by Jewel E. Ann
Fisher was leaving in less than five minutes. On his motorcycle. I’d never been on a motorcycle. They were dangerous and would have required me to hold on to his waist. It was a terrible idea. I had things to do. Puzzles to construct. Bible passages to study before Wednesday night, if I planned on attending the singles’ group. That was where I would find a nice guy who didn’t swear or make suggestive comments.
A guy who wore a shirt.
A guy closer to my age.
A guy who didn’t care if I wore socks or not.
A guy who didn’t ride a motorcycle.
After letting those sensible thoughts settle in my mind, I tossed the rest of my sandwich in the trash, changed into jeans, grabbed my backpack, and sprinted around the house just as Fisher started to pull out of the driveway.
“Wait!”
He stopped and slid up the visor to his helmet. I had no idea if one could truly have an orgasm just by looking at a guy. It seemed unlikely. A myth. But … Fisher in jeans, black leather boots and jacket, and black gloves made me feel a little dizzy as something between my tummy and my chest tickled me in the most unfamiliar way. I imagined it was what it felt like to have a glass of wine or maybe get a little high. Not that I would ever find that out. I had a firm no drug policy for many reasons, but mainly because of my mom.
He said nothing, like I was supposed to read his mind, but really, I was asking him to read mine. That would have been embarrassing beyond my imagination.
“I’d like to go with you.”
He made me squirm with his silence for a few seconds before killing the engine and removing his helmet. “Follow me.”
In a matter of days, I’d become irritatingly infatuated with a man ten years older than me. I followed Fisher Mann into his garage, but I would have followed him off the edge of the mountain. That was the effect Devil in a Tool Belt had on me. I really hoped the whole once-saved-always-saved thing was true because there was a good chance I’d need that unconditional salvation.
“It’s a woman’s size.” He tugged a helmet onto my head and fastened it under my chin.
“For all your women?” I tried to play coy, but my face felt too heated to make anyone believe I could pull off coy or subtle at that point.
“Yes, for my harem.” Turning toward a cabinet, he retrieved a riding jacket like his. “You have long arms, so this might be a little small on you. Something is better than nothing.”
“Long arms? I don’t have long arms.” I threaded my arms through the jacket while he held it up for me. As he zipped the jacket, I tugged on the cuffs of the sleeves.
Fisher smirked. Yes, the sleeves were a little short.
“It’s okay. Your legs are long too. And guys will overlook your octopus arms because you have legs for days.”
“I’m not a giraffe.”
“I didn’t say that.” He strutted to his bike, and I followed him … to his bike … off the side of the mountain.
He climbed onto his bike, and that feeling that stretched from the pit of my stomach to the center of my chest returned, only stronger as he helped me climb on behind him. When he reached around and grabbed my ass, pulling me closer to him, I almost died. It was the most forbidden feeling I had ever experienced. I realized how crazy that would seem to anyone else, but I was, in fact, the girl who spent the last three years of high school living with grandparents, attending a Christian academy.
“Rory can never know,” I said.
“Hold on,” Fisher replied.
I snaked my arms around his waist, trying not to actually press my hands to his stomach or my chest to his back.
“Hold on like your life depends on it … because it does.”
I tightened my grip, a lot. And two seconds later, he kicked the bike into gear, and we shot off down the street. It was unreal.
Me on the back of a motorcycle holding on to the sexiest man I had ever seen.
My heart in my throat.
The seeds of possibilities sprouting in my head.
It felt like an alternate universe where my mom hadn’t gone to prison. My dad hadn't died. And I never left Nebraska and the public school with all my friends. I was daring, and flirting with mischief was my only purpose. Church was a ritual, an afterthought. And the God I worshipped wasn’t anyone to fear. I was … normal.
Wild oats were mine to sow.
And my reality was whatever dream I dared to chase.
