petty at best. I needed to settle into the fact that Fisher would not be all mine for a while, maybe ever. That meant I had to decide what my heart could handle. Did it have the strength and patience to go the distance for the slim chance that it would be me? That I would be the person he loved with or without the memories of us or of Angie.
“I’m only going to feel rejected if you don’t show me jiggy action.”
“I’m not buying it. Here. I was stupid. I wanted to wait until my cast came off before I suggested more, but I’m clearly the world’s biggest idiot.”
When I turned to assure him he wasn’t the world’s biggest idiot because I had already taken that title years earlier, I stumbled on my words and nothing came out.
He stood at the bottom of the stairs with his shirt off and his jeans pushed down to his ankles over his work boots. Just black briefs and a killer grin. “Forgive me?”
After my eyes got their fill, after my tongue made a half dozen swipes along my lower lip, I nodded. “Put your clothes on.”
“Are you sure?” He waddled toward me, taking tiny steps restricted by his jeans at his ankles. Fisher was the sexiest duck I had ever seen.
“Stop.” I giggled. “Just … put your clothes on.”
“Now I feel rejected.”
“Then we’re even.” I laughed.
“I knew it!” He pointed a finger at my face. “So you did feel rejected.”
My smile faded and I curled my hair behind my ears. “No.” I shook my head slowly before hunching in front of him and pulling his jeans up his legs.
Fisher’s breaths kicked up a notch, maybe in anticipation of what I was doing, maybe from my proximity to his erection pressed against the black cotton.
I watched my hands, as did he, while I buttoned and zipped his jeans. “Today I saw Angie in her wedding gown. Spoiler alert: she looked stunning. And emotional. She looked like the girl who had dreamed of one boy and only one boy her whole life.” My fingers traced the scars along his abs and chest; they tightened even more under my touch.
“I’m not saying that you should marry her. And anything short of wearing that dress for you will cut her deeply. So I’m also not saying that I think my walking away will change how you feel about her or how she will feel if you don’t marry her. But I need perspective, Fisher.” I lifted my gaze to his.
Concern lined his beautiful face.
“I’m not in this to destroy a woman’s dreams,” I said. “I’m not in this for a quick lay. It’s not a game, even if every moment with you feels exciting and filled with so much life. So thank you.” I found a small and easy smile for him.
“For what?”
“For stopping me. For rejecting me. It’s easy to lose perspective when I’m with you.”
“No.” He shook his head. “Again, I didn’t reject you. And you are never allowed to thank me for stopping us from getting naked. Just … no. I won’t allow it.”
“Put your shirt on. We have work to do.” I took a step backward.
He snagged his shirt from the floor and pulled it over his head, threading his arms through it slowly. I turned and ran my hand over the wood pieces we glued two nights earlier.
“I’m sorry,” he whispered, pressing his chest to my back and kissing the top of my head. “I’m sure seeing Angie in her wedding gown was not easy for you. I wish I knew with certainty how this story will end.” He bent lower and kissed my neck as his good hand slid around my waist. “I know how I want it to end right now. But I’m so fucking scared of the plot twist because there are just too many chapters left. And I no longer trust life and its plot twists.”
If only we could’ve just packed a couple of bags and left with one-way tickets to someplace far away and never returned. But we weren’t running from Rory and Rose or even Angie and his family. We were running away from his lost memories.
I turned in his arms and snaked mine around his neck. “Let’s not read any further.” I grinned. “Let’s go back to the beginning and reread—relive—our favorite chapters, like this one.”
“This one?” He narrowed his eyes a fraction.
I pulled him to me, lifting onto my toes as my lips brushed back and forth over his. “Yeah,” I whispered before giving his mouth a slow kiss. My right hand reached for his left hand, and I guided it under the hem of my shirt.
Up.
Up.
Up.
“This is the chapter where the lost fisherman makes it to second base.”
Fisher grinned before I kissed him again. His hand cupped my breast, and his thumb slid under the fabric and grazed my nipple.
We knew it wouldn’t go past that. So we took our time kissing, like sipping coffee on a lazy Sunday morning.
The naked fisherman wouldn’t have had that much self-control, neither would have that scatterbrained, hormonal eighteen-year-old girl. We knew time and patience were our only options, our only hope.
I didn’t know how long it would last, how long we would last, but I loved the new version of us. Fisher didn’t take my virginity because he wasn’t sure he deserved it, and he wasn’t sure I was truly ready to give it to him.
Five years later, we were in the same situation, but this time it wasn’t my virginity. It was my heart. And like five years earlier, I trusted Fisher explicitly to take what he felt he deserved and leave anything he might hurt.
