Foreman couldn't get the litany of oh shit, oh fuck, oh shit out of his head. There was no way in hell this was going to end well. Even if Shanelle turned around this instant and walked right back out the door, Amber would pounce on him with questions, ones she wouldn't allow him to put off with games of basketball--or even, Foreman suspected, sudden heart failure. If he woke up under oxygen, she'd probably rip the mask off his face until he confessed every last detail.
Not like that was fucking fair. What was there to confess? That he'd had relationships before? Amber already knew that. At least this wasn't Wendy, who he'd been with for nearly half a year and been moderately serious with. He and Shanelle had never discussed moving in, or love, or even adjusting their work schedules for each other. In fact, that had been Shanelle's reason for ditching his ass--"Eric, you're never around, and I'm not interested in waking up at three in the morning just because you come home horny after a case." It had been as simple as that: "So stop showing up, 'cause I won't be answering the door." Foreman had rolled his eyes. He didn't control his hours at the hospital, especially under House, but what was he losing? A couple of relaxing nights out a week, a few nice dinners, and the sex, which was good, but it wasn't like he'd made do with his left hand before. So he'd stopped showing up.
Except now Shanelle had decided to show up herself, at the worst possible moment. Foreman could feel how taut Amber was, but he was just as tense. Their arms around each other were a parody of the genuine affection he'd been feeling only a few seconds ago. And then Amber took hers away to shake Shanelle's hand: Foreman didn't miss the emphasis on Doctor, and Shanelle didn't either. Her eyes sparkled with amusement, the way they always had when Foreman had insisted on the title in introductions; she thought he was pretentious. Explaining how hard he'd worked to be called that only made her laugh at him more.
The last thing he was expecting was Amber's matter-of-fact, nearly casually and earnestly interested question. Clearly Shanelle hadn't either, but she burst out laughing. Christ, was there no fucking way to disappear? Anything to save him from this.
"We dated," she said. "Eric, are you still showing off at that damn gym?" She turned to Amber with a conspiratorial smirk. "He is something else. I watched him a few times before I introduced myself. It was like he was just expecting me to come over, thinking I'd faint from seeing all those muscles."
"It was a month," Foreman interrupted quickly. He didn't need Amber getting any ideas, and snapping that he hadn't been showing off would probably get him laughed out of here. By both of them.
"Five weeks," Shanelle countered, just as fast.
Foreman bit back an answer, grinding his teeth. Shanelle seemed to finally get the hint, though, because she shook her head. "I just came to get some coffee," she said. "Sorry, I didn't mean to interrupt." Her lips twitched, like she was holding back more. "I'm glad you're doing well, though."
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Not like that was fucking fair. What was there to confess? That he'd had relationships before? Amber already knew that. At least this wasn't Wendy, who he'd been with for nearly half a year and been moderately serious with. He and Shanelle had never discussed moving in, or love, or even adjusting their work schedules for each other. In fact, that had been Shanelle's reason for ditching his ass--"Eric, you're never around, and I'm not interested in waking up at three in the morning just because you come home horny after a case." It had been as simple as that: "So stop showing up, 'cause I won't be answering the door." Foreman had rolled his eyes. He didn't control his hours at the hospital, especially under House, but what was he losing? A couple of relaxing nights out a week, a few nice dinners, and the sex, which was good, but it wasn't like he'd made do with his left hand before. So he'd stopped showing up.
Except now Shanelle had decided to show up herself, at the worst possible moment. Foreman could feel how taut Amber was, but he was just as tense. Their arms around each other were a parody of the genuine affection he'd been feeling only a few seconds ago. And then Amber took hers away to shake Shanelle's hand: Foreman didn't miss the emphasis on Doctor, and Shanelle didn't either. Her eyes sparkled with amusement, the way they always had when Foreman had insisted on the title in introductions; she thought he was pretentious. Explaining how hard he'd worked to be called that only made her laugh at him more.
The last thing he was expecting was Amber's matter-of-fact, nearly casually and earnestly interested question. Clearly Shanelle hadn't either, but she burst out laughing. Christ, was there no fucking way to disappear? Anything to save him from this.
"We dated," she said. "Eric, are you still showing off at that damn gym?" She turned to Amber with a conspiratorial smirk. "He is something else. I watched him a few times before I introduced myself. It was like he was just expecting me to come over, thinking I'd faint from seeing all those muscles."
"It was a month," Foreman interrupted quickly. He didn't need Amber getting any ideas, and snapping that he hadn't been showing off would probably get him laughed out of here. By both of them.
"Five weeks," Shanelle countered, just as fast.
Foreman bit back an answer, grinding his teeth. Shanelle seemed to finally get the hint, though, because she shook her head. "I just came to get some coffee," she said. "Sorry, I didn't mean to interrupt." Her lips twitched, like she was holding back more. "I'm glad you're doing well, though."