Cautious, Foreman watched Amber approach him. He'd almost thought she'd tell him she was leaving after all, even if there was no evidence for that at all. But he wouldn't be surprised if he'd screwed up somehow, in her mind, when he wasn't even there. Her response, as quiet as his, quelled those thoughts, and let him relax further. The bed dipped, and Amber lay down beside him. The scent of her hair was familiar--her own, not the stuff he'd offered her. Foreman hadn't realized how much he'd cooled down until Amber touched him, her skin warm from the shower as she draped an arm over his chest. Foreman closed his eyes. He'd been trying to talk himself out of being pissed off, but it hadn't really worked--not like lying next to Amber did. Absorbing the heat of her skin and drinking in her presence. That she still wanted to be with him, even when he'd driven her away a few minutes ago.
Foreman felt Amber's smile against his shoulder when she praised him for jerking off. A laugh jolted out of him. He'd expected Amber to figure it out, but he hadn't expected commentary. Or, somehow, approval. He'd thought she'd be as discomfited by him masturbating as he'd been to do it. Should have known better. Amber probably would have enjoyed the show. With a grin, Foreman moved at last, taking his arm from behind his head and wrapping it around her shoulders, urging her closer, filling the empty space between them. Not that good, he thought, but he kept the thought back; it was passing, anyway.
"I did too," he said, his fingertips mirroring her strokes against her arm. Despite the times he'd felt like Amber wanted to toss him in the deep end of the pool to see if he'd sink or swim, Foreman felt like he was still flailing somewhere near the surface. This second chance had already been...better, he supposed. It hadn't been perfect. Or, by any sense of the word, easy. Looking back, it seemed like Thursday night had been the smoothest first date he'd ever had. Tonight, with all its stops and starts and uncomfortable moments, was more realistic, more honest. Most of the time, Foreman's relationships stayed perfect longer...but most of the time, he didn't worry about what screwing up would mean. With Amber, he did. "Why did they?" he asked, his curiosity getting the better of him. It wasn't an accusation, and he hoped Amber could hear it wasn't meant to make her guilty. Shit, he'd never been curious about evaluating his own performance before; he hated to hear about his mistakes. But it was either that or fuck up again. Amber said it wasn't him, but Foreman knew that was a fiction that all women threw out when it really was, most definitively, him.
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Foreman felt Amber's smile against his shoulder when she praised him for jerking off. A laugh jolted out of him. He'd expected Amber to figure it out, but he hadn't expected commentary. Or, somehow, approval. He'd thought she'd be as discomfited by him masturbating as he'd been to do it. Should have known better. Amber probably would have enjoyed the show. With a grin, Foreman moved at last, taking his arm from behind his head and wrapping it around her shoulders, urging her closer, filling the empty space between them. Not that good, he thought, but he kept the thought back; it was passing, anyway.
"I did too," he said, his fingertips mirroring her strokes against her arm. Despite the times he'd felt like Amber wanted to toss him in the deep end of the pool to see if he'd sink or swim, Foreman felt like he was still flailing somewhere near the surface. This second chance had already been...better, he supposed. It hadn't been perfect. Or, by any sense of the word, easy. Looking back, it seemed like Thursday night had been the smoothest first date he'd ever had. Tonight, with all its stops and starts and uncomfortable moments, was more realistic, more honest. Most of the time, Foreman's relationships stayed perfect longer...but most of the time, he didn't worry about what screwing up would mean. With Amber, he did. "Why did they?" he asked, his curiosity getting the better of him. It wasn't an accusation, and he hoped Amber could hear it wasn't meant to make her guilty. Shit, he'd never been curious about evaluating his own performance before; he hated to hear about his mistakes. But it was either that or fuck up again. Amber said it wasn't him, but Foreman knew that was a fiction that all women threw out when it really was, most definitively, him.