Fisher took me through town. I anticipated him heading back home, but he didn’t. He drove me up the winding roads into the mountains—the steep inclines and the rollercoaster trips down hills at insane speeds. We passed cars, weaving from one lane to the next. Rory would have died had she seen her only child on the back of Fisher’s motorcycle, flying through the increasingly steep terrain of the mountain highway.
“WOO HOO!” I let my lungs loose as we drove through the Eisenhower Tunnel.
Fisher’s hand left the handlebar for a few seconds to press against my leg, giving it a soft squeeze. My arms tightened around him. We rode and rode. My butt went numb. Eventually, he pulled off at a scenic stop. My legs were numb too as I hobbled off the bike and unfastened my helmet.
“If you’re enjoying the tour…” he took my helmet from me “…don’t forget to leave a Yelp review.”
I giggled. “Is this a side gig? And here I felt kind of special.” I inched closer to the guardrail and a canyon filled with trees for miles. The view … there were no words. “I bet this means nothing to you.”
“The view?” he asked.
Of course the view. What did he think I meant? Tossing him a quick sideways glance, I nodded. “Yeah, the view.”
“I think there are some things that are meant to provide a lifetime of awe. The mountains. The oceans. Rainbows. Shooting stars. First kisses.”
Ten years. There were ten years between us. And he admitted that fifty percent of everything that left his mouth was not to be trusted. First kisses … he was baiting me. I was surprised he didn’t say unicorns.
“I have jaded memories,” I said. “Not like my friends who vacationed every summer. Trips to Disney. Key West. The Grand Canyon. My big moments involved my parents fighting. My mom leaving our house in handcuffs. The day she was convicted. My dad didn’t want me there, but I begged him. I told him I would never forgive him if he didn’t let me go with him. She mouthed ‘I love you,’ as they took her away. I remember my dad telling me to let her go. He said she lost the privilege of being my mom because she chose the wrong path. He said she should have loved me more. And sometimes … I believed him. Then he died. Another memory taking up so much space in my head. So this…” I nodded to the view “…it’s a great picture to pin on top of the other pictures that don’t take my breath away.”
For several minutes, Fisher didn’t reply. I’m sure it all sounded crazy to him. It sounded crazy to me, yet I couldn’t roll my eyes and let it be someone else’s pathetic life.
“You deserve to have your breath taken away … every day.”
Those. Those ten words. They wrapped around my heart like sticky peanut butter and jelly fingers.
Pure.
Innocent.
Unforgettable.
Perfect.
“Well…” I kept my gaze on the feathery green canvas “…mission accomplished.”
“Want me to take a picture of you?” he asked, retrieving his phone from his pocket.
“Okay.” I bit my lower lip to hide my true level of giddiness.
“Say, ‘Sorry Rory.’”
I laughed. “Sorry Rory.”
He studied the screen of his phone. “Perfect. I’ll airdrop them to you when we get home.”
“Want me to take your picture?”
He chuckled. “I’m good. I have at least a million already.”
I tilted my head and wrinkled my nose. “Yeah, but not with me.”
Something quite like a genuine smile bent his lips. “True.” He stood next to me, one arm around my waist, p
ulling me close while he stretched out his other arm with the phone and took a selfie with me.
That was the one I wanted him to send me. It wasn’t just the mountains; it was him, the motorcycle, the feeling (although foolish) that I was a woman enjoying the perfect Sunday afternoon with a man. The naked fisherman.
On our way back home, we stopped in Idaho Springs, an old mining town, for pizza at Beau Jo’s. Not just any pizza. Nope. Thick wheat crust with loads of toppings. And we dipped our crust ends in honey. It blew my mind.
He blew my mind.
Fisher told me about his family. Two older sisters and a younger brother. His love for building things that started at an early age. And his all-star jock status in high school. All State everything. His coaches thought he would go on to college to do something—basketball, baseball, track. But he didn’t love any of it as much as he loved his tool belt and the smell of fresh-cut lumber.
“Are you awake?” he asked, killing the engine inside his garage.
