by Jewel E. Ann
“Sure thing.” He stood, setting his glass onto the tray.
“Grab the cookie sheet on the counter and set everything on it. Reese can help you.”
I didn’t waste a second before standing and heading into the house behind Fisher.
“Tiffany keeps scowling at me. Do you think she suspects something? I don’t think she likes me,” I said as Fisher grabbed the cookie sheet and the grill tongs.
“I’ve sucked your tits and you came in my mouth today. She probably senses that I’m still craving more of you.”
When I didn’t respond, because my jaw dropped open, out of commission for a few seconds, Fisher turned toward me and smirked.
“Don’t.” He shook his head. “You’re not allowed to act offended anymore. Tits is not a bad word. I gave you the PG version. Really, you should thank me.”
“W-what …” I loosened my scarf. “What’s the adult version?” I glanced over my shoulder to make sure we were still alone and out of earshot. “Oral sex?” I whispered.
Fisher rolled his lips together to hide his amusement, but it hid nothing. He was laughing at me. My age. My innocence … or what was left of it.
“What?” I narrowed my eyes.
“Could you be any more clinical?”
“Could you be any more crude?”
“Yes.” He took a step toward me, also eyeing the gathering on the porch behind me. “I could have said I jerked off thinking about biting your nipples and eating you out earlier in the day.”
I did not like the phrase “eating you out.” It made me shudder. I wasn’t an apple. Although, I probably felt like the forbidden fruit to Fisher.
“Did you learn to be so crude? Or is it genetic?”
He shrugged. “It’s the Y chromosome.”
“No.” I crossed my arms over my chest and shook my head. “I know plenty of men who are not crude and filthy like you.”
“You think you do. Like … Bible Boy. You think his chivalrous hand-holding and sweet peck on the cheek is who he is. It’s not. It’s who he’s been trained to be. But I promise you, after he got home this afternoon, he rubbed one off thinking about you in the most unholy ways. He’s thought about your cunt and your tits so many times.” Fisher brushed past me.
“Don’t say the C word.”
“Too late. I already did.” He opened the storm door and shot the ladies his sexy grin before heading out to the grill.
I followed, adjusting my scarf that covered my whisker burn and my embarrassment. I probably had half the Bible committed to memory, yet I managed to fall in love with the son of Satan.
As Fisher opened the lid to the grill, I sidled up next to him. “Have you ever been to church?”
“Yes. I went to a Presbyterian church every Sunday until my parents could no longer physically pick me up and force me to go.”
“Do you believe in God?”
He set the meat and tofu kabobs onto the cookie sheet. “Why? Are you on a mission to save me?”
Selfishly, no. I was on a mission to save myself. But I wasn’t ready to give up my newest addiction, so I thought God would reward me for making Fisher a little less … extra.
Unfortunately, my religion didn’t believe the way to salvation was through good deeds.
Bummer.
“Because … I’m getting mixed signals. I think you want me to have sex with you, but you also want to do what Jesus would do. Which means I need to marry you to have sex with you, and I’m not marrying you just to have sex with you.” He peered down at me with raised brows and a tilted head as if to make sure I understood him.
I did not.
Fisher was the king of statements that could be interpreted in more than one way. He wasn’t going to marry me and therefore we weren’t having sex? Or he wasn’t going to marry me just for sex, but it was possible he would marry me for sex and other reasons?
“You want to know the funny part … even if it’s not that funny?”
He closed the lid to the grill. “I’m intrigued now. What’s the not-so-funny part?”
“The only thing that stands between virgin me and non-virgin me is you having a condom on you at the right time.”
“No.” He shook his head. “It’s not my lack of preparedness, it’s just bad sex. Deflowering isn’t all it’s cracked up to be. And unless you’re trying to be biblical about it, it’s not a gift. It’s a curse. You are not going to enjoy that moment when some guy’s dick rams into (pun intended) virgin territory. You’ll wince, nearly cry, then fail epically at faking an orgasm. No.” He shook his head. “I’m not having any part of that.”
I blinked slowly several times. Shocked. Speechless. “Uh … has this happened to you?”
He rolled his eyes and took the tray from me. “Yes. Yes, it has.”
Again, I skittered on his heels, desperate for more information. How many virgins had he deflowered? When did he retire from his deflowering job? Did the naked fisherman have virgin phobia? But the most pressing question was … why was I so eager to give him my virginity? Sex wasn’t special to him. He wasn’t going to declare his love for me to the world after bad, de-virgining sex.
No rings.
No proposals in the sky.
No “Here Comes the Bride.”
“This is super informal. Just grab your food. There’s more sangria in the pitcher.” Rory turned on music. Jazz. Then she flipped on the globe lights.
I didn’t want the globe lights on with Tiffany there. Those were lights for me and Fisher.
“Oh my gosh … I love the lights!” Tiffany’s eyes widened for a second before she sat with her plate of food on the sofa right next to Fisher. She might as well have sat onto his lap.
My monkey brain spun in circles like an out of control tilt a whirl. She wasn’t a virgin. No “bad sex” with her. No deflowering dilemma.
