The Lost Fisherman (Fisherman #2)(58)

“Fuck you,” he whispered with a grin, “for giving me a hard-on in McDonald’s, three feet from the PlayPlace.”

I giggled. “I had to lighten the mood. It’s hard to love you and yet feel sorry for another woman who loves you too.”

He cringed, scratching his jaw. “Right? If Angie were a terrible person, this would be so much easier.”

“It’s not that long. And I don’t blame her for not wanting you to call off the wedding right before the holidays. Her first Thanksgiving and Christmas without her mom. That would be pretty terrible of you. But then I think of what Rory walked in on last weekend, and that was pretty terrible of you too. It could have just as easily been Angie popping by. Then what? Can you imagine explaining that to your family? Nothing says happy holidays like a S-E-X scandal.”

Fisher laughed, glancing around us again. “You realize half of these kids can spell, right? And who doesn’t love a good S-E-X scandal?”

“The person not getting any S-E-X.”

The woman at the table next to us cleared her throat and scowled at us.

“Let’s go.” Fisher gathered our trash and we took our PG-13 conversation out of the G-rated play zone.

“Are you still going to the cousin’s wedding?”

Fisher unlocked his truck and turned toward me as he leaned against the side of his truck, kicking his foot back onto the tire. “Afraid so.” He fiddled with the key fob in his hand, chin tipped to his chest.

“When is it?”

“The weekend after Thanksgiving.”

I nodded. “It’s Costa Rica. You’ll have fun.”

Glancing up, he shot me the hairy eyeball. “Fun?”

“She’s your friend. It would be sad for that to change since you’ve known her since you were six.”

“I don’t know her.”

I frowned. “But I think you will. You made a baby with her.” That came out sounding much different than it did in my head. “I’m just saying, that has to give you a second’s pause. Right? If someone brought a stranger to me and said I didn’t remember them, but I made a child with them, even if the child died, I’d need a moment to process what that meant.”

“It was hardly a child. She was only two months pregnant.”

“Well, I was raised to think of a child at any stage of life after creation as being alive … a life. And maybe I’ve changed my views on a lot of things over the past five years, but that hasn’t changed for me. So yeah, I know I’ve thought about the baby you made with her. And my mind has run in so many directions … like what if she wouldn’t have miscarried? Would you be married to her? Would you have other children with her? And then, had you been in the same accident and not remembered her, would you have fought harder to get back that life … those feelings?”

Nobody … not Rory or Rose … not his family … not Angie … nobody was allowed to say I swooped in and stole Fisher. Even when it didn’t benefit me and my interests, I went the extra mile to make Fisher really think about his decisions. Probably because he made me think about mine five years earlier. He made me consider more than our selfish desire to be together. And because of that, I left.

Did I want him to choose Angie? No. I wanted him to choose me with all his memories of her. I wanted him to find happiness with me without any fear or self-doubt.

“Are you in that scenario?” he asked.

“Does it matter?”

“Maybe. I think I would have still fallen in love with you. But I would have felt a greater responsibility to my wife and kids. The kids more than my wife. So you can spin this any way you want to spin it, but it doesn’t change my current situation. And I’m not married. I don’t have kids. She did miscarry the baby. That’s my reality. Playing the what-if game is just stupid. I’m not going to do that. So stop trying to make me fall in love with her.”

Collapsing into his chest, I lifted my head and kissed his neck. “Fall in love with me.”

He grabbed my face and kissed me. “Done.”

“And do it again tomorrow.”

He grinned. “Tomorrow? Thought you only ever wanted today.”

My hands slid behind him, worming their way under his jacket and shirt, caressing the warm skin along his back. “You make me greedy.”

“Greedy? Is that the best word you’ve got?”

I grinned. “Delirious?”

“You can do better.” He nipped at my lips as his hands covered my butt.

“Wanton?”

“Now we’re getting there.” He kissed my neck. “Keep going …”

I giggled, sliding one hand just beneath his waistband, my nails pressing into the hard muscles of his glutes. “Brazen.”

“Move your hand to the front of my jeans … then you can be brazen.”

“That would be more inappropriate.”

“You think?”

I gasped as his hand made a swift transition from my butt to diving into the front of my jeans and panties.

In. McDonald’s. Parking. Lot.

“Titillating. Salacious. And maybe a little indecent.” He rubbed me in slow circles.

“Provocative?” he whispered in my ear.

“F-fisher … s-stop.”