Amber's eyes became a paler blue when she was thoughtful, her profile softer when she looked around the room, not directly challenging. Foreman took full advantage to watch her--he couldn't keep his eyes off her, and he knew that once they were back at work, he'd be even less able to pretend nothing was happening. They'd share thoughts with a glance, and he'd be looking to Amber to check her reaction to whatever egregious thing House said. To an extent, he'd had that with Chase and Cameron: the three of them had shared their disbelief and outrage when House's back was turned, not that it stopped him from knowing exactly when they were groaning silently at him. Coming back had left Foreman without that sort of ally in the differentials, but he had Amber now...maybe. It was easy for him to think that they'd share something when they were at work, but it might just as easily become a situation like in the bathroom at the end, when Amber had slipped free of him and changed the subject. And it might be discretion, but it might also be distance. Foreman wasn't sure. There was no point getting ahead of himself, though, and leaping to conclusions.
He laughed quietly at Amber's story. That must have been amazing, seeing her sprint naked through a crowd, her breasts bouncing, the sight of her long legs and her ass as she bolted away. "It can't be my turn yet. You didn't finish the story." He raised his eyebrows and took another bite, then pointed his fork at her, trying to guess. "It wasn't for a sports team, was it? I'm going to guess you had a cause." Nothing would make him pay more attention than a slogan helpfully written in makeup across Amber's skin as she ran past.
Relenting finally, he thought about what he'd done in his life that counted as wild. The nagging feeling that he was boring--Christ, it was the wrong word, but it was the one that kept popping up in his mind. Damn House, anyway. That he was conservative, or that he liked his life the way it was, wasn't a problem, but it didn't make for that many good stories. If he'd been out of control as a teenager, he'd been a real prig in medical school. He'd kept to himself and studied. He'd earned his arrogance. But he'd been boring.
Foreman pressed his lips together and frowned in concentration. The wildest thing in his life had been Marcus. By the time Foreman was seventeen, Marcus at fourteen hadn't been quite such a pest. That was before he'd gone too far, when he'd just been a stupid kid like Foreman had been. He could have imagined, then, that Marcus would grow out of it, like he had. It was his last year of high school and Marcus's first, and it had been fun enough to have a kid brother that he could rag on a bit in front of his friends. "I dared my brother to a race," he said, wondering even as he spoke why he was talking about Marcus--it would only bring more questions, eventually. "I had this little motorcycle. A Honda XL. My dad wanted me to learn something practical like mechanics. And Marcus was always asking for rides. I told him he could have it if he could get a better time than me down our main road." It had only been a few miles, and a pretty deserted street after ten at night. Safe enough for Marcus to try out the bike, which didn't have that much power to start with. But he'd done better than Foreman had ever expected--he must have been practicing when Foreman's back was turned. "I got up to nearly sixty. At the last minute, a car turned in front of me, and I had to ditch the bike. I could've killed myself. I sprained my wrist landing, but my friends all thought it was a cool crash."
no subject
He laughed quietly at Amber's story. That must have been amazing, seeing her sprint naked through a crowd, her breasts bouncing, the sight of her long legs and her ass as she bolted away. "It can't be my turn yet. You didn't finish the story." He raised his eyebrows and took another bite, then pointed his fork at her, trying to guess. "It wasn't for a sports team, was it? I'm going to guess you had a cause." Nothing would make him pay more attention than a slogan helpfully written in makeup across Amber's skin as she ran past.
Relenting finally, he thought about what he'd done in his life that counted as wild. The nagging feeling that he was boring--Christ, it was the wrong word, but it was the one that kept popping up in his mind. Damn House, anyway. That he was conservative, or that he liked his life the way it was, wasn't a problem, but it didn't make for that many good stories. If he'd been out of control as a teenager, he'd been a real prig in medical school. He'd kept to himself and studied. He'd earned his arrogance. But he'd been boring.
Foreman pressed his lips together and frowned in concentration. The wildest thing in his life had been Marcus. By the time Foreman was seventeen, Marcus at fourteen hadn't been quite such a pest. That was before he'd gone too far, when he'd just been a stupid kid like Foreman had been. He could have imagined, then, that Marcus would grow out of it, like he had. It was his last year of high school and Marcus's first, and it had been fun enough to have a kid brother that he could rag on a bit in front of his friends. "I dared my brother to a race," he said, wondering even as he spoke why he was talking about Marcus--it would only bring more questions, eventually. "I had this little motorcycle. A Honda XL. My dad wanted me to learn something practical like mechanics. And Marcus was always asking for rides. I told him he could have it if he could get a better time than me down our main road." It had only been a few miles, and a pretty deserted street after ten at night. Safe enough for Marcus to try out the bike, which didn't have that much power to start with. But he'd done better than Foreman had ever expected--he must have been practicing when Foreman's back was turned. "I got up to nearly sixty. At the last minute, a car turned in front of me, and I had to ditch the bike. I could've killed myself. I sprained my wrist landing, but my friends all thought it was a cool crash."