31. Foster
THIRTY-ONE
FOSTER
I’m doing my best to stay calm. But it’s taking every bit of strength I have because Sophie Hore just asked me for… well, I’m not even sure what. Intimacy lessons? I told her we’ll figure out what she needs together, but I’m totally in the weeds here too. It’s not like I teach this kind of thing. I help kids manage emotions and get their schoolwork done. Now I’ll be helping Sophie manage her libido? No, that’s not right. This is about more than sex, something deeper, and she’s asking me because she trusts me.
She relaxes in my arms, and I step back while maintaining contact, my hands sliding over hers.
“Is this okay?”
She looks up at me like I’ve lost my mind. We’ve touched more than this when we are around other people. She’s probably wondering why I’m asking if now it’s okay.
“Yes, this is fine. It’s nice.”
When she doesn’t look like she’s questioning all her life choices anymore, I guide her back to the couch, sitting a little closer this time and keeping our hands locked.
“So I can hold your hand. And I can hug you?”
“Yes,” she confirms. “What about you?”
“What about me?”
“What are your boundaries or needs or…” That blush again. Pure torture.
“It’s not about what I need, Soph. This is about what you’re asking for.”
She shakes her head, her expression hardening. “No, I won’t use you like that. You have to be getting something out of it, or I won’t be able to get into char—” She trails off. “No, that’s not the right word. I won’t be able to absorb anything if I’m constantly worried that you’re not getting something out of it.”
Good lord, her ex really did a number on her.
I slide my hands to the sides of her face and into her hair. “What I get out of it is helping you, giving you something you need and have been starved of.” Being with you, touching you, maybe kissing you, tasting you. “I’m not totally selfless, sunshine. Trust me.”
I watch those pretty blue eyes dip quickly to my lips and fight the urge to pull her to me. Instead, I tip her head down and give her a soft kiss on her forehead. It’s the second time I’ve kissed her on the head, and it’s somehow the hottest kiss I’ve ever experienced.
Her hand comes up and gently wraps around my right wrist, my lips break contact with her head as she twists and lays her own kiss to my palm. Scratch the head kiss—this, this right here is the hottest kiss I’ve ever experienced.
“I should go,” I force out, even though I want to stay like this for the foreseeable future.
She sits back, and the space between us suddenly feels like the Marianas Trench. “School night, I guess.”
Leaving is hard. It feels like we are moving into something, and the last thing I want to do is walk away from it right now. But at the same time, I need to do that. What she’s asking for isn’t what my body is desperately asking for. So we say our goodbyes, and I force my feet to move out of the house and to my car. I don’t remember the drive home. All I’m thinking about is how I’m going to make this work so when she’s ready to move onto something real with someone good enough for her, I don’t end up with my heart broken.
“Do you have any good date ideas starting with J?” I ask Jessica through a yawn the next afternoon while the kids are reading. I spent most of last night reading about intimacy online and coming up with a game plan. It’s not something I can really plan for, though. Just go with how she’s responding or recognizing what she may need, including listening if she needs to talk. Basically what I’ve been doing, but with some extra physical contact if that’s what she needs.
“For you and Sophie to do?” she asks without even looking up from her marking.
Apparently everyone in the school thinks we are dating, something Sophie seemed fine with, so I’m going along with it. Probably because I’m fine with it too.
“Yeah.”
“Why J?” she says, looking over at me. “Wait!” She sits up straighter. “You’re not doing alphabet dates, are you?”
“We may be doing that,” I concede.
“That’s the nerdiest damn thing I’ve ever heard,” she says in a hushed tone. “What have you done for all the other letters?”
“Um, an alumni gala, barbecue, concert, drag brunch, Easter, farmers’ market, goat cheese,” I count off using my fingers.
“Goat cheese? You had a goat cheese-based date? Like you learned how to make it, like a cooking class?”
“No, I got some at the farmers’ market and then taught her how to make a dish with it.”