Fisher leaned over and tapped my plate with his fork, startling me from my self-destructive trance.
“You’re not eating. Are you good?”
Tiffany watched with minimal concern as Fisher’s question seemed benign to everyone else.
Are you good?
I let my gaze remain locked to his for a few seconds. I thought of how I felt when he zip-tied me to the stool, when he said those words “you know the answer to that.”
Tiffany thought she was on another date. She flirted with him. She sat right next to him. And I couldn’t blame her one bit for finding him irresistible. But … he was mine.
“I’m good.” I smiled.
He rewarded me with a wink. And anyone else could have seen it, and maybe someone did. But he didn’t care, and I loved him for it.
After dinner, Rory made a comment about her menstrual cycle.
Rose and Tiffany laughed, eyeing Fisher.
He shook his head and sipped another glass of sangria.
“This is important stuff, Fisher.” Rory grinned. “Your wife will thank me someday for enlightening you on the matter.”
“She’ll thank you for me knowing when it’s time to leave the room.” He stood. “Like now. I’ll just tidy up the kitchen. Have fun with your discussion.” He grabbed the empty plates and left the overabundance of estrogen on the porch.
I spent the next twenty minutes listening to Rory and Rose discuss perimenopause. Tiffany was too young to add much to the conversation, but she still laughed and pretended to know.
My ability to pretend ran out five minutes after Fisher left. I could no longer see him in the kitchen. The dishes were clean, but I didn’t see him leave.
“Anyone else need anything? I’m going to use the bathroom and get some water,” I interrupted.
They shook their heads, mumbling, “We’re good, thanks.”
It was a quarter to nine on a Sunday night. Didn’t they have jobs in the morning?
After I peed, I decided to sneak upstairs to see if Fisher was there, but I didn’t make it past the doorway to my bedroom.
“What are you doing?” I asked Fisher,
who was sitting on the floor at the end of the bed.
Taking a few more steps in the room and shutting the door behind me, I saw exactly what he was doing.
Solving my crossword puzzles.
I would have been upset had he not been using a pencil.
“Do you like crossword puzzles?” I asked, plopping onto the bed, on my belly with my head next to his. I rested my chin on his shoulder and watched him focus on one of my hardest puzzles.
“I like them better than talking about menstrual cycles.”
I giggled. He turned his head just enough to grin at me and press a short kiss to my lips. Then he returned his attention to the puzzle.
“You’re not going to get fourteen across.”
“Gulping in haste,” he whispered the clue.
I smirked, knowing he’d never ever get it.
Five letters.
Second letter was E.
Last letter was Z.
“Move on to the next one.” I bit his earlobe and tugged it. “You’re going to break your brain trying to figure it out.”
“Zip it,” he said, and it made me giggle more.
I kissed along his neck, and he cocked his head to the side, giving me better access.
“Xertz,” he said, filling in the missing letters.
I jerked my head straight. “How did you get that? You cheated. You used your phone.”
Fisher tossed the puzzle and pencil aside before reaching back and grabbing me, pulling me onto the floor.
“Fish—”
“Shh …” He covered my mouth with his hand while kissing my neck.
I quieted. His hand slid away from my mouth and his lips replaced it. He rolled us so that I was on top of him, my hair in his face, his hands on my butt, my hands on either side of his head.
“Fisher …” I deposited kisses all over his face. “If I’m yours…” my lips brushed the shell of his ear “…then you have to take the bad with the good.”
Bad sex.
I wanted him to take the bad sex that would come with our first time.
“What if …” He threaded his fingers through my hair, pulling it away from our faces. “What if you’re not supposed to be mine?”
Before I could present my most heartbroken frown, a fist tapped my door twice, and then it opened.
There was no time to stand. There was barely time to blink.
“Reese, do you have—” Rose stilled. Eyes wide. Lips parted into a huge O. “I … I’m sorry.” She backed out of the room and shut the door.
“Rose …” I flew to my feet and out of my bedroom.
Grabbing Rose’s arm before she got more than two steps toward the porch, I pulled her into my bathroom and shut the door.
Closing my eyes for a brief second, I blew out a slow breath. When I opened them, Rose eyed me with concern.
She didn’t see us kissing. Our clothes were on. And for a split second I considered pretending that we were wrestling like siblings. But Rose wasn’t stupid.
“If you tell my mom …” I had no clue what came after those words. I didn’t actually know how Rory would react, but with a certain level of certainty, I knew it wouldn’t be good.
“She’ll send you back to Texas and kill Fisher,” Rose said without hesitation.
I nodded. That worked. Honestly, Rose knew Rory better than I did. I trusted her prediction.
“Reese, he’s ten years older than you. You know that, right?”
Another nod while biting my lips together.
“What has he done? Have you …”
I shook my head at least a half dozen times. “We haven’t done … that.” It bothered me that Rose jumped immediately to Fisher, as if he had taken advantage of me. Like a predator or child molester.
“It’s a terrible idea.”
“I know,” I whispered, even though I didn’t know anything for certain when it came to Fisher Mann. “Please … please don’t say anything to Rory. Let me tell her when I’m ready.”