“Sort of,” I mumbled as I almost fell on my butt getting off the back of his bike.
He grabbed my arm to steady me. “I got Rory’s daughter back in one piece. Phew.” He removed my helmet and unzipped my jacket.
“But she’ll never know because we aren’t telling her.”
“She won’t hear anything from me.” He winked, removing his jacket.
“Thanks. I realize you probably weren’t planning on a tagalong today.”
“You can tag along anytime.”
“Well …” I nodded toward the garage door. “I’d better get to bed. My boss isn’t a morning person or a Monday person, so I have to bring enough awesomeness for the both of us.”
He smirked. “I’m sure your boss’s reputation is unfair and exaggerated.”
I shrugged. “Maybe. But just in case … I’m off to bed. Goodnight.” I headed toward the open garage door.
“Reese, you can go through the house. It’s dark. No need to walk around the side of the house.”
“You sure?”
Fisher held open the door to his house for me. “I’m sure. Just don’t steal anything on your way through my kitchen.”
With an eye roll, I stepped into his house and removed my shoes, carrying them through his kitchen. “Are you going to lock your basement door behind me?”
“Why? Are you going to rob me?”
“No.” I giggled, opening the basement door.
“Are you going to sneak up in the middle of the night and do weird shit to me while I sleep?”
“What?” I coughed. “Um … no. I just think if I rented out my basement, I’d lock my door.”
“Noted. You have no self-control, and therefore I need to lock my door.”
“I’m locking my side.”
“I don’t doubt that.” He shoved his hands into his back pockets and rested his shoulder against the threshold into the kitchen from the garage entrance.
Fisher and his overabundance of sexiness continued to give me all the feels. “Am I driving to the office in the morning or going with you?”
“The Outback’s battery is dead.”
I frowned. “That’s right.”
“We’ll leave at six.”
“Six.” I gave him an unavoidable smile before shutting the door … and locking it. As I tiptoed down the stairs, I listened for him to lock it on his side.
He never did.
Chapter Nine
Monday, I spent the day with Hailey sending out bids. Fisher put a new battery in the Outback then disappeared for the rest of the evening on his motorcycle. I didn’t get an invite to join him.
Tuesday, I went with Hailey to pick up flooring for a kitchen. She drove a company pickup, and for some reason, I found that kind of cool. After that, we picked up lunch for the crew. Apparently, it was a perk Fisher offered his guys, not the norm in construction. I found that rather cool too.
Wednesday, I was back with Fisher and that thrilled me.
“Yesterday, Hailey introduced me to some of your crew. So you don’t have to worry about introductions now. Except your dad and uncle. When will I meet them?”
“My dad is out of town until next week. My uncle just had knee surgery, so he’s out for a while.” Fisher lifted a brow and gave me a quick sidelong glance while we waited in the drive-thru to pick up our coffees on the way to the first job. “And it’s a relief that I don’t have to introduce you to anyone because that was high on my list of priorities today.”
“Is that sarcasm?”
He pulled forward and grabbed our coffees. “Nope.” He handed me both drinks and rolled up his window.
“Have you talked to Rory since Sunday?” I handed him his coffee.
“Nope.” He sipped his drink and wrinkled his nose. “This one is not mine. It’s sweet and disgusting.” After depositing it in my cup holder, he reached over and snagged my coffee—his coffee—from me.
I frowned at the one in the drink holder. “Now you’ve tasted it.”
“So? I’m not sick.”
“Yeah, but you drank out of it.”
He chuckled. “Have you never swapped a little saliva with anyone? I didn’t spit anything back into the cup. It’s the equivalent of a peck on the lips. I’m sure you’ve had a few tongues down your throat. What’s the big deal?”
Sliding the drink from the holder, I brought it to my mouth and took a cautious sip.
Fisher shook his head at my hesitation. “Do I gross you out that much?”
Just the opposite. It felt intimate sharing a cup of coffee with him. I took another sip, trying to not think too hard about how I liked the idea of my mouth touching the same spot his lips had touched.
