More (12 page)

“It’s not just that. I can’t do it anymore, Foster. We’re kidding ourselves. We’re not friends. I don’t trust you.” He turned away from me, looking out the window instead. “I don’t want you here, man.”

That was a low moment. I couldn’t say anything to him after that. What would you say to that? Someone doesn’t want you, you leave. Simple as that. So I packed my shit and went to Jules’ place. She put me up until I moved into the ghetto pad.

Yet here I am in this low place again, ready to beg for Noah’s forgiveness and grovel at his feet.

Fuck that. This time I’m here to
tell
him how it’s going to be. I want Jules and he’s going to agree to stay out of it. I stand up a little straighter, summoning all the confidence I can when I pound on the door.

No answer.

“Noah,” I yell. “Open up.” I pound on the door again.

Roger, the landlord, opens his door behind me. He smiles when I turn around.

“Hey, Rog,” I say. I always liked the guy.

“Foster.” He greets me with a pat on the back. “You look good, my friend.”

“Thanks, man. I feel good. Just here to talk to the boss. Have you seen him?”

“He went to Tabby’s parents’ house in Illinois. He’ll be back later next week.”

Shit. I totally forgot. Jules had mentioned that.

“Can it wait?” Rog asks.

I think about that for a minute. Hell yes, it could wait. He could wait, but Jules can’t. It’s time. And Noah’s absence is the only sign I need to move forward. I’ll just have to fly blind and figure out the rest as we go.

~~~

Since I’ve decided to cross Noah off my to-do list, I move to the next step in my mission to win Jules over.

Getting my shit together.

I decided to major in business at school because it was an easy choice. I’m good with numbers, practical, logical, some would say unemotional—so what better fit. Plus, you can pretty much do anything with a business degree.

What I really wanted to do was go to culinary school. But thanks to Dad’s flaky ways, I’ve always steered away from risk toward the safe and easy route.

This internship—officially designed to see how a real business functions—was a good cover to get in and get my hands dirty in the kitchen. Once Chef Paul saw what I could do, he was all for it. I’ve been working in restaurants since high school, so I’m no stranger to the food industry. But hitting up Chef to try out my own stuff is more than going out on a limb.

Today, I’m going to ease him into it.

“Greetings, people,” he says when he walks in. It’s not a joke. This is how he talks. The pink in his cheeks slowly spreads across his face and up to his bald head. Our happy chef walks to work every day from his Uptown house on Lake Calhoun. The staff says he does it all through the winter too. He’s only about six or seven blocks away, but damn, in thirty-below temps, that is brutal.

Chef Paul grabs an Evian from the cooler and takes a seat in his open office, adjacent to the prep area. He replaces his sneakers with a pair of black slip-ons and then throws on his just-pressed white chef’s coat, ala Mr. Rogers.

“Hey there, Chef,” I say as Paul makes his way over to the
sauté station
. He gives me a quizzical look because I’m usually not allowed in this area. I’m allowed in the prep area, or if I’m really lucky, the grill. The S.S. is strictly reserved for the more experienced chefs. But I’ve finished all the prep work for tonight’s special so now I’m preparing a new side dish.

Extra credit, if you will.

“Foster,” Paul says, looking over my shoulder. “What do you have going on here?”

“Red quinoa with asparagus and shiitake mushrooms,” I say, trying to disguise the fact I’m shitting bricks. “But don’t worry, the prep work is done and I brought in my own ingredients for this dish.”

He grabs a spoon from the drawer and leans in. “May I?” he asks.

“Yes. I was hoping you would,” I say as I step aside.

First, Paul stands over the skillet and waves a hand up toward his nose so he can breathe in the aroma. Then he dips his spoon in for a taste. He looks up, deep in thought, as he assesses the dish.

If nothing else, he has to appreciate the complexity of flavors.

“Nice,” Chef Paul finally says.

I exhale, not even realizing I was holding my breath. Not only is it important that I win him over, but I really do want to make a career at this. I also have Jules in my mind. A career and getting my shit together, as she would say, could be what makes her choose to stay.

“Very nice, indeed,” he adds. “Did you use Himalayan or sea salt to season?”

“Himalayan,” I answer.

“Well done,” he says, heading back into the office. “Let me know when you have another dish for me to try.”

Oh, I will.

Score one for the fuck-up.

Jules

Foster is pissy when I tell him about my plans tonight, and when I come out in my skirt and tank, it only gets worse. I have on one of my corporate casual numbers, but it’s tight enough to just ride the edge of good-girl attire. I’ve also added a little barrette to my hair. It looks very sweet to the untrained eye. If you look closer, however, you’ll see a wicked skull etched in the middle of the silver clip. Tabby would be proud. I’m not sure whether I’m dressing for my unofficial date or for Foster. I’ll admit I sure like his reaction when he sees me. Very much. His eyes rake over every inch of me and the goose-bumps rise up on my bare skin. He’s had the same effect on me since high school.

I met Foster during his very first class at Southwest sophomore year. His family was still suffering from the loss of his dad and his mom wanted to start over, so they moved to the Cities from his grandparents’ house in Brainerd.

I was defacing my folder during social studies and I swear I felt him enter the room. When I met his dark eyes, I got the same goose-bumps. His hair was shorter then, his body lankier, but as God as my witness, he was divine even then. The girls went crazy for him, but that year, the only person he seemed to want to spend time with was me.

I’ve never understood why.

“Need a ride?” he asks when I meet him in the kitchen. He has a deep crease between his eyes and his body is rigid.

I want to kiss it all away. Instead I grab my purse and go to the door.

“No,” I tell him. “Jake is coming to pick me up so I’m going to wait downstairs for him.”

Foster nods and goes back to cooking.

I barely get a goodbye out of him before I leave for the night.