“Fisher …” I whispered in his ear as he kissed along my cheek.
“Hmm?”
“Teach me.”
“Teach you what?” His knuckles ghosted along my other cheek.
“Everything.”
Chapter Fifteen
Fisher showed me how to use the jiggy thing. He showed me how to get things prepped to stain the pieces which we would do at a later time. He even took me through all his tools, giving me a brief explanation of what they did and examples of when he used them. He did have patience, maybe only with me, but that was all that mattered.
Fisher wanted to be with me.
“Hello?�
�� Rory called down the stairs just as we were sweeping the floor.
Fisher squatted to hold the dustpan as I swept the small pile into it. “Down here.”
Tap.
Tap.
Tap.
Rory made her way down the stairs. “Pizza’s here.”
“Okay. We’re done.” Fisher stood and dumped the sawdust into the trash.
“Maybe you should have been a trim carpenter instead of a midwife.” Rory eyed me as I dusted off my jeans.
“Fisher’s pretty amazing at what he does, but he hasn’t pushed an entire human being out of his vagina. So I’ll stick to my new job.”
“Aaannnd … we’re done down here.” Fisher flipped off the lights, leaving only the light on above the stairway.
Rory laughed and headed back up the stairs with Fisher and me right behind her.
“Hey, babe.” To no one’s surprise, Angie was in the kitchen, setting out plates and napkins.
I really needed a game plan. One that involved telling my mother that she was ruining my life. It was a speech I didn’t get the chance to give her before she went to prison. Rory had no idea, so was it fair to blame her? I wondered if she’d have felt bad had I told her. Or would she have been way too upset with Fisher and me to care about her role in keeping Angie’s hopes and dreams alive?
“Hey.” Fisher had no problem switching roles, maybe because Rose reserved her distrusting scowls for me.
I pulled his pants up, Rose. I pulled them up! Zipped. Buttoned. That was all me.
Angie hugged Fisher and gave him a quick peck on the lips. I’d signed up for The Bachelor. Oh the joys of sharing one guy.
“Reese, you’re setting the bar pretty high for our future kids.” Angie poured herself a glass of wine while Fisher opened a bottle of beer and took a long swig.
“Oh?” I said with caution as I poured a glass of red wine for myself. Just what I wanted to do, talk about their future kids.
“Your mom said you love working in Fisher’s shop downstairs. I don’t go down there. It’s too dusty. But I’m sure he dreams of teaching our kids his skills someday. If they show no interest, he’ll wonder why he didn't get a child like you.”
I choked on my wine, and Rose came to the rescue, slapping my back a little too hard while Rory jumped into the conversation. “Reese has always been curious and hands-on with things. Even as a little girl, she wanted to do everything she saw her dad and me doing.”
“Oh …” Angie’s nose wrinkled. “That sounded weird. I’m sorry.” She slapped her palm to her forehead. “I wasn’t implying you’re a child. That … just …” She set her wine down and buried her face in Fisher’s chest.
He held his good arm, the one holding the beer, out to the side so as not to spill it on impact.
“It’s been a long day.” She chuckled, rolling her forehead against his chest as his casted arm rested gently on her back.
Every thirty seconds I had to remind myself that Angie’s mind remembered everything about Fisher Mann since he was six years old. She felt comfortable in his presence and in his embrace. Not just as a lover, but as a friend of nearly thirty years.
“It’s fine. I knew what you meant.”
Nope. I had no idea what she meant. It was the craziest comparison. But I wasn’t in the business of making people feel bad or uncomfortable. If Angie and I wouldn’t have been competing for the same bachelor, we might have been better friends. I related to her being an only child and losing a parent. For the three years between my dad dying and Rory getting out of prison, I felt like an orphan. Angie loved a good glass of wine and pretty dresses. So did I. And she loved Fisher Mann … and so did I.
I didn’t hate her.
In many ways, I was her.
“I turned on the porch heater. Let’s go out there.” Rory handed Rose her beer and grabbed the two pizza boxes.
Fisher and Angie snagged the plates and napkins while I carried my wine out with two hands like a good little girl.
Fisher’s main level porch was a three-season porch with nice furniture and lots of plants. Rory deposited the pizzas on the irregular shaped wood coffee table before taking a seat next to Rose on a love seat while Fisher sat on the opposing love seat with Angie right next to him, her back partially molded to his chest like she was his stuffed animal to cuddle.
That left the light gray bean-bag-like chair for me. Its back and arms were more structured than a bean bag, which made it the most comfortable chair in the house. That seemed fair since I drew the fifth-wheel spot for the night.
