The Lost Fisherman (Fisherman #2)(43)

On another deep breath, I pulled back my shoulders and played the part of the happy birthday girl as I trekked to the front door.

It was a chillier day in Denver, and it was the first time I had seen Fisher in a beanie. I wanted to cry. He looked so sexy. Sexy for her, not me.

“Hey.” He grinned too big, said hey with too much enthusiasm.

I managed to return two raised eyebrows and a closed-lipped smile.

“Let me take your bag. I’ll meet you in the truck. No rush.”

I relinquished my bag.

“Hopefully, we’ll only be an hour or two behind. Did you get our gear that I set by the garage?” Rose asked.

“I did,” Fisher said just before shutting the door.

“No pouting. It’s not the worst thing ever.” Rose handed me a thermos. “Hot chocolate for the road.”

“Thanks.” I took it.

“See you in a few hours?”

“Yup.” I went out the front door.

Fisher’s truck was backed into the driveway. I wasn’t going to sit behind Fisher and have Angie glancing at me every two seconds, so I walked around to the passenger side so my view would be of Fisher.

I opened the back door. “Um …” I glanced up front to the empty seat. “I thought you picked Angie up already.” I climbed into the back.

“Get your ass up here.” He glanced at me and grinned.

I narrowed my eyes.

“Happy birthday.”

“It’s not my birthday until tomorrow.”

“Yes, but I’m giving you your present now.”

“My present is riding in the front seat? I’m not ten. And Angie riding in back is just weird.”

“But Angie’s not going, so it’s only weird if you ride in back.”

“What?” My eyes widened.

“She’s not going. Just get up front before Rose comes out here because she doesn’t understand why I’m still parked in the driveway.”

I hopped in the front seat, and Fisher wasted no time pulling out of the driveway.

“Is she okay?” I didn’t want to accidentally smile or squeal with joy if something was wrong with Angie. I wasn’t a catty bitch by nature.

“She’s fine. Just a little headache.”

“She stayed home for just a little headache?”

He shrugged. “I suggested she stay home.”

“Why?”

With a contemplative expression, he kept his gaze forward. “Because I love you today. And I think there’s a high probability that I will love you tomorrow—on your birthday. Loving you means making your birthday as special as possible.”

“Pull over.”

“What?” He shot me a quick glance. “You feeling okay?”

“Pull over now.”

He veered off the road just before we reached the interstate.

I unbuckled and crawled over the console.

“Whoa … what are you—”

With one leg still on the console and my other leg pressed between his legs so my knee was on the seat, I grabbed his face and kissed him.

It took him a second—two at the most—to get past the shock of my sudden need to kiss him, hug him, love him. One of his hands found my waist and his other hand palmed my backside.

“I love you.” I moved my eager mouth from his lips to his cheeks, showering him with kisses. “I love you so much.”

“Yeah?” He chuckled. “I picked the right present for your birthday?”

“Yes.”

Kiss.

“Yes.”

Kiss.

Fisher laughed a little more. I couldn’t stop kissing him. It had been over a week since I’d seen him. And he exceeded my expectations in every way possible. I pulled off his beanie.

“Hey, that’s my hat.”

I slowly ran my hands through his hair and brought our noses together, closing my eyes for a brief second as I exhaled. “I just … need to feel you everywhere I can,” I whispered. “It’s how I know you’re mine. It’s how I know it’s real.”

Fisher brought his chin up so our lips pressed together again, kissing like he kissed me the night in his bathroom. Then he pulled back, hands sliding up my back, gaze sweeping across my face. “If we waste too much time here, we won’t get to the campsite in time to set up and do … things before Rory and Rose get there.”

I grinned, slipping his beanie back onto his head. “Things? What kind of things do you plan on doing to me?” A jolt of excitement shot through my veins.

“All the things.”

I swallowed hard. “Well, why didn’t you start with that?” I pushed him away, as if he were the one who forced me onto his lap, and I scrambled to get fastened into my seat. “Go. Don’t wait for me. Go! Go! Go!”

He laughed, shaking his head while pulling back into traffic. I synced my phone with his truck so I could control the music. John Legend’s “Wild.”

I knew Fisher hadn’t heard it because he wore a slight scowl on his face when the song started. But as the lyrics flowed through his speakers, his scowl turned into something resembling … lust.

Next, I played Josie Dunne’s “Good Boys.”

Fisher shot me a smirk. Who were we kidding? He wasn’t a good boy even if he didn’t remember all the crude things he said to me. I remembered.