The Naked Fisherman (Fisherman 1)

I maintained my emotionless expression, giving nothing away, yet demanding everything.

His booted feet planted right in front of me as he rested one hand on a hip and tipped his chin toward his chest.

Another sigh.

“Apologize,” I said.

Ever so slowly, he lifted his gaze to me, a tiny grin quirking one side of his mouth. “For?”

“Exactly. I’m glad we agree that you have so much to apologize for.”

“The muffin?”

I nodded.

“I got you a new one.”

“But you didn’t apologize.”

“Actions speak louder than words. I. Got. You. A. New. One.”

“And last night? Your obnoxiousness? You agreeing to go on a date like … ten minutes after sticking your tongue down my throat? Making unnecessary jabs at Brendon, whom you’ve met once, for two seconds. What about that?”

Twisting his lips to the side, he narrowed his eyes. “Do you want a verbal apology? Or do you want a physical one?”

I wasn’t sure where he was going with that offering? A physical one?

“I’m not giving you both. So … choose carefully.”

“Define physical.”

“It’s something I do, instead of something I say.”

“What would you do?”

“I’m not telling you. Just choose.”

It was so ridiculous. Why couldn’t he simply say sorry and go on with the day? And why couldn’t I just choose the verbal apology? Why was I so curious about his physical gesture?

“Am I a toy to you?”

Fisher’s gaze slid down my body and inched its way back up to my face. That answered my question.

“Are you asking if I enjoy playing with you?”

“Are you going to sleep with your Friday night date?”

“And by sleep, you mean?”

“Fisher …”

“Are you going to sleep with your Sunday afternoon date?” He lifted one eyebrow.

“You know that answer.”

Fisher nodded slowly. “I do. But is it because of Jesus or because you gave me a hand job?”

“Are you going to sleep with your date because you have no moral code or because my hand job wasn’t good enough?”

Satisfaction lit up his entire face. “So you do admit it was a hand job.”

“Fisher …”

“Let’s find you a car so we can get to work.” He turned ninety degrees and retraced his original path toward the lot of cars.

I followed with my heart dragging behind me, getting bruised and scraped by the harsh road that was Fisher Mann.

“Hey, looking for anything specific?” the salesman asked.

“Something reliable with good gas mileage,” Fisher spoke for me.

“Something fast,” I said with a serious face.

The salesman gave me a dismissive “hehe” laugh.

“I have a Honda Accord over here. One owner. Sixty-five thousand miles. Good gas mileage. Reliable.”

“I’m thinking about an SUV because I’ll be making a lot of trips into the mountains.”

Again, the salesman gave me a look like I wasn’t the one purchasing the vehicle. “Subaru Outback?”

“Sounds good. Let’s see it,” Fisher said.

I shook my head. “My mom has one. I don’t want the same car.”

“It’s a good car. You can take it into the mountains.” Fisher tried to make a case for the Outback.

“I see you have a Porsche Cayenne at the front of the lot.”

Both men looked at me like I was crazy.

“Um … we do. It has close to forty-thousand miles on it, and it’s fifty-five thousand, but we could probably get you into it for a little less.”

“She’s not looking for a fifty-thousand-dollar vehicle,” Fisher said, walking down the row with the boring Outbacks and Accords.

“She is looking for whatever she wants.” I crossed my arms over my chest and followed him.

“We’ll test drive this one,” Fisher nodded toward a Subaru.

“I don’t want an Outback.”

“It’s a Forester.” He peered inside the window before reading the specifics on the sticker.

“I’ll grab the keys,” the salesman said.

“I needed a ride, not a parent. A ride, not a bully. What is your deal? This is my purchase. My decision.”

He took a break from the sticker to look at me. “Should we call Rory?”

“No.” I tipped up my chin.

“Then we’re test driving the Forester.”

“Fine. But I’m not buying it.”

He eyed the salesman getting closer behind me. “We’re not buying anything today, just test driving.”

“We’re not buying anything ever. I’m buying it.”

“I’ll just need to see your driver’s license, miss.”

I turned and huffed as I dug it out of my wallet.

“You can head north. It’s a nice three-mile loop.”

I took the key without acknowledging his suggestion or Fisher’s satisfied smile.

I wasn’t buying it.

And I wasn’t coming back with Fisher when I did decide to buy a car. Maybe Brendon would come with me. I felt fairly certain an attorney could negotiate a car deal for me just as if not better than Fisher.

“Left,” Fisher said as I pulled to a stop at the lot entrance.

“Shut up.”

I didn’t give him my full attention, but I also didn’t miss his smirk, how much he enjoyed me in my most unruly state.

We drove a mile up the road.

“It’s a nice vehicle.”

I ignored him.