by Jewel E. Ann
The ladies giggled.
Again, I didn’t share in their amusement. I definitely wasn’t going to laugh about Tiffany’s bold assumption that Fisher would see some unshaved part of her body.
Gah … I hope he doesn’t.
Feeling sufficiently nauseous, I excused myself. “I’m going to head downstairs and grab a shower too. Have a fun time.”
“I hope you have plans, sweetie. I feel bad leaving you if you don’t, but you’re just not old enough to get into the club.”
Rose and Tiffany gave me sad expressions.
My fake smile jumped to the rescue. “Yeah, I might meet up with some friends from church.”
“Okay. Be safe. I’ll see you tomorrow. If we’re going to be too late, I might just crash at Rose’s house. So I don’t want you to worry if you don’t see me until morning.”
Rory crashing with Rose.
Tiffany offering her unshaved parts to Fisher.
Just wonderful. I could not have been more excited for the real adults.
“Sounds good. Goodnight.”
I lugged my bag around the house to the basement. As soon as I removed my boots, I ran up the stairs and pressed my ear to the door. When I didn’t hear anything, I opened it slowly and peeked into the kitchen. When I didn’t see anyone, I slid around the corner and padded down the hallway to the closed master bedroom door. Pressing my ear to it, I listened for Fisher, but I heard nothing. Again, I slowly opened the door. The lights were on in his bathroom, so I stepped inside his bedroom and quietly closed the door behind me.
My bare feet made a silent trek to his bathroom, where I peeked around a third door.
“You don’t know how to knock, do you?” Fisher looked at me in his mirror as he stood in front of his sink, ruffling his wet hair, wearing nothing but a bath towel around his waist.
“They’re drunk. I hope you’re driving.” I peeled my gaze away from his reflection and moseyed into his walk-in closet.
“I’m sure I am.” He appeared in the doorway to his closet as I browsed around at his hanging clothes, mostly button-down shirts. He must have kept his work shirts in one of the drawers by my feet.
“Tiffany’s pretty excited. She thinks you’re ‘smokin’ and she regrets not waxing everything.”
“Is that so?”
I turned toward Fisher; his shoulder leaned against the door frame and his arms crossed over his bare chest. Of course, Tiffany was planning on all things with Fisher. How could any sane, single woman not think like that?
“Yes. That’s so.”
“Is that why you’re in my room? In my closet? To tell me about Tiffany’s grooming habits?”
I nibbled the inside of my cheek while running my hand down one of his long-sleeved button-downs. “Pretty much.”
“Well, thanks for the heads-up. I’ll keep that in mind tonight.”
I made my way to him, but he didn’t move to let me leave. He uncrossed his arms and took a step closer, so there were no more steps for either one of us to take.
My right hand lifted, feathering along his abs. They tightened even more under my touch.
The tips of my fingers met the top of his towel, pausing there as I lifted my gaze to his. His full lips parted, and the look in his eyes was pure sin.
“Don’t have sex with her tonight.” I couldn’t keep my eyes from averting to the side and then to my feet. I had no right to ask him for that favor. After all, it wasn’t like I was offering him anything.
“There’s a lot we can do without having sex. You know this.”
I wasn’t sure what ached more, my fractured heart or my nauseous stomach. My brave fingers tugged at his towel. It fell to the floor. Fisher didn’t flinch.
I had no clue what my plan was … I officially had the naked fisherman in front of me.
Completely naked.
Cock erect.
Eyes hooded.
Tongue slowly swiping his lower lip when I forced my gaze from his cock to his face.
“What now?” He smirked.
I had no clue, but my jealous mind drifted to partially waxed Tiffany. She wanted my naked fisherman.
“She can’t have you.” I tried to infuse confidence into my words, but I think it fell a little short of the mark.
“No?” He canted his head to the side.
“No.”
“What makes you so sure?”
I lowered to my knees, way out of my comfort zone. Way out of my own league of intimacy. And definitely scared out of my mind. I just … I wanted to be an adult with Fisher. I wanted to be a woman with him. And I didn’t want some hairless hussy meeting his needs.
“Reese …” His voice held reservation. It was the first sign since I came into his room that he was dealing with his own emotions, his own expectations or maybe lack thereof.
My hands ghosted up his legs and gently took ahold of him.
“I don’t expect this from you,” he whispered.
From you …
He expected it from other women? Like Tiffany? Teagan? Angie?
As if dealing with God wasn’t enough, I felt so much conflict because I had no clue what I was doing. Fisher became his own godlike man in my life. And I wanted to please him, nearly as much as God, who was surely frowning at my behavior … at what I was about to do out of wedlock.
Before Fisher could talk me out of it, I wrapped my lips around the head.
He closed his eyes.
I continued doing things to him with my mouth that seemed to please him, despite my cluelessness, keeping my eyes on his face the whole time like a guide. That was how I knew what he liked.
What made him breathe heavier.
What made his teeth dig into his lower lip.
What made his hands grip the side of the doorway, knuckles white.
What made him rock his hips ever so slightly.
Dropping one hand, he gently threaded his fingers into my hair. His muscles tightened, even the ones in his face.