Downstairs, it’s a completely different atmosphere. Jake is all smiles when he pulls up in his Honda. He parks and jumps out of the car, wearing dark jeans and a faded U of M Law School t-shirt. It makes him look younger, sweeter somehow.

“Hey, you look great, Jules,” Jake says when he opens the passenger door for me and I smell the cologne. Yes, he definitely thinks this is date.

“Thanks.” I blush.

Actually, he has me blushing most of the night. Between working and eating, he’s spreading on the compliments awfully thick. It’s nice. He really is a good guy, easy on the eyes, funny, smart. I could do (and have done) a lot worse.

Still, the only butterflies I feel the entire night are when it’s time to leave and I think about who’ll be waiting for me at home. On the way back to the apartment, I’m lost in thought, hoping Foster’s watching a movie so I can curl up next to him again. Or maybe I can talk him into reading to me in bed. Or…

My yummy daydreams are interrupted when Jake parks the car. I thank him for the night and get ready to bolt, until he insists on walking me all the way up. My stomach turns, knowing this isn’t going to be good.

Outside my apartment, we say our goodnights and then Jake leans in to kiss me. But before his lips reach mine, the door swings open. Foster’s holding a bin of recyclables that makes a horrendously loud rattle once he sees us and registers the situation.

His eye narrow on mine and I can feel the heat coming off him.

Well, screw him. He’s the one who’s been messing with me. He could’ve had me a long time ago, but I’m not what he wants. He’s made that perfectly clear.

“Jules,” he snaps, before rounding the hallway.

Yep. Screw him. One quick kiss for Jake and then I’ll send him on his way.

I wave the go sign to Jake and he gets it on the first try. His arm snakes around my body and I’m pulled in. When his mouth comes down on mine, I meet him more than halfway. He parts my lips and his tongue slides over mine.

The guy works fast and I can’t complain. He knows what he’s doing in the kissing department and it’s really nice. It might even be more than nice if I could think of something other than my new roommate.

I feel Foster’s groan in my body as he passes us to go back into the apartment.

“Thanks, Jake,” I tell him. “It’s late, I better go in.”

“Okay,” he says, clearly unfazed by Foster’s rude behavior. In fact, I think he likes it. Creeping on someone else’s turf—the whole pissing contest thing. “See you in the office tomorrow,” he says with a wink.

I nod and make my way inside.

Foster sits on the couch, pretending to watch TV but his jaw is throbbing.

I walk over to him, feeling my blood pressure rise. “What the hell, Foster! Are you trying to embarrass me?”

“No, not at all. You’re doing a pretty good job of embarrassing yourself, I’d say. You haven’t even been working in that office for a week and already you have something going on with one of the lawyers. Think about how that looks.”

“I am doing nothing wrong and you know it. Don’t you dare try to make me out to be some cheap intern.”

“Then don’t act like one.”

I don’t know what comes over me, but he makes me so mad…and sad, excited, happy, turned on. I’m a bundle of emotions and nerves and as I take in his words, something inside of me snaps. I take my good hand and wind up to slap him across the face.

Foster is too fast.

He catches my wrist and pulls me over so I’m standing above him. “I don’t think you want to do that,” he growls.

My nipples tighten at our proximity. The heat, the electricity running through both of us is almost palpable. I know he can see what’s going on through my tank top as he lets out another growl. And before I can even register what’s happening, he moves his hands up my sides. Stopping at my ribs, he grabs on. He is forceful, but patient. Giving me the chance to move away if I want to.

I don’t.

“Do you have any idea what you’re doing to me, Jules?” he asks as his long fingers splay across my chest and his thumbs brush over my nipples.

I’m too dumbstruck to talk. I am Jell-O in his hands, and I know in this moment I’d do absolutely anything he wants. Anything to please him. And I don’t care how submissive or fifties-housewife it sounds. It’s the truth.

“I can’t stand to see another man’s hands on you.” He breathes deep and drops his head to my shoulder. “And I can’t stay away from you anymore. I want you, Jules.” And with that, he pushes my skirt up to my waist, sliding his hands underneath and he sinks his teeth into my earlobe.

I yelp, but immediately feel the moisture flood between my legs.

Foster pulls away to study my face. “Are you okay with that?”

I steady my breathing and try to get my brain to cooperate and make sense of his words. What does he mean? Does he want me? For now? For more? Does it matter?

“Do you mean the week without rules?” I manage to get out.

“For a start,” he says, running his fingers along the waistband of my silk panties. He raises an eyebrow.

He wants an answer.

His fingers tease me as they sneak inside the silk.

“Yes,” I say breathless while his fingers continue to explore.

“That’s what I was hoping you’d say.” He grins and yanks down my panties.

The cool air in the apartment breezes over my most delicate parts and I almost collapse. I want him more than I’ve ever wanted anything in my life.

He pulls me tight on his lap where I can feel his straining erection. The pressure between my legs feels exquisite and I rock into him. Foster slows his pace, just a little, as he slips the straps of my tank top down over my shoulders.

“You are so beautiful,” he says between the kisses he peppers down my neck and across my chest.

I bury my face in his neck, breathing him in, and I actually feel my heart give a little squeeze. “I’ve wanted this for so long,” I admit.

“Me too. You have no idea how much I want this. How I’ve imagined what I’d do to you if I got the chance.”

“Here’s your chance.”

Foster gives me the sweetest kiss before descending on my body. What happens next is not so sweet.

He tugs my top down until he releases my breast. Without pause, he takes one in his mouth. I suck in a breath and blow it out in a whimper. Feeling absolutely zero control over my body, I grip his shirt and hold on.

His hand moves between us, his fingers skim my wet center. And when I say his name, he lets out another groan while his mouth is full of my breast. It vibrates throughout my insides.