I knocked on the door several times.
No answer.
I rang the doorbell.
No answer.
As I gave up and started to retreat down the sidewalk, Fisher opened the door.
Just my luck …
He was wet and holding a towel around his waist. The past replayed itself. I liked the idea of a redo with Fisher.
“I’m running late, babe!” Angie appeared in the doorway in a pantsuit and her handbag dangling from one arm. She lifted onto her toes and kissed him on the lips. He kissed her back.
It wasn’t a long kiss, but it wasn’t one sided either.
“Morning, Reese. Can’t stay and chat. Byeee!” She waved to me with her left hand, big diamond, and manicured nails, just before hopping into her car.
I mumbled a barely audible “hi” and turned my attention to the resurrected naked fisherman. As I made my way to the front porch, he watched Angie back out of the driveway before shifting his attention to me.
“Good morning.”
My gaze struggled to stay on his face.
“Not pretty, huh?” he said.
I shook my head as if I hadn’t been staring at his road rash that was healing fairly well. “You’re alive. I think the prettiness of your skin should be an afterthought.”
He retreated into the house, leaving the door open—which I took as an invitation to go inside.
“Angie seemed in a good mood. You must have done something right for once.”
He continued down the hallway toward his (their) bedroom. “Apparently she just needed to get laid. Had I known, I could have obliged her sooner.” He shut the door behind him.
That was a pretty hard hit. It took a good pep talk to get my emotions in check before he reemerged from the bedroom.
He proposed to her.
She said yes.
Even if he didn’t remember her, it didn’t mean they couldn’t have sex. Sex didn’t have to involve emotions. Men paid for sex with prostitutes—not that Angie was a prostitute or Fisher was the kind of guy who would pay for sex. I needed a way to wrap my brain around it before the disappointment sent me spiraling out of control.
I took a seat at the island in the kitchen. A few minutes later, he came into the room in jeans and a white tee. Hair still wet. “My dick works, Nurse Capshaw. In case you’re still concerned.” He poured himself a cup of coffee and dropped two slices of bread into the toaster.
My breakfast was a mini vomit in my mouth that I swallowed back down. “Still so crude.”
“Crude?” He turned and leaned his butt against the counter, sipping his coffee. “Was I crude to you?”
Did he want the truth?
“Had my mom not been living in your basement, I’m pretty sure I could have won a sexual harassment lawsuit against you and your crudeness.” I might have been feeling a bit feral and defensive after confirmation that he screwed Angie the previous night.
How dare he have sex with his fiancée. (Internal eye roll at myself).
“Are you…” he squinted at me “…serious? I was inappropriate with you?”
Wow! It seemed to really bother him.
I gave my answer some thought. Of course, my knee-jerk response would have been, “You zip-tied me to a stool and ate me out.” That response gave away too much information. I wasn’t actively trying to break up his engagement. Not consciously, anyway.
“You had a gift for making me blush. That’s all.”
He kept his mouth hidden behind his coffee mug. Was he grinning?
“Do tell. What kinds of things did I do to make you blush?”
“I …” I laughed. “I’m not going to tell you. I’m sure most of it was because I was young. I’d spent the previous three years in a Christian academy, and Rory was gone, so I think you were bored. Embarrassing me became your favorite pastime.”
After another sip of his coffee, he set his mug on the counter. “Well, I’m sorry.” He seemed serious.
The long moment of silence conveyed a level of genuineness. Then a case of untimely giggles hit me. I just … started laughing, and I couldn’t stop.
Even with my hand cupped at my mouth, my laughter continued. “I’m … I’m sorry. I just don’t believe you.”
“What don’t you believe?”
“That …” I took a deep breath to control my laughter. “That you’re sorry. You told me your dick still works.”
“Only because yesterday you asked me if it worked.”
“As a nurse. I asked you in a professional way.”
“But you’re not my nurse, so it made you look like my friend’s daughter simply asking about my dick.” He retrieved the butter from the fridge.
“No peanut butter? You can’t possibly be out of peanut butter.”
He shrugged. “Yeah, I don’t know what’s up with that. Everyone tells me I love peanut butter. Rory made peanut butter cookies. I mean, it’s all right, but I don’t feel a big love for it.”
“I hate it.”