The Naked Fisherman (Fisherman 1)

“I think Rory would love for Reese to settle for that,” Fisher added.

“No. Just … no. Reese, listen to me. You won’t regret the bad decisions you make now. You’ll only regret the missed opportunities to make mistakes and live. You don’t need a good guy to give you a home and needy kids. You need a string of bad guys to give you experience. You’ll never know what you do want in life until you experience everything you don’t want in life.”

“Said no mother ever.” Fisher shook his head.

“Mothers are hardwired to protect their offspring. If you want advice on canning or ironing, ask your mom. If you want advice on being a woman ... a free-spirited woman … then don’t ever ask your mom. Well …” Hailey tapped her chin with her finger. “Come to think of it, you could probably ask Rory. She’s cooler than most moms.”

I glance up at her. “Why do you say that?”

“Just because.”

Fisher cleared his throat. “Clock out, Hailey. Have a good night.”

“Are you dismissing me? I feel dismissed. Are you shooing me out of here so you can give Reese some lame advice on dating because Rory’s made you feel protective of her?”

“Yes. Leave so I can give her some lame advice.” Fisher closed the folder and tossed it onto the desk next to my piles of papers.

“Don’t listen to him, Reese. Call me later.” Hailey hiked her purse onto her shoulder.

I nodded, giving her a tight grin.

After the door closed behind her, Fisher used his leg to swivel the desk chair so I was facing him. “Who are you dating?”

“No one.” I gave him two full seconds of my gaze before averting it to the side.

“So why are you talking to Hailey about it?”

“None of your business.”

“Am I the guy?”

“There is no guy.”

“Yet, you’re talking to Hailey about a guy.”

“Oh my gosh!” I skittered to my feet to wheel the chair backward a good six feet, hitting the front of Hailey’s desk. “I wasn’t asking her about dating. I was asking her about sex. There. Are you happy?”

“Why not ask me about it?”

With an incredulous laugh, I shook my head. “Sorry. What was I thinking? I’m sure you’re experienced with how it feels to have a penis in your vagina. Does it hurt the first time?”

Fisher excelled at masking his reactions to things, but I had him. I didn’t miss his Adam’s apple bobbing with a hard swallow. He didn’t see that question coming. A month earlier, he didn’t see me coming.

“I’m not talking—”

“Full. Of. Yourself!” I cut him off, shooting straight up from the chair and planting my fists onto my hips. “You are so full of yourself. What makes you think I’m talking about you? We’re over. Remember? And you didn’t want my virginity. It was too inconvenient for you. So stop assuming you’re some bright star that I orbit.”

He narrowed his eyes. “What are you so angry about?”

HIM!

Life.

My dad dying.

My mom missing out on my high school years.

Church school.

The cloak of guilt I wore because of church.

God.

Yeah, I was angry at God too because I didn’t understand what kind of god would give me so many emotions, desires, and uncontrolled feelings, then tell me I had to suppress them until I was married.

What if I didn’t want to get married yet? Did “good” Christians get married just to remove the sin from sex?

There wasn’t anything Fisher could say to make me feel less agitated. His silence showed his maturity and understanding of that, yet it also infuriated me. I wanted him to at least try to make a case for himself.

“Why me? And I don’t mean it like I have no sense of self-esteem. It’s not that. I’m not ugly. I’m not stupid. I’m fun. I have a decent list of quality traits. But you’re not ugly either. Or stupid. And you can be fun. But you’re also ten years older than me. With so many options. I just don’t get it. Was I a game? A toy? Were you bored? I know I’ve asked you this before, but I just don’t get it. Why engage with an eighteen-year-old who has no solid direction in her life yet, can’t drink legally, and who’s a virgin. I just don’t get it.”

He let my words settle, dissipate, and vanish, replaced with silence. “What did you like about the mountains?”

I shrugged. “What didn’t I like? The air. The tranquility. The vastness. Just … I don’t know. When we stopped at that overlook, I just liked how I felt. There. In the moment. It’s hard to describe.”

“Because you can’t.”

“Maybe.” I tried to think of the right words, but they fell short.

“Well, neither can I.”

“It …” I shook my head. “It still doesn’t make sense.”

“To whom? How you feel about … everything—people, places, things, events, good times, tragedies, the past, the future—it only has to make sense to you. In this life, we don't owe anyone anything. No explanation. Feelings are the most personal part of who we are. You’re not accountable for your feelings any more than you’re accountable for the amount of oxygen you consume. Think for yourself. And don’t ever let anyone tell you how to feel.”