8. Foster
FOSTER
SIX WEEKS LATER
Iwatch her wake up from the doorway, and she looks like a heavyweight sinking into the mattress, completely unrested and not wanting to open her eyes.
Noticing the way she blinks her eyes open, there’s a flicker inside me when she quickly searches my side of the bed and finds it empty, and a shade of disappointment sweeps across her face before she stretches her body out under the sheet, attempting to wake up.
Not going to lie, she looks completely drained.
“Hey, Sleeping Beauty.” My voice causes her to wake fully, and she watches me head into my walk-in closet with a towel wrapped around my waist. With one whiff, I can smell my body wash scent stuck to my skin, which Sutton always says is masculine and clean.
“Did you just wake up?” she asks.
I chuckle as I search for clothes. “No. I went to the gym already.”
In the corner of my eye, she drags herself up to sitting. “What time is it?”
“Ten.”
A bolt of electricity instantly zings through her. “What? I never sleep this late, especially at sleepovers with the CFO from my work. Even on New Year’s Day, I didn’t sleep so late.”
“I’m still Mr. CFO?” I grin to myself. “You were out like a light, and it’s Saturday, so I didn’t want to wake you.”
“Oh… thanks.” She scoots off the bed and heads to her bag on the chaise lounge in the corner.
I appear in the entryway of my closet and set my eyes on her, observing her, with a smirk twisting on my mouth. “No need to hurry off.”
She snickers to herself. “This is a little late past the norm, don’t ya think?”
“Escaping as fast as you can?”
“No.” She sounds offended and scoops out a fresh pair of clothes from her bag.
Slowly I stride her way, and I take pride in the fact that she is clearly affected by my presence, as her body language changes as though I make her pulse quicken.
The moment I wrap my arms around her, her back against my front, I feel our traitorous bodies react.
Yes, we want to be physical again. But the air keeps shifting between us, every touch sparking a different kind of hopeful anticipation.
The destination isn’t clear enough to us yet.
“We can get some breakfast,” I suggest in a tender voice.
“Tempting.” She avoids turning, wanting to give me a little resistance, otherwise it’s too easy.
I place a kiss on her cheek, near her ear. Not chaste nor sexual. It’s soft, sweet, and leaves a trail behind. Although innocent, it is still enough to notice her nipples react.
“You need to eat something that isn’t me,” I tease.
It breaks the moment, and she turns around to playfully slap my arm. “Classy.”
I laugh. “Come on, Sutton. Let’s go eat.”
Her smile looks like it hurts, and it’s probably because of my persistence. “Weekend breakfasts in public now?” She raises a brow.
I capture her by the waist and yank her close. “Who the fuck cares?”
Sighing, her smile remains. “Clearly not you. We might want to assess that.”
Damn, she’s causing me to put on every move today. I nuzzle my nose against hers. “Sutton.” My voice drops, and I say her name the way it should sound when she’s in trouble. And she is.
She scoffs at me, accepting that we can’t go in a circle. “We’re sleeping together, enjoying the occasional meal, taking the edge off.” She’s pretending to herself, and so am I if I’m honest.
There isn’t any hint of disappointment about that written on my face as I hook my finger under her chin to tip her face up to meet my intense gaze. “We are. We’ve been two people who go with the flow. So, we’ll keep going, just throw a few rules out.”
“Could be risky,” she points out.
“What isn’t?”
There’s a stretch of quiet between us. Everything inside of me is pounding, and not for the wrong reasons. It’s only excitement mixed with truth. She seems very open to my approach. Because it’s too magnetizing between us.
“You’re obnoxious, you know that? Twisting me to get your way,” she tells me with a half-smile.
“That’s a privilege I reserve for you.” I’m beginning to believe it, too.
Her fingers thrum against my chest, and her lips press together as she pretends to consider.
It’s not needed.
“We do what we do and don’t overthink things,” she says. That isn’t exactly the clearest of answers, but it’s something.
But I understand her, and that’s why I smirk with my success. “I’ll make a reservation.” I walk away with the swagger she always says I carry, leaving her to watch me.
And for the first time since she woke, I realize that I have zero heaviness inside me when it comes to her.
It shouldn’t be that easy, should it?
Walking into the gym, I’m surprised it isn’t that busy for 7pm on a workday. Normally, I’m here early in the morning, but I had an email overflow and an 8am breakfast meeting. A twelve-hour day in the office entitles me to a gym session. Be kind to yourself, right?
In the corner, one of the interns—if memory serves—grapples with the barbell machine. Nearby, a guy about my age pedals away on a stationary bike, eyes glued to the built-in TV. But then, I see her.
