The Naked Fisherman (Fisherman 1) - Page 56

“No internet porn for you.”

That made my face heat a bit. Just the word porn did that. “No.” I returned a nervous laugh. But I had seen porn. Once … okay twice. My friend Kat lived with her dad, and her dad worked nights so he was always sleeping during the day. Kat thought it was fun to check out her dad’s browser history on the computer; he wasn’t only paying bills and ordering socks from Amazon while Kat and her younger brother were at the Christian academy. Worth noting too … he taught the teen’s Sunday school class at church.

“Have you taken the bar exam?”

“Nope. I’ve taken a job with a law firm here in Denver, and they’re adamant about helping me study for it. But honestly …” He winked. It wasn’t a Fisher wink, but it was still adorable in its own way. “I’ve got this.”

Confidence.

Man … what I wouldn’t give to have had even half of his confidence. And direction. That was it more than anything. A sense of direction imparted a certain level of confidence. I didn’t know if gap-year kids had as much confidence.

We ordered food and chatted for over an hour. Brendon’s mom lived just outside of Chicago. And his two younger sisters still lived there too.

“Enough about me. Tell me about your mom? Why were you living with your grandparents after your dad died?”

“My mom had some … issues after the divorce. So my dad had custody of me. Then my grandparents stepped in after he died because my mom was still not able to take care of me.”

Why did I lie? I didn’t know. Out of all the people I should have been honest with, Brendon was at the top. He was a Christian, which meant he would not have judged me. (Yes, I realized that thought held zero actual truth.) He wasn’t trying to date me, so I had no need to impress him. And I’d been upfront about my mom’s situation with so many other people before him. I don’t even remember making the conscious decision to lie to him. My mouth started moving, and it took a bit for my brain to process the automated lie.

“So how is it now … with your mom? Are things weird?”

“Well, that’s hard to answer. I no sooner arrived and she left for L.A. to do some salon training. She’ll be home in a few days.”

“You must be excited about that?”

Was I excited? Rory home equaled things ending with Fisher.

“Sure.” I smiled, but it barely bent my lips.

After he bought my lunch, in which I argued because it wasn’t a date, we climbed back into the car and started to pull out of the parallel parking spot and into traffic.

“Show me where you live.”

“Why?” I laughed through some uncontrolled nerves. My goal that day was to avoid going home for as long as possible.

Brendon shrugged. “Sunday afternoon drive. It’s a great neighborhood. And when you mentioned you lived close by, it piqued my curiosity.”

Scraping my teeth along my bottom lip a few times, I nodded slowly. “Okay. We can do a drive-by.”

It took less than three minutes to get to the house. I slowed down, but not much. “That’s it, right there.”

“Wow … wait … slow down. The view from the back has to be spectacular.”

“Yeah, it’s fine.”

“Reese.” He laughed. “Seriously, are you not going to stop? Can I see the back of the house?”

“Not a good idea.” I slowed down a little more. Arnie’s Tahoe was gone and the garage doors were shut.

“Why? Because you don’t really live here?”

“What?” I stopped the car. “Of course I live here. You think I’m lying?”

He smirked. “There’s only one way to find out.”

“Gah. Fine!” I pulled along the side of the street and hopped out. “Let’s go in back.”

Brendon followed me around to the back of the house.

“Happy now?”

Slipping his hands into his pockets, he nodded. His blue eyes bright and the gel in his hair reflecting the sunlight. “Not unless we go inside.”

“Are you serious?”

“Are you serious?” He shot back at me.

I couldn’t hide my smile, so I rolled my eyes and led him to the door. “See?” I said as the key fit the lock and I opened the door.

“Yeah, I see. You weren’t lying.” He followed me into the basement. “This is huge. And really nice. When you said you were living in a basement, I think it conjures images of dinky spaces with no light, cobwebs, and a growling furnace. This is by far nicer than any place I’ve ever lived.” He milled around the space, running his fingers along the edge of the pool table. “You play?”

I had used the pool table, just not for pool.

“A little.”

“Then let’s play.” He grabbed two sticks and handed one to me.

Midway through our game, the door upstairs opened and footsteps followed. Brendon shot me a narrowed-eyed glance. Of course, he had to be thinking … who would be coming down the stairs? Surely, I locked the door. Right?

Tags: Jewel E. Ann Fisherman Romance
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