“It’s fine.” I stared out my window while sipping the coffee, brushing my lips over the lid a little too much.
“Reese?”
“Hmm?”
“You have kissed a guy before. Right?”
I scoffed. “Yes.”
“An open-mouthed kiss? Tongue? Saliva swapping?” He was so crude. I loved it and hated it in equal parts.
“Duh.”
“Duh is not an answer.”
“Hailey invited me to her house for a party on Friday. Well, not this Friday … next Friday.” My attention remained steadfast out my window.
“You dodged my question.”
“I think I’ll go. It’s a chance to make new friends if I don’t have much luck tonight.”
“What’s tonight?”
“Singles’ Bible study at the church.”
“Sounds … titillating.”
“You could come with me.”
Fisher laughed, a little too hard. “As tempting as the offer is, I have a date. Sorry.”
A date.
Fisher had a date. That was okay. Of course he dated since he wasn’t married, and he wasn’t dating Rory. I bet he had sex too. That didn’t feel quite as okay to me for utterly ridiculous reasons. It wasn’t like Fisher Mann was mine no matter how incredibly sexy I found him, no matter how many thoughts he owned in my head. It wasn’t like he was going to wait for me to figure my life out, marry me, and take my virginity on our wedding night.
Nope.
None of that was happening, so it was just great, awesome really, that Fisher had a date.
“A new date? Someone you’ve gone out with before?”
“Blind date. A friend of a friend.”
I nodded slowly. “Where are you going?”
“Concert downtown.”
“Sounds fun.”
“I suppose.”
“How old is she?”
He grinned before sipping his coffee. “I’m not sure. Why?”
“No reason.”
“Well, if you decide to bring someone home from Bible study, I won’t tell your mom. And the house is insulated really well, so don’t ever worry about me hearing anything.”
Oh my gosh …
I bit my tongue so hard. What he implied was offensive and yes … crude. As if I was going
to pick up some guy at Bible study and bring him back to have sex. Clearly, Fisher had never attended church, which meant he probably wasn’t saved. And I needed to remember that. I needed to remember all the reasons I shouldn’t have obsessed over the naked fisherman.
“So I won’t hear you either.” I felt incredibly brave saying that to him. For a breath, I tried to feel like an equal. An adult who dated and had loud sex. But inside it really … really bothered me to think of him having sex with someone else.
Or me, of course.
But mostly someone else.
“I’m not really a screamer. I may drop a few profanities if it’s worthy of it.”
Stop! Make him stop!
He enjoyed playing with me. I could tell from the smirk he wore like a favorite T-shirt. He ate my reactions up like a shark finding a wounded otter. Fisher knew I was way out of my comfort zone. And his favorite game seemed to be pushing me a few more inches with every remark. I refused to give him the verbal satisfaction, even if my feelings were on full display in the color of my face or the uncontrolled fidgeting of my hands.
“It won’t matter. I’ll probably be late anyway. Someone mentioned getting ice cream afterward.” It sounded ridiculous the second I said it.
Biting his lips to mask more of his amusement, he nodded several times. “I can see that. Well, you have my number if things get too crazy and you need a ride home. Gut ache. Sugar jitters. Brain freeze. Whatever.”
“Jerk.” I couldn’t help it. He brought out the worst in me, the crazy in me.
Fisher sniggered as he pulled to a stop at the first job site. The framers were already busy constructing the interior walls in the basement.
“Am I allowed out?” I asked.
Fisher grabbed my hard hat out of the back seat and plopped it on my head. “If you can stay out of trouble and not distract my crew with stories about wild ice cream socials.”
Had I used swear words, I would have told him to fuck off, and it would have felt so liberating. But I remained silent because I knew those other words would feel foreign leaving my lips.
“Cat got your tongue?” Fisher grinned as I fumed.
I climbed out and mumbled to myself, “No. Jesus does.”