The Naked Fisherman (Fisherman 1) - Page 68

It took me a minute to unpack his insane summary of our time together.

“You went to urgent care? Why didn’t you tell me?”

I shrugged. “It was no big deal. No stitches.”

Rory blinked several times and nodded. Then, she smiled. “Happy Meals?”

I rolled my eyes. “It’s no big deal.”

“It’s a gigantic deal.” Fisher ruffled my hair.

Ruffled my hair!

Like I was five. What the heck?

“Your daughter carried on your collection while you were in prison. How sweet is that?” He climbed onto the stool next to me.

I ignored him.

“Really? Oh, Reese …” Tears filled her eyes.

“It’s no big deal. And I’m sure I missed plenty of items. It’s like making a few crossword puzzles after Dad died.”

“A few?” Fisher opened his big, dumb mouth. “More like an entire book full of them.”

With a tight smile, I shot him an evil glare.

Rory added a bunch of seasonings to the wok filled with veggies and chicken. “You are the sweetest girl.”

I didn’t respond with more than a small grin.

“Have you met anyone at church? Any nice boys?”

Fisher rested his elbow on the counter and his head in his hand, staring at the side of my face like he was waiting anxiously for my response—taking his “extra-ness” to a whole new level.

“I did, actually. His name is Brendon. He’s twenty-four, and he just graduated from law school. We had lunch and played pool here. We’re planning on doing something again this Sunday.” I narrowed my eyes and shot Fisher another glare—a “take that, you obnoxious jerk!”

He focused solely on my lips while wetting his.

Why did he always one-up me?

“Sweetheart, I’m so happy for you. Sounds like quite the catch. A lawyer.”

“He is quite the catch.” I kicked Fisher in the shin because he was mocking me with his overtly enthusiastic gestures while I talked to Rory.

“He’s not the best pool player,” Fisher said, pinching the hell out of my leg just above my knee.

I had to bite my lower lip to keep from yelping. “You never saw him play,” I said through gritted teeth.

“I saw him holding the pool stick. Total amateur.”

All I could think was … “Who are you?”

Really, Fisher was so so much extra. Was he jealous? Or was he just trying to pester me, poke the bear? Treat me like a child?

“I knew it.” Rory shook her head while stirring dinner. “I knew you two would end up acting like brother and sister.”

My stomach turned.

Fisher? He seemed amused.

Gross.

“Let’s eat out on the screened-in porch.” She spooned stir fry onto three plates and slid two toward us. “Grab whatever you want to drink. Fisher, if you want beer, you’ll have to get your own. I didn’t get any before I left since Reese won’t drink it …” She walked by me and bopped my nose. “Because she’s not twenty-one, and I know she’s not a drinker.”

She stepped out onto the screened-in porch, and I followed her with Fisher right behind me.

“You sure have her fooled. You drink and give a killer hand job. But we’ll keep that between us.”

I whipped around, nearly sending my dinner flying off my plate. “I didn’t give you a hand job,” I whispered.

“Oh, Reese … you’re just adorable. Really.”

I narrowed my eyes and growled, taking a page from his playbook.

Fisher glanced over my shoulder, probably seeing if Rory was watching us. “If you growl at me, I’ll bite your ass again …” His gaze cut to me. “And you’ll like it.”

“I will not like it.” I turned back around.

Fisher’s face landed right next to my ear. “You will if I tie you up first.”

My back came to attention as I choked on a little saliva.

What the heck? Tie me up? Who does that?

“What are you two talking about?” Rory eyed us suspiciously as we stepped out onto the porch.

“Just sibling stuff.” Fisher grinned while taking a seat.

I chose the chair in the opposite corner of the porch as Fisher sat on the sectional.

“Rose wants to go to a jazz club Friday. Why don’t you come, Fisher? She’s bringing another friend. A single friend who happens to be an interior designer. Rose thinks she’s a good match for you. What do you say?”

“I like jazz,” I said.

Rory frowned. “Oh, sorry, sweetheart. You have to be twenty-one to get into the club.”

I focused on my plate of food, stirring it with my fork, waiting for it to cool down … waiting for me to cool down.

“Sounds fun. Count me in.”

My head snapped up, shooting my gaze right to Fisher. He chewed slowly, giving me a challenging look.

For the rest of dinner, I stay quiet, letting Fisher and Rory catch up.

“I’m going to my room to read before I go to bed. Thanks for dinner.” I headed toward the door.

“Okay. Sweet dreams, love,” Rory said.

“Don’t let the bed bugs bite.” Fisher leaned back on the sectional, stretching both arms across the back.

Tags: Jewel E. Ann Fisherman Romance
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