“Uh …” She chuckled. “I don’t think she ever needs to know. If you’re not having sex …” She narrowed her eyes as if she was clarifying again that we hadn’t had sex. “Then it’s nothing more than wasted infatuation. Boredom. And it will and should end soon. Right?”
My answer didn’t come out right away because I didn’t know the answer.
“Reese, listen, honey … Fisher is a wonderful man. And he’s your boss. Rory and I adore him. And for the right person at the right time, he will be quite the catch. But … and I mean this in the kindest way possible, Fisher is a man whore.”
My eyes narrowed.
“He’s not ready to settle down. He enjoys dating. He enjoys casual sex. And that’s great for women who are in the same place in their lives. Like Tiffany. She’s not ready to settle down tomorrow. She’s looking for casual and fun. Fisher is a great fit for her right now. But I honestly have no idea what he has to offer you beyond a job. If you’re not sexually active, then you need to be smart. You need to remind Fisher that he’s your boss, your mom’s friend, and that’s it. Anything else makes him a guy who is way too mature for you and focused on only one thing … trying to get into your pants. And your heart will get broken because I know enough about you to know that you are not that girl looking for anything less than the fairytale. Fisher is not anyone’s Prince Charming right now. Okay?”
Her words paralyzed me. I couldn’t speak. I couldn’t piece together a string of thoughts that made sense. A man whore? That seemed extreme. And he didn’t want into my pants. Or did he? Was it the game? Was I his toy?
“If you want me to talk to him—”
“No!” I shook my head. “Please, just let me handle it. Don’t tell Rory or anyone for that matter. I’ll … handle it.”
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Fisher was gone, upstairs I assumed, by the time Rose and I exited the bathroom. Rose suggested she and Tiffany leave. I didn’t know what she was going to say to Tiffany, but I felt confident that it might be a “Fisher is a man whore you deserve better” speech.
“Night, sweetheart.” Rory poked her head into my bedroom a little before ten as I reorganized my puzzles after Fisher rifled through them, solving the hardest ones.
After Rory’s bedroom door clicked shut, I texted Fisher.
Reese: Hi. Rose isn’t going to tell Rory or anyone.
Fisher: We leave at six in the morning.
I deflated at his cold response.
Reese: Are you mad?
I waited over fifteen minutes for a response.
Nothing.
So I decided to sleep on it. Things would be better in the morning.
Or so I thought.
When I reached the driveway the next morning, Fisher was already waiting, and it wasn’t six yet.
“Morning,” I smiled, hopping into the truck and tossing my bag in the back.
“Morning.” He gave me a forced smile for less than a second and put the truck into drive.
I gave him time. Five minutes. Ten minutes.
He said nothing and played music with the volume turned way up.
“What’s your car situation?” He broke the silence.
“Car situation?”
“Did you talk to your grandparents?”
“Yeah.” I turned my attention to the brake lights in front of us as we pulled to a stop at the light.
“And?”
“And they’re not going to give me the money for the Porsche, which is stupid because it’s my freaking money.”
“So you get the Forester?”
I shrugged with a single shoulder and sighed. “I suppose so.”
“Great. Get the money in your account and we’ll go get it tomorrow if it’s still there. Or you can go with Rory or Brendon. I really don’t care.”
He really didn’t care. Just what I wanted to hear. Rose was right. Fisher would crush my heart. As we waited for the light to change, my heart took off. Running away.
Away from the na
ked fisherman.
I wasn’t sure what propelled me to make my next move. I don’t remember my brain making some grand decision. It was instinct. Impulse. Survival.
Snagging my backpack from the back and unlatching my seat belt, I jumped out of the truck.
“Reese!”
Weaving through three lanes of stopped traffic, I sprinted through the steep dip of the ditch, my boots splashing in a small pool of standing water.
Down a less busy street.
Across a park.
Through someone’s backyard.
Down another residential street.
Stopping at a bus stop.
Bending over, I rested my hands on my knees and fought to catch my breath for a few seconds before collapsing onto the bench behind me.
My phone vibrated in the side pocket of my bag. I ignored it.
How did I get there? Less than twenty-four hours earlier, I was on Fisher’s bed. We were laughing.
Touching.
Kissing.
Existing only for each other.
He made me feel hopeful.
My phone kept vibrating, so I pulled it out of the pocket to shut it off.
It was Fisher.
And there were a string of texts from him too.
Where are you?
Answer your phone.
I’m sorry.
Please pick up your phone.
Don’t make me call Rory.
Or the police.
I was eighteen. He wasn’t going to call the police. And I didn’t believe he would call Rory either. Not yet.
When the bus stopped, I got on. And I spent the next three hours taking various bus routes around Denver.
Earbuds in.
Music playing.
My mind sorting through everything.
I just needed time.
After my dad died, family rushed to console me. Feed me. Fix me. So I ran away for twelve hours because I needed time. I took the bus that day too. A bus ride didn’t solve every problem, but it was cathartic. The passing miles. The passengers coming and going. Time to imagine that my life wasn’t any worse than anybody else’s life.
After grabbing a sandwich, I found the bus stop closest to the office and walked the rest of the way.