“Well, someone has a birthday in two weeks.” Rory sipped her beer and eyed me.
I returned a tight-lipped grin and focused on not spilling my red wine on Fisher’s light gray chair.
“If you’re not on call, we should go camping.”
“Sounds cold.” After taking a slow sip of my wine, I shot her a toothy grin.
“Campfire. Warm sleeping bags. Wool mittens. We’ll be fine. We never went camping when you were younger. Your dad wasn’t a camper. But Rose and I bought camping gear several years ago. And we think it would be fun to go as a group.”
“A group?” I discouraged my curious mind from steering my gaze toward Fisher as I hoped her group reference was to a group of people from her work or some camping group they joined. If that was even a thing.
“Us. Your village.” Rory circled her head, signaling to the room. “What do you two say? Are you in for camping on Reese’s birthday?” she asked Fisher and Angie.
“Sounds fun. I haven’t been camping in years. I think Fish has plenty of gear from all the camping he’s done with his family. Right, babe?”
Fish. Babe.
I had no nicknames for Fisher. At least none that I could use in front of anyone else. Just like I couldn’t kiss him or hold his hand in front of anyone else. Five years changed everything … and nothing. We were both in a better place, but the timing was still wrong. I wanted to close my eyes and nod my head like a genie and skip ahead a year so I would know.
I would know if he fell in love and married Angie. If his memory returned. If my heart survived all the ifs.
Fisher nodded. “I have a lot of camping gear between the basement and what’s at my parents’ house.”
Happy birthday to me, I thought, while putting on a brave face. For my special day, I would get to freeze my butt off in a tent, probably by myself, while the lovers snuggled in for the night in their tents after a romantic evening by the campfire.
“Say yes, sweetie. Take a chance. I think you’ll love camping. You said you love the mountains. What could be better than spending the weekend there with good friends and family?”
Jabbing my eyeballs out with an ice pick. Removing my fingernails with pliers. Eating cockroaches. Wiping my butt with sandpaper. So many things would be better than Rory’s group camping idea.
I wasn’t on call that weekend, but I considered lying. With my luck, Rory would have seen Holly at the salon. Poof! Outed!
“Sounds amazing.” I shoved nearly half a piece of pizza into my mouth. It was time to eat my frustrations. “Oh!”
It happened. Of course it happened.
I spilled my wine all over me and his amazing chair.
“Shit. Er … shoot. I’m … I’m so very sorry.”
And embarrassed. I couldn’t look at anyone, least of all Fisher, as I scrambled to get out of the chair and blot the red wine with a wad of napkins.
“It was an accident. No worries, Reese. We’ll take care of it if you want to go get yourself cleaned up.” Angie jumped to the rescue as everyone else tossed their napkins onto the pile to save the chair from as much wine soaking through to the filling as possible.
I pulled the wet fabric of my T-shirt away from my skin as I ducked my head and sped my way to the guest bathroom, shutting the door behind me before staring at myself in the mirror. After a good two minutes of internally scolding myself for being so clumsy in my flustered state following the camping topic, I
took off my shirt and ran the stained part under water.
Two soft knocks tapped the door.
“I’m good. Just give me a minute.”
The door opened because I hadn’t lock it—because who opens a closed bathroom door uninvited?
Snatching the hand towel from the counter, I held it to my chest as Fisher peered through the crack he made with the door.
“What?” I tipped up my chin, fighting the urge to have a mini-emotional breakdown.
If he looked too long into my eyes, he would have seen me teetering on the edge of losing it.
“Shirt for you.” Opening the door just enough to squeeze his hand through, he handed me a T-shirt.
“It will be huge on you, but it might also cover the stain on your pants.”
I nodded slowly as my gaze dropped to the T-shirt in my hand. “I’m really sorry about your chair. I’ll pay for any damage or a new chair.” Turning my back to the door, I dropped the hand towel and slipped on his shirt.
“Angie is drinking too much wine tonight. I can’t let her drive home. So she’ll stay here.”
I turned. “I wasn’t talking about Angie’s level of sobriety. I was talking about your chair.”
“Well, I don’t give a fuck about the chair.”
After clenching my teeth for a few seconds, I fired back. “Well I don’t give one if she stays here or not. I’m not stupid. I know you’re having sex with her. You told me, and I was with you when you purchased condoms.”
There was no other way to describe that moment other than to say, I had super fucking (necessary use of the word) hero bravery to say those words to him without my heart exploding through my chest and shattering onto the floor. The thought of him having sex with Angie … it was unbearable. My chest felt physical pain that worked its way up my throat, twisting into a tight knot that made every word a struggle to get out of my mouth.