The Lost Fisherman (Fisherman #2)(32)

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.