Every new touch brought a new sensation. Holding hands wasn’t kissing, yet it felt equally as intimate. I’d held his hand before, during the storm prayer, but this was different. That was an awkward clasp; this was more.

“Were you eavesdropping?”

He chuckled. “No. She called me after she called you.”

“Oh. Well … what did you say?”

“I said you’d be excited to see her.” He glanced down at me for a second.

“No.” I kept my gaze in front of us. “What did you say about us?”

“I told her you have a fantastic mouth and a silky tongue that tastes like heaven, legs that bring me to my knees, and a truckload of attitude.”

“Oh my gosh …” I stopped and turned toward him, yanking my hand away from his.

He narrowed his eyes. “What? I didn’t tell her about the bathtub incident or that you stole beer from me.”

“Fisher!”

His brow relaxed as that stupid smirk appeared. “Stop being so gullible.”

“Ugh! Jerk!” I hammered my fists into his chest.

He grabbed my wrists and held me to him, held my hands to his chest. “I’m not saying a word to her.”

I stared at his chest as my fists relaxed, as my palms pressed to his firm muscles and tan skin. Another new and intimate feeling. “I … I don’t think …” My gaze inched its way up to meet his. “I don’t want her to know about …”

Rolling his lips together, he nodded several times. “Yeah. I don’t either. She wouldn’t be very happy with me.”

Grunting a laugh, I glanced to the side, “Then what’s the point of this?”

“I don’t know.” His honesty bled through his words. It was a brief moment when I didn’t feel that Fisher was a decade older, a decade more mature, a decade more experienced.

Maybe connecting with someone didn’t have boundaries or timelines. I liked the idea of him feeling as drawn to me as I felt to him. It made me feel like we were equals in this, whatever this was.

“So we just …” I wasn’t sure if the thoughts in my mind reflected my true emotions or if I needed to say them to ease his burden. “We just stop when she gets home. Like it never happened.”

Twisting his lips, he studied me for a few moments before returning a single slow nod. “Like it never happened.”

Chapter Thirteen

Our “It Never Happened” agreement put a damper on the rest of the evening. We walked. He kissed me goodnight, but it wasn’t like the kiss in the kitchen. And that was it.

Friday morning I got a text from Fisher as I was buttering a piece of toast, freshly showered with wet hair, but dressed sans shoes and socks.