I ignored him as I splashed water on my face and pressed a hand towel to it, trying to slow my breathing, trying to not think about my mom and her friends in the other room.

Tiffany … he was still going on a date with her. I bet she would do more than what I did to him, and she’d probably do it with way more confidence and experience. Fisher stood a few feet from me when I pulled the towel away from my face. He looked painfully sexy in his dark jeans, light blue button-down with the sleeves rolled up, and stark white sneakers.

He looked painfully sexy for someone else.

I was ready to puke.

“Why the face?”

I shook my head.

“Don’t shake your head.” He glanced at his watch. “I have three minutes left. What can I do to ease your anxiety?”

Don’t go.

“I’m not anxious.”

Lies … lies … lies …

“Then are we going out there together? Are we letting everyone know that you like to watch me shower and dress?”

I needed a second round of cold water on my face. “I didn’t watch you shower.”

He smirked. “But you’d like it, wouldn’t you?”

“You’re a jerk.”

Holding that smug expression for a beat, he nodded once. “Probably.” Again, he glanced at his watch. “Two minutes. Are you sure there’s nothing I can do?”

I rolled my eyes. “What are you going to do in two minutes?”

“Anything you want.”

My voice didn’t exist. It must have required more than eighteen years to find my voice. To unapologetically ask for what I wanted without fearing embarrassment or rejection.

I wanted him to not go.

I wanted him to stay with me.

I wanted him to touch me and make it feel good.

But I wanted him to do it without me having to ask.

“Time’s up.” He turned, making his way to the bedroom door with confident strides.

I balled my hands and clenched my teeth, fighting for one word, the smallest semblance of a voice.

Nothing.

He shut his door behind him and voices sounded from the other room. I squeezed my eyes shut and pressed my hands to my face, grumbling at myself for a few seconds before heading straight to the door and plastering my ear against it.

“Tiffany was the interior designer of the house you built in Golden last month,” Rose said.

“Oh really?” Fisher seemed a little too enthused.

“I was. It’s a beautiful home, Fisher. It’s my dream to have you build something for me someday.”

I rolled my eyes at Tiffany’s gushing reply.

“In fact, I’d take this house right here,” she continued.

Really? Could she have been any more obvious and needy? It was just … gross.

“I’d love to see what you did with the house in Golden,” Fisher said.