The Naked Fisherman by Jewel E. Ann

Chapter Twenty-Six

I ranfrom the bottom of the stairs to my bathroom.

“Fisher …” I frowned at my reflection in the mirror. He totally destroyed my hair. And my face, neck, and chest had a severe case of whisker burn. So I splashed lots of water on my face and reapplied my makeup. Then, I buttoned my blouse to the top and tied a lightweight scarf around my neck.

“Sorry. Fisher was still in the shower, so I had to wait for him to get out so I could tell him dinner was ready.” The lies came way too easily.

“Cute scarf,” Rose said.

I touched my scarf, making sure it was coving my neck. “Thanks.”

“Your mom said you work for Fisher, is that correct?” Tiffany asked as I took a seat on the sectional, the spot where I slept with Fisher. Tiffany sat at the opposite end.

“Yes, for now.” I persuaded my lips to curl into a smile for Fisher’s date.

“What’s it like working for him? He’s such a perfectionist. I bet it’s intense.” Tiffany sipped her sangria that Rory made.

“Yes, what’s it like?” Fisher appeared in the doorway, giving me a serious expression as he sat on the sofa, not too close to me, but definitely closer to me than Tiffany.

“It’s like working for a man child.” I gave him a toothy smile.

Rory and Rose laughed, rocking in the only two rockers on the porch. Tiffany seemed uneasy. Her gaze ping-ponged between me and Fisher.

“Brave girl.” She cringed. “I’d never talk to my boss like that.”

Fisher leaned forward and grabbed a glass of sangria from the tray. “I’ll fire her on Monday.”

“Oh, Fisher. Do you want to go with me to the Jensen’s this week? I messaged them, and they’re out of town this week, but they gave me their door code and said we can stop by anytime.”

Fisher sipped his sangria before rubbing his lips together and nodding. “Let me check my schedule and see how my week goes.”

“Absolutely. I’m really flexible.”

“And by flexible, she means she does yoga.” Rose threw Tiffany under the bus.

Rory laughed. Fisher smirked with slight amusement. Tiffany turned as red as the sangria. And I grinned past my clenched teeth.

“I know you won’t, but I’m fine with you having a glass of sangria if you’d like to try it, Reese.” Rory nodded to the last glass on the tray.

“My mom wasn’t near as cool as your mom, Reese,” Rose said. “It’s the best sangria. Try it.”

“Don’t push her.” Rory shot Rose a look. “She’s accustomed to a more conservative lifestyle, and we need to respect that.” Rory worked overtime trying to convince everyone, including me, that I wouldn’t or maybe shouldn’t try the sangria.

“I’ll try it.” I shrugged.

Fisher leaned forward again and handed me the last glass.

“Thanks,” I murmured, giving him a quick glance.

“Nice scarf,” he said so only I could hear him.

My eyes narrowed a fraction as I sipped my drink.

“Well?” Rory waited for my response to the sangria.

“It’s really good.”

“Easy, lightweight,” Fisher said, eliciting laughter.

I lifted my foot onto the sofa and kicked the side of his leg.

He grabbed my ankle and held it, nearly making me spill my drink as I tried to break free from his grip.

“Now … now … kids.” Rory rolled her eyes. “I wasn’t the least bit surprised to find these two acting like siblings when I got home from California. We have guests. I don’t need you two wrestling around on the floor.”

Fisher released my ankle, but his touch lingered on my skin. I liked his hands on me. So very much.

Tiffany watched us, a slight catty expression pinned to her face.

“I shut off the grill, but everything is ready. Steak. Chicken. Tofu. And in the foil, there’s veggies and potatoes. Want to grab the food off the grill, Fisher?”

“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.”