Chapter 8
Chapter Eight
Eden
It’s a little after four when I make my way downstairs.
I decided a deep clean was in order today, because you can only sweep, mop, and dust the exact spot that doesn't need it so many times. Instead, I stripped the beds in the guest rooms, those that no longer get used now that the guys are wifed up. Those are Foster’s words, not mine.
Anyway, I stripped the beds, vacuumed the mattresses, washed the bedding and the curtains, and moved every single piece of furniture to sweep and mop.
I wiped down the walls and baseboards, then put them all back.
I’ve tackled every room upstairs—except for Foster’s.
I need to ask him if he’s okay with me doing the same in there.
Once in the laundry room closet, I put all the cleaning supplies away before washing my hands and stepping back into the kitchen. Foster walks in at the same time.
“Hey.” I smile at him.
“Done for the day?” he asks, placing his laptop next to him on the couch.
“I am. Do you mind if I deep-clean your room next week? Vacuum the bed, wash the curtains, move all the furniture, that kind of thing?”
“What? No. You don’t need to be tugging on all that heavy furniture,” he says, furrowing his brows.
I laugh. “Foster, that’s what I do. It’s literally my job.”
“It’s not your job to move heavy furniture.” He frowns as he stands from the couch and moves toward me.
“So that’s a no?”
“It’s not a no, but it’s an ‘I’ll help you.’”
“I did just fine today on my own.”
His face pales. “What? That’s what you’ve been up there doing all day? Moving heavy shit?”
He’s truly upset about this, and he shouldn’t be. Taking the remaining steps that separate us, I’m standing before him. Reaching up, I rest my palm against his cheek. “It’s okay, big guy. I’m fine, as you can see. I know what I’m doing.”
His hand covers mine, and I expect him to pull my hand away, but instead, he surprises me when he leans into my touch. “Not here. Not for me. I hate that you could have been hurt.”
I smile and swallow back a laugh because he’s being ridiculous. “I’m perfectly fine, and next week, if you insist, you can help me with your room.”
“That’s the only way it’s getting done. No more, Eden, you hear me?”
“Chill out, Iron Man,” I tease. “I was in no danger of hurting myself. I might be tiny, but I’m stronger than I look.
” My words do nothing to take the scowl away.
“How about I make you some dinner before I head home?” I offer, pulling my hand from his cheek.
He keeps his hand on my wrist, not letting me go.
“No. Not after all you did today.” His tone is clipped, but I know he’s not mad at me. He’s mad at the situation, for reasons I don’t understand. I was literally just doing my job.
“You don’t even know what I did today.”
“You moved heavy shit while I sat down here on my ass, watching game clips.”
Ah, so that’s the issue. He feels guilty? He shouldn’t. This is what I do. We’ve become… friends, or closer, and he feels guilty. “So, we both did our jobs, then?” I say, tugging my hand free and crossing my arms over my chest.
“Eden.”
The way he says my name, it’s not quite a warning, but it feels like one. So, of course, I sass back. “Foster.” I mimic his tone.
He stares at me for several long seconds, and I fight the urge to squirm under his gaze. “I’m ordering pizza for dinner. You’re not cooking.”
“Fine. I want pepperoni and bacon.”
“Fine.” He smirks as he goes back toward the couch, grabs his phone, and calls in the order. He gets a large pepperoni and bacon, and a large meat lover’s, with a family-size order of breadsticks.
“Are you feeding anyone other than the two of us?” I ask him.
“No, why?”
“Foster!” I laugh. “That’s so much food.”
He shrugs. “Everyone loves leftover pizza.”
“That’s a lot of leftovers.”
“I didn’t want you to be hungry.”
“I can’t eat an entire pizza by myself.” I chuckle.
“Then you can take it home, and you can have leftovers.” He plops down onto the couch and pats the cushion next to him. “Let’s watch something while we wait.”
“What are we watching?” I ask, kicking off my shoes and sitting on the couch.
I leave the cushion next to him open because he’s being all cute and protective, and I’m already crushing on this man.
I don’t need his nearness to tempt me, as if one couch cushion is a lot of space to keep us apart.
It’s a big-ass couch, but still very little space.
“I’ve been watching film all day, so anything besides football.”
“Foster Vaughn! Don’t let your coach or your teammates hear you say that,” I tease.
“Trust me, they’d understand.” He stares at the television as he scrolls through our options. “Scary? Action? Rom-com? What are you feeling, Eden?” he asks.
“I really don’t care. I don’t watch much television.”
“No?” He turns to face me. “What do you do other than work and visit the children’s home?”
“I like to read.”
He nods. “What’s your favorite genre to read?”
