After my eyes got their fill, after my tongue made a half dozen swipes along my lower lip, I nodded. “Put your clothes on.”
“Are you sure?” He waddled toward me, taking tiny steps restricted by his jeans at his ankles. Fisher was the sexiest duck I had ever seen.
“Stop.” I giggled. “Just … put your clothes on.”
“Now I feel rejected.”
“Then we’re even.” I laughed.
“I knew it!” He pointed a finger at my face. “So you did feel rejected.”
My smile faded and I curled my hair behind my ears. “No.” I shook my head slowly before hunching in front of him and pulling his jeans up his legs.
Fisher’s breaths kicked up a notch, maybe in anticipation of what I was doing, maybe from my proximity to his erection pressed against the black cotton.
I watched my hands, as did he, while I buttoned and zipped his jeans. “Today I saw Angie in her wedding gown. Spoiler alert: she looked stunning. And emotional. She looked like the girl who had dreamed of one boy and only one boy her whole life.” My fingers traced the scars along his abs and chest; they tightened even more under my touch.
“I’m not saying that you should marry her. And anything short of wearing that dress for you will cut her deeply. So I’m also not saying that I think my walking away will change how you feel about her or how she will feel if you don’t marry her. But I need perspective, Fisher.” I lifted my gaze to his.
Concern lined his beautiful face.
“I’m not in this to destroy a woman’s dreams,” I said. “I’m not in this for a quick lay. It’s not a game, even if every moment with you feels exciting and filled with so much life. So thank you.” I found a small and easy smile for him.
“For what?”
“For stopping me. For rejecting me. It’s easy to lose perspective when I’m with you.”
“No.” He shook his head. “Again, I didn’t reject you. And you are never allowed to thank me for stopping us from getting naked. Just … no. I won’t allow it.”
“Put your shirt on. We have work to do.” I took a step backward.
He snagged his shirt from the floor and pulled it over his head, threading his arms through it slowly. I turned and ran my hand over the wood pieces we glued two nights earlier.
“I’m sorry,” he whispered, pressing his chest to my back and kissing the top of my head. “I’m sure seeing Angie in her wedding gown was not easy for you. I wish I knew with certainty how this story will end.” He bent lower and kissed my neck as his good hand slid around my waist. “I know how I want it to end right now. But I’m so fucking scared of the plot twist because there are just too many chapters left. And I no longer trust life and its plot twists.”
If only we could’ve just packed a couple of bags and left with one-way tickets to someplace far away and never returned. But we weren’t running from Rory and Rose or even Angie and his family. We were running away from his lost memories.
I turned in his arms and snaked mine around his neck. “Let’s not read any further.” I grinned. “Let’s go back to the beginning and reread—relive—our favorite chapters, like this one.”
“This one?” He narrowed his eyes a fraction.
I pulled him to me, lifting onto my toes as my lips brushed back and forth over his. “Yeah,” I whispered before giving his mouth a slow kiss. My right hand reached for his left hand, and I guided it under the hem of my shirt.
Up.
Up.
Up.
“This is the chapter where the lost fisherman makes it to second base.”