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So would I, Jules. So would I.

I swiftly deliver a piece and feed it to her before the oven goes off.

We start with the scones and then move to the bacon and eggs. Jules cleans her plate and it makes me so damn happy.

“How’s the pain?” I ask her.

“Not bad,” she says. “There’s a dull ache, but it’s not terrible.”

“Well, let’s drop down to one pill every four hours. I do not want to be responsible for you going to rehab for painkiller addiction.”

“Won’t happen. I don’t have an addictive personality.”

“I’m not taking any chances.”

We finish breakfast and I do the dishes, pushing Jules away when she offers to help. She heads to the living and groans when she passes by the mirror in the hallway. “Ugh. I’m disgusting. I need a shower.”

“Can’t,” I tell her. “I haven’t picked up plastic bags yet to cover your cast. You’ll need to start with a bath.”

“Fine,” she huffs. “Anything with water will do. I can’t take myself any longer.”

“I did smell something a little funky in bed last night.”

She walks over and punches me in the arm.

My girl’s getting better.

“Wait here,” I say. “I’ll start a bath.”

I run a warm bath and suddenly get very nervous about her slipping in here. I line the floor with towels.

“What are you doing?” Jules asks when she comes in. “Baby proofing the bathroom?”

“I just don’t want you to slip and fall.”

“I’ll be fine. Now get out.”

I slip by her and stop, dangerously close.

Heh, heh, heh.

“Let me know if you need anything.” I smirk. “I’ll be right outside these doors.”

Jules’ face flushes and she swallows before nodding.

This could be fun.

I leave, but am quickly beckoned back.

“Foster,” she calls.

I move to the outside of the door. “What?”

“Can you come in here? I need your help.”

I slowly open the door and Jules is standing in her black panties. Her long-sleeve tee is in a tangled mess around one arm and her head.

“I’m stuck,” she says.

“I can see that.” I move closer, trying not to look at her silky legs.

“Gently,” I say, moving the shirt off her head and her arms. Great. Now she’s in a see-through tank and little black panties.

“I know,” she says with a smile. “This is totally awkward, but I need help getting into the tub.”

“I think you underestimate my restraint, little girl.”

“Oh, come on. It’s nothing you haven’t seen before. Just ease me into the tub and I should be able to do the rest myself.”

I take off my socks and roll up my jeans and move to stand in the tub.

“Okay, princess. Strip.”

She does and I keep the mantra going in my head,
she needs your help, not your dick, jackass.
It doesn’t help.

I steady my breathing as Jules continues with her clumsy striptease. Not that I’m looking.

She takes a step into the tub and instead of paying attention to my footing, I’m watching her perfect tits. I start to slip, but not before righting myself and securing Jules to my chest before we fall. I cushion her descent into the tub and now we’re submerged in lavender-scented water. Only one problem: I’m still fully clothed.

“What the f—” Jules says on the way down.

“I meant to do that,” I add. “Look,” I say, propping up her cast. “I can keep this thing from getting wet and still have one hand free, you know, in case you need help washing.”

Jules is doing her hyena laugh. “What the hell? How did we fall?”

“I lost my footing.”

“You were looking at my ass, weren’t you, perv?”

“Actually, it was your tits,” I admit.

Jules knocks her head against my chest. “I fucking knew it.”

“Lady, I’ve shown more restraint than any other red-blooded American man ever would.”

“You mean Native American man,” Jules teases.

“Damn straight.”

“Well, I guess I would be insulted if my naked bod had no effect on you.”

“Baby, you have no idea.”

“So, now that I’ve got you in here, will you do me a favor?”

“Name it.”

“Help me wash my hair?”

“It’d be a pleasure.”

“And one other thing. No staring at my tits when you do it.” She pinches my arm.

“No deal.”

“What?” She laughs.

I hide the smile in my voice. “No. Deal.”

“Ugh,” she says, turning her head to bite my chest, bringing my cock even more to life. “You’re intolerable.”

“And?”

“Here.” Jules passes over the bottle of shampoo resting on the edge of the tub. “Wash.”

“My pleasure,” I say, taking the bottle. I lean it on the edge, pull a towel down from the bar, and position Jules’ casted arm on the side of the tub so it doesn’t get wet. Gently, I lean her back and dip her head into the water before squeezing a quarter-size dollop of shampoo on my palm. I breathe in the jasmine scent.
Jules.

Treating this project as if making a soufflé, I’m precise and thorough. I’m aware of all my senses, just as I am when I cook. I tighten my legs around Jules to hold her steady, while I use my hands. I flick a few drops of water into my palm to lather the shampoo before gathering Jules’ hair. As I massage it into her scalp, she moans.

I’m losing control, so I bite her ear. “Stop it,” I scold.

“Ow,” she says with her voice, but her body betrays her as she arches at the sting of my scraping teeth. From our few brief encounters, despite being drunk during most of them, I remember she likes that. She presses her ass into my raging hard-on and I want to consume her.

If she wasn’t hurt and unable to do this on her own, I would be so outta here. It’s too much, and I need some distance. But I’ve got no choice, I have to finish the job. And then finish another, once she’s out of here.

I quickly finish her hair and lightly press her head under water to rinse out the shampoo.

“Okay, miss,” I say after grabbing another towel from the bar (thank you for your organization, Tabby) and drying her face and hair. “You are good.”

Perfect, in fact.

I help Jules get into yoga pants and a tank top. Her eyes are all droopy again.

“Foster,” she slurs. “Why are you so good to me?”