At the last second, he took a step back. Gripping his cock in his hand, he dropped to his knees and kissed me, keeping one hand in my hair while his other hand did something …
I wasn’t sure what until his tongue drove deep into my mouth and a loud moan vibrated from his chest and throat, his body making a few short jerking motions.
Then he relaxed, releasing my mouth. I glanced down.
Whoa … okay …
He finished … the …uh … job on his bath towel.
“Fisher?” Rory called as three knocks tapped his bedroom door. “Are you coming?”
He grinned at me. It was so big and beautiful as he answered her. “Yes, I’m definitely coming.”
My cheeks caught fire.
“Give me five more minutes, Rory.”
I skittered to my feet and turned my back toward him, breathing heavily and wondering if she heard anything, if she knew I wasn’t downstairs.
“I have five minutes,” Fisher said just above a whisper as he pressed his naked body to my back and snaked a hand around my waist. His fingers dipped an inch into the front of my jeans.
“You should get dressed,” I said in a nervous tone, stepping out of his hold and circling to get out of his closet while tugging on my shirt to fan the heat away from my skin.
He chuckled. “What should I wear?”
I ignored him as I splashed water on my face and pressed a hand towel to it, trying to slow my breathing, trying to not think about my mom and her friends in the other room.
Tiffany … he was still going on a date with her. I bet she would do more than what I did to him, and she’d probably do it with way more confidence and experience. Fisher stood a few feet from me when I pulled the towel away from my face. He looked painfully sexy in his dark jeans, light blue button-down with the sleeves rolled up, and stark white sneakers.
He looked painfully sexy for someone else.
I was ready to puke.
“Why the face?”
I shook my head.
“Don’t shake your head.” He glanced at his watch. “I have three minutes left. What can I do to ease your anxiety?”
Don’t go.
“I’m not anxious.”
Lies … lies … lies …
“Then are we going out there together? Are we letting everyone know that you like to watch me shower and dress?”
I needed a second round of cold water on my face. “I didn’t watch you shower.”
He smirked. “But you’d like it, wouldn’t you?”
“You’re a jerk.”
Holding that smug expression for a beat, he nodded once. “Probably.” Again, he glanced at his watch. “Two minutes. Are you sure there’s nothing I can do?”
I rolled my eyes. “What are you going to do in two minutes?”
“Anything you want.”
My voice didn’t exist. It must have required more than eighteen years to find my voice. To unapologetically ask for what I wanted without fearing embarrassment or rejection.
I wanted him to not go.
I wanted him to stay with me.
I wanted him to touch me and make it feel good.
But I wanted him to do it without me having to ask.
“Time’s up.” He turned, making his way to the bedroom door with confident strides.
I balled my hands and clenched my teeth, fighting for one word, the smallest semblance of a voice.
Nothing.
He shut his door behind him and voices sounded from the other room. I squeezed my eyes shut and pressed my hands to my face, grumbling at myself for a few seconds before heading straight to the door and plastering my ear against it.
“Tiffany was the interior designer of the house you built in Golden last month,” Rose said.
“Oh really?” Fisher seemed a little too enthused.
“I was. It’s a beautiful home, Fisher. It’s my dream to have you build something for me someday.”
I rolled my eyes at Tiffany’s gushing reply.
“In fact, I’d take this house right here,” she continued.
Really? Could she have been any more obvious and needy? It was just … gross.
“I’d love to see what you did with the house in Golden,” Fisher said.
“Oh … absolutely. I’ll call the Jensens. They’d be totally cool with me showing it to you.” She laughed. “But I’m sure they know you quite well. I suppose you could call them too. Maybe we can make a date of it sometime.”
No. No. NO!
Peeling my ear from the door, I pressed both palms to it and sank into a squat, my forehead gently pressed to it as I closed my eyes and prayed for God to erase the past month from it.
Take me back to Texas.
And never let me think of Fisher Mann again.
Chapter Twenty-Two
It was one night. I should have stuffed my face and gone to sleep in a food coma. Instead, I skipped dinner and went for a run. Then I did an hour of yoga.
Shower.
Crossword puzzles.
Bible.
Prayer.
More prayer.
Ear to the upstairs door, listening for any sign of Fisher.
More prayer.
I went all in, asking for forgiveness for my thoughts and for putting Fisher’s penis in my mouth. Did God get a lot of penis prayers? It seemed unlikely. Maybe guys with STDs praying for a quick recovery and promising to return to celibacy.
I didn’t promise celibacy because technically, I was still celibate. Or so I told myself.
A little before one in the morning, I took my restless self to the screened-in porch, wearing a tee and white panties. Blanket in hand.
Reaching for the light switch, I accidentally hit another switch and strings of globe lights illuminated the porch. I didn’t know they were there. How did I miss them?
It was … enchanting.
I grinned. My first grin since Fisher left me for Tiffany and jazz music. Curling up in the corner of the patio sectional, I took a deep breath of the chilly night’s air and closed my eyes. That was all it took for my mind to settle and sleep to find me.