My face heats. I don’t know why. I’m not embarrassed, but damn, I don’t usually have this conversation with a sexy-as-sin professional athlete either. “Romance.”
“What’s this about?” Even though we’re a cushion apart, his long arms can reach me as his thumb lightly feathers across my cheek. “Why are you blushing?”
“I don’t know. I don’t usually talk about the books that I read with anyone but Carrie.”
“Do you blush with her?”
“No.” I shake my head, and his hand falls away.
“Maybe I should read one.”
“What? No. That’s a terrible idea.”
“Why? Because I’m a jock, I can’t read?”
“No. I know you can read, Foster, but you don’t need to read what I read. Be your own man,” I say, huffing out a nervous laugh.
“I am my own man. And I want to read one of your books. I need an author’s name and title,” he tells me, his phone poised and ready to enter the information. “I need your favorite.”
He stares me down until I cave. “Fine, but listen here, mister. We don’t discuss it. I don’t care what you think, or how you feel about what happens—just no. I’ll give you the author and the title, but you keep your comments to yourself.”
“But what if I need a book buddy to talk to about it?”
“Find one. Not me.” I point to my chest. “This is a terrible idea,” I mumble.
Foster laughs. Not just a chuckle. No, this is a whole-body, shaking-the-couch, contagious kind of laugh, and it’s endearing. He’s even sexier with his eyes lit up with happiness. He finally composes himself and nods for me to go ahead.
“Harper Fleming. Love Binds Us.”
“That sounds kinky.” He winks.
I shrug, and his grin grows even wider. I point an index finger at him. “Not a word.”
“Yes, ma’am,” he says as the doorbell rings. “That’s dinner.”
“That was fast.”
“About thirty minutes, give or take.”
Damn, it feels like seconds, maybe a couple of minutes tops, since he called in the order, but I guess when you’re too busy trying to distance yourself from him and protect your reading privacy, time flies.
“Let’s eat in here. I’ll grab some plates and napkins. What do you want to drink?” Foster asks as he places the pizza on the coffee table.
“I can help.” I stand and follow him into the kitchen.
“Plates are in the pantry.” He nods toward the pantry as he takes a stack of napkins from the holder on the island. “But you already know that.” He chuckles and opens the refrigerator. He starts rattling off options.
“Just a soda for me. I have to drive home.”
“Right.” He nods, grabbing me a soda and a water for himself.
“Do you even drink soda?” I ask him.
“Nah, not usually. I do like sweet tea, though.”
“Why do you have it?”
“Guests. I don’t have them often, but when I do, I like to offer them drinks. Although since the guys have been settling down, our get-togethers are usually at one of their places. They’ve been on me to buy a house next to them.”
“Are they all neighbors?” I think he mentioned that to me once before.
“No, but they live close. Within walking distance in a gated community. It’s nice, but the houses are massive, and I don’t need a mansion for just me.”
“Says the man who lives in a two-story four-bedroom condo, with an attached garage.”
He chuckles. “Trust me, Eden, this place looks like home for peasants, compared to their houses.”
“If you say so. My entire one-bedroom apartment would fit into your living room.” I follow him back to the couch, where he tosses two slices of pizza and a breadstick onto my plate, before doing the same for him.
“All right, let’s see what we’ve got here.” He points the remote at the television, and a popular rom-com fills the screen.
I smile behind my bite of pizza as we settle in to watch a movie.
“Now what do you want to watch?” he asks.
“I should head home. Get out of your hair.”
“You should stay. We should watch another movie, and I’m pretty sure I have ice cream in the freezer.”
I gasp. “Is that on the meal plan, sir?”
He chuckles. “It’s the offseason, remember? I can indulge from time to time.”
“Oh, like that half a pizza and three breadsticks you demolished?”
He lifts his T-shirt to show me his abs. “I think I’m good,” he says, his voice dropping to a lower octave, while I try like hell not to swallow my tongue, because damn… abs for days on this one.
“Yeah,” I agree, turning my gaze back to the television. “I think so, too.” I know so, but I can’t tell him that. Damn, am I drooling? I fake a yawn to check.
“Come on. One more movie. Unless you have plans.”
“No plans. I’m going with Carrie tomorrow to get a pedicure, but that’s it. What about you?”
“It’s Knox and Corie’s wedding anniversary. He’s demanded our presence tomorrow for dinner. Not that all of us wouldn’t have agreed to be there anyway. It’s at one, though, so it’s really lunch, but that’s a technicality.”
“Some could call lunch dinner.”
“Do you?”
I grin. “Nope.”
“Phew, okay, we can still be friends.” He winks.
“Is that what you call this? Call us? Friends?” The question flies out of my mouth before I can stop it.