For a minute I pretend my girl isn’t doped up and that this whole situation is real, then I pick her up in my arms and carry her to bed.

“Because you deserve it,” I whisper in her ear. “You deserve the best of everything.”

I tuck her in and move away, but she quickly protests.

“No,” she says. “Stay with me, just for a bit.”

I do, kidding myself for a while longer.

~~~

Jules is completely out of it for hours. While she sleeps, I busy myself with dinner prep. Until there’s a pounding on the door.

I open it to stop the noise before it wakes her, ready to chew out whoever is on the other side.

Noah.

“What the fuck, dude?” I spit. “Jules is sleeping, and so help me if your pounding woke her up.”

He scratches his head. “Sorry, I didn’t think of that. I was more worried I might be interrupting something.”

“What do you want?”

“To talk to you actually.”

“Is this really a talk or just another of your many lectures?” I ask.

“Potato, potahto.” He shrugs.

I reluctantly open the door and lead him to the far end of the living room so there’s no chance Jules will overhear our conversation.

“I need to talk to you about the Jenna issue,” he says.

How many fucking times did we have to go over this?

“Look, man. I made a mistake. I fucked up. I lost everything because of it. I’m sorry, and I’m grateful you’ve kept everything from Jules. But Jesus, what more do you want from me?”

I’m sure putting an end to the friends-with-benefits arrangement I’ve had with Jules would be on that list. Thankfully, he’s never found out.

“I’m going to tell Tabby,” he says. “This whole thing is taking its toll. I’m lying to Tab every time we talk about the past—the accident, the situation with Jenna—and I won’t do it anymore. She won’t say anything to Jules, but I wanted to give you a heads up.”

“Great. Thanks for the warning.”

Noah waves an arm around the apartment. “You know, this situation is only making things harder on Jules.”

Here we go.

“If it becomes more than you playing nursemaid,” he continues. “I will tell her. If Jules wants something more with you, she deserves to know who she’s dealing with. I won’t have it on my shoulders when you crush her.”

Easy for him to say. Everything worked out for him, just as it always does. He got to keep Jenna, his position on the paper, and now he’s got Tabby too. I fucked up and I will never have the one thing I want the most—a real relationship with Jules. Even if I did get my shit together, I’m not sure Noah would ever let me get anywhere near her.

“Why am I the only one still paying for that night? Jenna played a part too, but why am I the one left with nothing?”

“You get nothing because you won't own up to your mistakes. Tell Jules you were with Jenna after you two started dating. Explain why. Maybe she’ll forgive you. That's what I would do. But you? You only look out for yourself. Whatever is best for Foster. Whatever is the easiest way to get from point A to point B.”

“Shit. You don’t know me. You never did.”

“I know plenty. So keep the shit between you and Jules on the up and up. I’m not a dick. I don’t want to make things any shittier than they already are. I’ll keep my end of the deal as long as you do.”

Too bad it’s too fucking late for that.

Jules

It’s déjà vu. I wake in confusion, wondering where I am. How I got here. And now? Was that delicious sexcapade with Foster real or a dream?

He walks in, his hair scrumptiously mussed, his sweats hanging low on his hips, his tee, hugging his chest and biceps.

Crap. Just a dream.

I remember starting off with the bath—that much was real. The way we finished though, was only in my dreams.

If this keeps up, I’m going to need Henry. Soon!

“Hey, Sleeping Beauty,” Foster says. He has another dose of pain meds and milk. “How are you feeling?”

I stretch, accessing the pain. Bearable. “Okay, but it’s a little too soon for the happy pills, isn’t it?”

“Au contraire. You’ve slept the afternoon away.”

Shit. Double shit. I start my internship tomorrow and I’m so not prepared.

“What time is it?” I bolt up.

“Six p.m., my sweet.” Foster wraps his arms around me and slowly pulls me upright from the bed. “Here, come rest on the couch. I have some tea ready to help wake you up, and we’ll have dinner in about forty-five minutes.”

“Foster, I can’t,” I start pacing. “I have my internship tomorrow and I’m not ready. Plus, my boss doesn’t know about the accident. Who knows if he even wants an invalid working for him this summer.”

“Are you crazy? He wants you, baby. He wants you bad. Tomorrow is a light day. They’ll get you set up and you can sit in on the firm’s all-staff meeting, and then you can come home.”

“What? How could you possibly know what happens in a law firm?”

“I talked to your boss.” Foster hands me my tea. “I’m not sure if I talked to Dildo or Dick, but he wasn’t half bad.”

“Please tell me you didn’t, Foster.”

“Okay, I didn’t.”

“Really?”

“No, I did. It was fine, Jules. I can act like a professional if pressed.”

“What did you say? I was in a drunken bar fight and will be detained for a few days?”

“No, short stack.” He brushes the hair off my forehead. “I told him you were in an accident, desperately wanted to start your internship tomorrow but your physician advised a few light days to get started. Hence, the plan I just outlined for you.”

“And he wasn’t mad or irritated?”

“Not in the slightest. I’d say his mood was more of the concerned variety.”

“So, what time tomorrow?” I exhale.

“Ten bells, sweetheart. Tabby helped me pick out your clothes for your first day before she left.”

“Aww.” I can’t help the whine. “She left without saying goodbye.”

“Oh, she said goodbye alright. She climbed into bed with you for like a half hour. See?” He holds up his phone displaying a picture of Tabby cuddling up to me while I slept.

“We already washed your hair. I’ll help you pull it back tomorrow. And Tabby dropped off a few of these funky bags we can put over your cast so you can take a shower before I drop you off.”