At some point, my eyes fluttered open, a weird feeling that someone was there.
Fisher …
He stood next to me, watching me sleep.
“What time is it?” I squinted my eyes.
“Two.”
“Where’s Rory?” I rubbed one eye.
“She stayed at Rose’s place to sober up.”
I nodded and yawned.
“Why are you sleeping out here?” he asked.
“Because I couldn’t sleep inside.”
“Why?” He toed off his shoes.
“I …” I lifted a shoulder, feeling embarrassed about my terrible thoughts. “I don’t know.”
He sat at the end of the sofa, stretching his legs out, swallowing the entire length. “Come here,” he whispered.
I gave his request a moment’s pause before crawling toward him with my blanket. Settling my body between his legs and over his chest, I nuzzled my face into his neck.
He still smelled like pine and soap. And not her.
I so desperately wanted to ask him if he did anything with her. Held her hand. Kissed her. Promised her another date. But I didn’t because I was enveloped in his arms in the middle of the night beneath the glow of several dozen globe lights, and it was pretty perfect.
A few minutes later, Fisher sat up partway, taking me with him, guiding my legs to straddle his midsection. He held the most contemplative expression on his face. I wanted to solve it like one of my puzzles, looking for clues in his eyes, the part of his lips, or his hand brushing the hair away from my face before caressing his knuckles down my neck.
I closed my eyes, reveling in the moment, in the way he made me feel like I was flying. Free of everything that kept me from finding myself, my voice, my place in the world.
When I opened my eyes, he feathered his other hand along my cheek, his thumb tracing my bottom lip. The night air was no comparison to the way Fisher’s touch elicited an endless emergence of goose bumps along my skin.
“What are you doing?” I whispered.
His gaze followed the trail of his hand along my skin for another breath or two before he gave me those intense eyes of his. “I’m apologizing.”
From earlier that week …
The car dealership. The park. His extreme extra.
Sorry meant nothing if that kind of touch was his way of apologizing. My soul felt it.
“Fisher?” I whispered.
He seemed mesmerized with my lips—his thumb ghosting along them, eyes drifting from mine to his thumb.
“Are you going to kiss me?”
The hint of a grin moved his mouth. “I was thinking about it.”
My hand curled around his wrist, pulling his hand from my mouth as I leaned in a few inches and grinned while my lips brushed along his. “You think too much.”
We kissed.
We let our hands explore each other’s bodies.
We made out … the first time I actually made out with a guy.
No sex.
No orgasms.
Just lots of kissing and touching.
Eventually, our hands stilled, our bodies entwined, and our lips eased apart as we fell asleep.
In the morning, I woke first, lifting my head from his chest. One of his hands rested on top of mine pressed to his chest next to my head. His other hand … it was resting on my butt … on the inside of my panties. I wasn’t sure when it laid claim to that spot, but I kinda liked it.
That was a lie.
I kinda loved it.
If I was going to Hell, I wanted to go there with Fisher’s hands all over me, his lips on mine, and his dirty words in my ear.
“Good morning, Ed.” Rory’s voice sent me into major panic mode as she greeted the neighbor on her way around to the basement. To us!
“Oh my gosh!” I whisper yelled. “Get up!” I tugged on Fisher’s arm.
He
squinted, not entirely awake.
“Rory’s coming! GET UP!” Had I whispered any louder, she would have heard me.
Fisher stumbled getting up. I pushed him with all my strength toward the door.
“Go! Hurry!”
“Christ, woman … I’m going already.” He walked like a drunk man with his shirt unbuttoned and hanging off one shoulder and his hair matted in back.
As soon as he made it to the stairs, I rushed back to the porch.
“Look who’s up early,” Rory said in a cheery voice as I grabbed the blanket and kicked Fisher’s sneakers under the sofa.
“Yeah, I uh … slept out here last night. When I discovered the lights, I couldn’t resist.”
She opened the door to the porch instead of going in through the main door. “Oh, yeah. I should have told you. I guess I figured you’d see them and look for the switch.”
I wrapped the blanket around my shoulders. “So … did you have fun?” I sat back down on the sofa while she took a seat in the rocker.
“We had a great time. When you’re older, we’ll have to go to all the clubs. There are some really great ones around here. If …” Her nose wrinkled. She sometimes forgot that I spent the previous three years with my grandparents in a very conservative home and school. “If you’re comfortable with it or you want to.” Her pained expression softened into the mom I once knew, the face of unconditional love.
The face of absolute comfort. She was my safe place. I was never a daddy’s girl, despite my interest in his job and his hobby. I idolized my mom, and I didn’t think she ever really knew.
“I want you to be whoever you need to be to feel comfortable in your own skin. I want you to never feel the need to fit in or follow others if it’s not who you are. Okay?”
Right there. That was my mom.
Pressing my lips together, I nodded slowly. And I almost, almost told her that my path had crossed with Fisher’s path.
Collided.
Crashed.
And I wasn’t sure I’d ever find my own way again because I loved him. More than that … despite my battered and prodded ego … I liked who I was with him, even if it made no sense. Even if I’d never tell him that.
Did love have to make sense?