So he didn't know a thing about her. He'd been learning. What he'd said fit what he knew so far, and if Amber wanted to prove him wrong, she'd have to do a lot more than simply say so. Her response was true as far as it went, but Foreman was convinced that there was more to it.
His lips tightened immediately when she threw a jab at his courtesies. He squeezed the steering wheel to keep from lashing out. She didn't understand. She hadn't from the first. He could tell her he'd learned it from watching his parents together--from admiring, always, how his dad was with his mom, even now, when Foreman didn't care to visit; when he could barely stand to be in the same room as his mom for more than five minutes. She'd call him Marcus, or after his uncle Ray, thinking he was her brother. It hurt too damn much, and to see that his father was the same as ever, holding doors with the same slow, ponderous care that he'd always used, walking slower now to match her pace, smiling during the few times when she was lucid enough to see him with the same affection that she'd had all Foreman's life--Christ. What the hell was wrong with being polite? It had nothing to do with whether he was genuine or not. It was more genuine than Amber would ever even want to know.
"I'll get pulled over," he said tersely. Something else Amber probably didn't realize. Last night she'd bragged that she could get away with what she wanted. Shoplifting, public sex. All it took was explaining the situation in the right words, and the cops just went away. Foreman didn't know if Amber used sex or sympathy to get her way, but he was sure she didn't care which as long as it worked. He'd lived in fucking LA and knew better than to risk a traffic stop. "I don't get to cry my way out of a speeding ticket."
Why the hell was it like this when they left the bedroom? This morning in the shower all he'd wanted in the world was to get closer to her. To block the world out and just breathe, as long as Amber was standing with him. For the life of him, Foreman couldn't pinpoint the instant that had changed. Clenching his jaw, he let out a breath that was almost a laugh, even though it was anything but amused. "We don't even need House, do we?"
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His lips tightened immediately when she threw a jab at his courtesies. He squeezed the steering wheel to keep from lashing out. She didn't understand. She hadn't from the first. He could tell her he'd learned it from watching his parents together--from admiring, always, how his dad was with his mom, even now, when Foreman didn't care to visit; when he could barely stand to be in the same room as his mom for more than five minutes. She'd call him Marcus, or after his uncle Ray, thinking he was her brother. It hurt too damn much, and to see that his father was the same as ever, holding doors with the same slow, ponderous care that he'd always used, walking slower now to match her pace, smiling during the few times when she was lucid enough to see him with the same affection that she'd had all Foreman's life--Christ. What the hell was wrong with being polite? It had nothing to do with whether he was genuine or not. It was more genuine than Amber would ever even want to know.
"I'll get pulled over," he said tersely. Something else Amber probably didn't realize. Last night she'd bragged that she could get away with what she wanted. Shoplifting, public sex. All it took was explaining the situation in the right words, and the cops just went away. Foreman didn't know if Amber used sex or sympathy to get her way, but he was sure she didn't care which as long as it worked. He'd lived in fucking LA and knew better than to risk a traffic stop. "I don't get to cry my way out of a speeding ticket."
Why the hell was it like this when they left the bedroom? This morning in the shower all he'd wanted in the world was to get closer to her. To block the world out and just breathe, as long as Amber was standing with him. For the life of him, Foreman couldn't pinpoint the instant that had changed. Clenching his jaw, he let out a breath that was almost a laugh, even though it was anything but amused. "We don't even need House, do we?"