Foreman didn't care that Shanelle ordered ahead of them, beyond the angry relief that at least this way she wouldn't be sticking around to make the moment any more excruciatingly awkward than it already was. "No, I don't," he snapped. He wasn't interested in having his motives questioned or in having something Shanelle said become a weapon in Amber's hands. It had been a damn joke. Shanelle had always liked to get through bad conversations by saying We should do this again when what she damn well meant was Let us never speak of this. No way Amber could know that, and no way Foreman could explain without showing that he remembered personal, inside-joke information about Shanelle that Amber probably expected him to have wiped from his memory the second they broke up.
Not that there was any time to hash it out, when they both had to order instead of making the line back up behind them. "Corn chowder, chicken salad on rye, large coffee with sugar," he muttered, taking out his wallet. Amber had already moved on, waiting for her lunch, completely breaking the contact they'd had. With it seemed to go all that sense of connection they'd had since the gym, the feeling that even silence was comfortable, because they were on the same wavelength.
He finished paying and went to stand beside her, fuming and pissed off and having no idea what to say. He couldn't fucking defend himself. Any look Shanelle had given him, every word she'd spoken, Amber would analyze as if they were now going to try and get back together behind her back. As if a month--five weeks, whatever--of casual dating and casual sex meant something, when Foreman had already told Amber that she...that this was more. Christ, he didn't know why. It was a lot fucking harder, and why that should be better made no sense that he could figure out. Amber challenged him, and then broke down, and when he tried to comfort her she went off like he was the most patronizing bastard on the planet, and somehow he liked even that. He was...he was proud of her, for not needing him, or at least claiming not to need him, and that made the moment when he could comfort her or make things better feel so sharply sweet. Amber was fiercer, haughty, demanding. And seeing that was like standing up to a force of nature. Breathtaking. Except when it left her pissed off at him for no good reason.
"I never left my stuff at her place," Foreman said, low-voiced, speaking mainly to the counter in front of them and pressing his lips closed afterward, determined not to even try to defend himself any further. It was true, and maybe it'd matter. Or maybe he'd just stepped on a fucking landmine. He set himself to endure the fallout, tense and miserably furious.
no subject
Not that there was any time to hash it out, when they both had to order instead of making the line back up behind them. "Corn chowder, chicken salad on rye, large coffee with sugar," he muttered, taking out his wallet. Amber had already moved on, waiting for her lunch, completely breaking the contact they'd had. With it seemed to go all that sense of connection they'd had since the gym, the feeling that even silence was comfortable, because they were on the same wavelength.
He finished paying and went to stand beside her, fuming and pissed off and having no idea what to say. He couldn't fucking defend himself. Any look Shanelle had given him, every word she'd spoken, Amber would analyze as if they were now going to try and get back together behind her back. As if a month--five weeks, whatever--of casual dating and casual sex meant something, when Foreman had already told Amber that she...that this was more. Christ, he didn't know why. It was a lot fucking harder, and why that should be better made no sense that he could figure out. Amber challenged him, and then broke down, and when he tried to comfort her she went off like he was the most patronizing bastard on the planet, and somehow he liked even that. He was...he was proud of her, for not needing him, or at least claiming not to need him, and that made the moment when he could comfort her or make things better feel so sharply sweet. Amber was fiercer, haughty, demanding. And seeing that was like standing up to a force of nature. Breathtaking. Except when it left her pissed off at him for no good reason.
"I never left my stuff at her place," Foreman said, low-voiced, speaking mainly to the counter in front of them and pressing his lips closed afterward, determined not to even try to defend himself any further. It was true, and maybe it'd matter. Or maybe he'd just stepped on a fucking landmine. He set himself to endure the fallout, tense and miserably furious.