Sutton.
She’s dressed in marine-green leggings and a gray t-shirt, the fabric slipping off one shoulder to reveal the straps of her matching sports bra.
She moves steadily on the elliptical, lost in her own rhythm. I don’t bother pretending not to notice her; instead, I head straight over. Catching her eye with a wave, she slips out her AirPods but keeps her legs in motion.
“Oh, hey.” Her smile is small but seems pleased.
“I didn’t expect to see you here.”
She chuckles to herself. “I don’t believe we keep one another up to date on our whereabouts,” she volleys back, her breath labored.
“Very true.”
“Here to beast out and maintain your body?”
Grinning to myself, I’m not one to refuse a compliment. “It’s the Lord’s work.”
She glances at her screen, the numbers revealing ten minutes in and a heart rate barely breaking a sweat. Anyone who shows up deserves credit, but honestly, I expected her to be tearing it up, not coasting.
“I’m not sure why I’ve done this to myself today. I have zero energy for this, but it’s been a few days since I’ve been here.” That explains it, I guess.
“Well, I wouldn’t worry too much. You’re finding exercise in other ways,” I tease her.
She lolls her head slightly to the side, and she has that smile that I’m crazy about. Innocent, warm, and completely blushing.
But then something is different about this time. I notice her smile slip and her fingers grip the machine as she slows her legs almost to a stop. Paleness takes over her face, and she takes a deep breath to settle herself.
I quickly step to the side of the elliptical, blocking the moving arm to avoid being in her way. I reach over and press the button to turn the machine off.
“Whoa there. You okay?”
A nervous huff leaves her. “Yeah.” She swallows a breath. “Just not feeling it today. I probably shouldn’t have skipped my afternoon snack or something.”
Concern blazes inside of me. “You haven’t eaten in a while?”
She shrugs. “Not much of an appetite.”
That's unusual. Besides our intense connection, food is one of our main bonds. She’s never without an appetite.
I gently tug on her arm, signaling for her to step off the machine with me. "Come on, let’s grab some dinner."
She chuffs a laugh as color returns to her. “You only just got here.”
“Meh, must be a full moon since I’m not feeling a gym session too much, either.”
She rolls her eyes, not believing me. “Okay, yeah, sure.”
“Let’s get out of here.”
Honestly, I’d trade thirty minutes on the treadmill for dinner with her any day.
We settle on the nearby Mexican place—my suggestion, since it’s laid-back, the menu is short and sweet, and everything comes out fresh and made to order.
Sutton pops a tortilla chip into her mouth as she sits across from me in our booth.
That’s the only thing that she seems to be attacking despite the best enchiladas near the office.
Actually, she had a bite but then seemed to struggle to enjoy it.
I guess tortilla chips are less likely to upset the stomach.
I lay my fork and knife down, taking a breather—the portions here could feed an army.
“So, I’m assuming you’re going to Lola’s birthday party next week?” she asks.
“Yeah. It’s Hayes’s first time experiencing his daughter’s birthday. I guess turning three is a big deal. I’m counting on the alcohol for the parents to get through a room full of three-year-olds.”
“Oh, don’t you worry. Classy Sunday-afternoon cocktails are coming your way.” Sutton is the life of the party. I figured that out quickly, especially when I compared her to Savannah and Elodie. Sutton isn’t snarky, just poised when needed and unfiltered in others.
I press my hands together in mock prayer. “Thank you.” We both crack up, united in our survival strategies. “No clue what to get the kid. Hayes says nothing, but I’m not buying that for a second.”
“Completely. But I have a secret,” she taunts coyly.
“Oh yeah?” I’m intrigued.
She nods. “Elodie will never say it, she’s too humble, but she has a wish list of things she wants for Lola. We share our favorite lists for online shopping. I think she forgot about it.” Sutton picks up her phone from the table, searching for the list with her thumb.
“Here.” She hands me her phone. “I need to run to the ladies' room,” she informs me as she scoots off her seat and then scurries away.
I scroll down the list and find a few ideas. My eyes slide up when I notice the hostess seating a couple beside us. The woman is heavily pregnant. They both seem incredibly happy, clearly on a date night.
I freeze for a second. Watching them flips a switch in my mind, replaying recent moments: Sutton dizzy at my office, at the gym, sleeping in when she never does, her sudden aversion to enchiladas. Her workload’s busy but nothing she can’t handle. None of it adds up—except maybe it does.
I purse my lips, mentally ticking off every little sign. It’s not about us or anything between us—she hasn’t seemed herself lately.