“What did you make?”
“A pasta dish.”
No touching unless I say so.
“Did she like it?”
I remember the look on her face as I pulled the fork slowly out of her mouth. How her eyes closed and the tiniest moan escaped. I felt it through my entire body like a shockwave.
“She did,” I admit without going into more detail.
“You wasted no time getting to know her, eh?”
“Well, not really. We’ve known each other since we were kids. She’s my sister’s best friend.
“What?” Jess’s mouth has dropped open, and she looks elated.
“What?” I ask again.
“You’re her best friend’s brother?”
“That would be the other way of putting it, yes.”
“Oh, this is too good!”
“What is?” I’m so lost.
“This trope,” she huffs.
“Trope?”
“Like enemies-to-lovers or friends-to-lovers in books and movies.”
“Best friend’s brother is a trope?”
“Yeah, it sometimes carries a forbidden quality with it. Like ‘Oh, I can’t fall for him, he’s my friend’s brother, what if things go wrong, now things will be weird with my bestie.’”
“Okay,” I say slowly. I don’t know what else to say to this. I don’t want this to be seen as a trope. I want this to be just Sophie and me spending time together without some weird trope-y expectation hanging over our heads. I also don’t want things to go wrong and it messes up Sophie and Cass’s relationship. I hadn’t even considered that. “But do you have an idea for J?”
“Juggling lessons? Jokes? You could go to a comedy club. Jousting? I don’t think that’s a thing people do outside of Medieval Times so never mind.” She sits back and crosses her arms, lost in thought. “Jigsaw puzzles. J… J… J… Jazz? A jazz club? Jogging? You run, right?”
“I’m not sure I want to…” I was going to say I don’t want to get all sweaty, but a vision of Sophie post-run has me shutting up real quick.
“Jacuzzi? Oh, jumping! Go to a trampoline park,” she squeals enthusiastically.
“Sounds like a good way to injure ourselves.”
“You’ve gotta live a little before you’re thirty, Foster.”
“I’ve lived plenty without risking breaking my neck on a trampoline, thanks.”
“Fine. Junk? Thrifting or food, or a combination of the two?”
“That sounds like actually not a terrible idea.”
“I am somewhat brilliant occasionally, after having the right amount of coffee.” She smirks and goes back to marking before her head pops up, eyes narrowed. “What did you do for I?”
“Hmm?” I play dumb. “Oh, ice cream. We, uh, went for ice cream.”
Wednesday night I cancel drinks with a friend so I can do some more research. I want to be more prepared for when I see her tomorrow.
I find a list online with ways to improve intimacy in your relationship and realize we’re already working through it. Do new things together, check. Reminisce, check. Be present, check. Cook together, check. Hug daily? I can do that.
The list evolves into more physical intimacy, and while I tell myself that’s not what we’re doing here, I can’t seem to stop from reading through the list. An adult version of Go Fish that leads to physical closeness. It sounds a tad corny, but I wouldn’t say no. Pausing while sexually intimate to look at one another or share an intimate detail is further down the list. The last thing I want to do is imagine Sophie with her ex, but I know for a fact she didn’t get that from him. He’s probably the type of guy that the expression “wham, bam, thank you, ma’am” was invented for.
“Pfft, I doubt he ever got to the thank-you part,” I mumble to myself.
Gary jumps on the couch beside me and wails. I’ve been neglecting him a little bit since Sophie walked back into my life, so I set my phone aside and lean back. He immediately climbs up my chest to rub his face against mine. Getting to this point took forever, but here we are, two gingers cuddling on a couch.
“Sorry I’ve been a bit distant lately,” I murmur into his fur once I’ve got my arms around him. He purrs and starts making biscuits on my right pec. “I’ll take this as forgiveness.”
Sitting in my apartment with a cat, I never would have believed it if someone had told me this was my future. Then again, I wouldn’t have believed them if they told me I’d be pretending to date Sophie Hore either.