Fisher's Light

“If you’ll excuse us, we have somewhere else to be,” she says in a polite, pissy voice as she starts to move away.

“Aren’t you going to introduce me to your friend?” I ask, nodding to the fancy asshole in the suit with his arm wrapped protectively around her shoulder, touching my girl. Standing close to my girl. Doing God knows WHAT with my fucking girl.

I will not lose my shit, I will not lose my shit.

I’ve come too far and worked too hard to go back a thousand fucking steps right now. I take a few deep breaths to calm myself down and put an easy smile on my face that I sure as hell don’t feel.

Lucy sighs and closes her eyes briefly. “Fisher, this is Stanford Wallis, Stanford, this is Jefferson Fisher.”

Dipshit actually has the foresight to remove his arm from Lucy’s shoulders when she says my full name.

“Wow, so you’re Jefferson Fisher. I’ve heard a lot about you from your father,” he says, his eyes widening as he holds his hand out to me.

I grab onto it, squeezing it a little harder than I probably should, but what the fuck? “That’s right, Stanley, I’m Jefferson Fisher. My friends call me Fisher, so you can call me Jefferson.”

“Oh, good Lord,” Lucy mutters quietly.

“Actually, it’s Stanford. No one calls me Stanley,” he laughs nervously.

Gripping his hand just hard enough to feel his bones rub together, I drop it quickly and nod. “Good to know, Stanley.”

I bring my drink up to my lips, pausing before taking a sip. Lucy eyes the drink and I don’t miss the look of worry that flashes across her face. She might not want to, but she still cares, and it warms my cold fucking soul and stops me from shoving my fist into Nancy Stanley’s mouth.

“Don’t worry, sweetheart, it’s just sparkling water,” I tell her softly.

Her eyes jerk away from the glass and meet mine. She scrunches up her nose and it takes every single muscle in my body to keep myself from closing the space between us and kissing that damn nose.

“What you drink is no business of mine,” she says flippantly.

I might have believed her a year ago. Sobriety is nothing if not a great excuse to think clearly for once and see the truth of what’s happening right in front of you. For instance, Lucy keeps running her fingers through her hair and then fidgeting with the neckline of her dress. I know for a fact she does that whenever she’s nervous. The first time I kissed her, I had to hold her hands down at her sides so she’d stop messing with her hair. On our wedding day, she kept tugging up the white, strapless gown even though that thing molded her perfect body like a glove and wasn’t going anywhere. I still make Lucy nervous, and that’s all the information I need for tonight.

“Well, we really do have to be going,” Lucy states, grabbing onto Fuckford’s hand and tugging him towards the door.

“Hey, Stanny-boy, can you give us just a second?”

He looks between Lucy and I, raising his eyebrows at her questioningly. Lucy runs her fingers through her hair and then nods.

“It’s fine. Go on outside. I’ll meet you there in a second,” she tells him.

I lift my glass in his direction in a silent toast and smirk. He leans down and kisses her cheek without taking his eyes off of me before backing away and out the front door.

“Was that really necessary?” Lucy asks in irritation, bringing her eyes back to me and away from the door where Stick-Up-His-Assford just exited.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

She folds her arms across her chest, pushing her tits up through the deep vee until I can see so much creamy cleavage that my mouth waters. I quickly toss back the rest of my drink, clinking my glass down on the table next to us.

“Stop calling him Stanley and stop trying to piss all over me like I’m your property!”

My dick instantly springs to life inside my jeans. I can’t help it. When Lucy gets fired up, I get turned on. It’s like some Pavlov’s dog shit.

“You’re seriously going to pick some fuck named Stanford over me?” I ask indignantly.

She takes a step forward, moving so close that I can feel the heat from her body and smell the coconut on her skin from the suntan oil she uses. No matter how hard she tries to wash it off, that scent always lingers on her and it’s the best damn smell in the world. She always smells like summer and beaches and fresh ocean air.

“I’m not picking anyone. You walked away, Fisher. You’re the one who made the choice; I just had to go along with it.”

My hand moves of its own accord, my fingers sliding through the long bangs that hang down over one of her eyes. I brush them out of the way and hear her intake of breath when I inch even closer, moving right into her personal space and pressing my body against hers. I feel her thighs against mine and her breasts brushing against my chest. Every breath she takes pushes them into me and my hands shake with the need to cup them in my palms, feel the weight of them in my hands and run my thumbs over her nipples. This feels worse than being in detox after I quit drinking. It’s worse than the night sweats and the stomach cramps, worse than puking up my guts and blinding headaches that made me want to shove a knife in my eye. I want this woman more than any drug or bottle of booze, and being without her is almost killing me.

“I chose wrong, Lucy. You have to know that. You have to feel that,” I whisper as I stare into her ocean blue eyes.

Her eyelids flutter closed and she leans into me.