alwaysright | November 3, 2007

November 3, 2007 - Morning

Foreman had been right about one thing: when he finally woke up, his whole body felt like he'd run a fucking triathlon the night before. He opened his eyes slowly, a smile already curving his lips. Saturday. No work, no obligations. Last weekend he'd thought that he'd fucked up completely with Amber. This morning, here he was, grinning half into his pillow at the sight of her hair, tangled and fanned out across the sheets. So he hurt; that was no different than the morning after a lot of workouts. Some stretching and he'd be fine. If that was the only price he'd pay for last night, he'd always choose to do it again.

They'd finally made it out of the bath when the water was cooling. Fingers and toes pruned, shivering because they'd both fallen asleep, towelling off vigourously to warm up again. Foreman hadn't bothered waking up beyond the most basic functions. He'd gotten his teeth brushed, pissed, hauled his boxers on, and fallen into Amber's bed all without engaging any higher mental faculties. He didn't even remember falling asleep.

Looked like he was the first one to wake up this morning. Usually his body woke him up after eight hours whether he needed more or not. Affection poured through him at the sight of Amber, still sleeping. This way he could admire her before she realized that her hair wasn't in place, and it made the feeling sweeter, somehow, that she didn't know. To let her sleep herself out, Foreman tried to keep himself quiet as he climbed out of bed. He eased out of the bedroom after he'd hauled his trousers and hoodie on. Amber's keys were next to her purse, near the door, and Foreman ducked out for a quick, shivering trip to his car. He came back in with the bag he'd packed yesterday without running into Murphy or any of the other tenants, thank Christ. It didn't take him long to sort out things that he could leave here--deodorant, shaving stuff, cologne, toothbrush--along with a few clothes, more comfortable stuff so that he wouldn't be limited to suits on the weekend.

He showered about as quickly as he would on a weekday, not lingering once he'd gotten clean. He dressed in a pair of battered jeans and a clean sweater, before heading for the kitchen.

He wasn't a great cook, which Amber knew by now. When he was a kid, Mom had let him and Marcus into the kitchen for baking only--to lick icing off the spoons, or to dump too much flour in the bowl, making a mess with the ingredients and then burning his tongue crunching through the resulting--usually rock hard--cookies or cakes. But she'd also considered the kitchen more or less her domain, and she'd swatted their rumps with a dishtowel if they'd gotten in her way when she was cooking the big meals. Not that it was her fault he'd never learned. If he'd ever shown a real interest, rather than sprinting through and grabbing at whatever was sitting out to stuff into his face while Mom was in the middle of preparations, she probably would have taught him. He'd been an ungrateful teenager, he'd expected his meals to be ready for him, and he hadn't paid much attention except when they weren't. What he did know, he knew from disastrous experiments when he was in college, and certainly Claire had never stooped to cooking for him when they both had the same punishing hours at the hospital.

But there was one dish that he was terrific at. It was Claire who'd taught it to him, actually, after he'd complimented her effusively one too many times and given her his best wide-eyed, hopeful look when it seemed like she might be about to make breakfast. Denver omelette, egg whites only since he was trying to keep himself in weight training trim. He'd seen all the ingredients he needed in Amber's fridge last night. Peppers, onions, even some bacon. Cheese, maybe. He'd have to check. He could even set the table this morning since he'd reuse the clean dishes from dinner last night. It wasn't that he always expected to cook, but in this one case, he knew what he was doing, and damn, he already knew Amber could be astonishingly grateful for a simple meal. The omelette, maybe some toast, and fresh coffee--God, who knew how she'd want to thank him next? Grinning, Foreman set to work, far more confident than he'd been about the stir fry.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

He was lost, far as Amber could tell. Too hard to keep looking, craning her neck; she'd trust his wordless noises to let her know if he needed more or slower or different. Eric’s flexing hips, straining forward as if impeded further progress by a leash, were a pretty good sign too. So she kept on, following her own urges to suck more cries out of him, push him so hard to forget his name. His dick seemed to grow hotter in her mouth, slick with her saliva; Amber upped the suction, tugging at his skin, swirling her tongue against his base. If only there were someone to touch her, play with her labia, draw out the feelings building up there, because yeah, she was getting wet again...

Her own left hand clenched his thigh for support, her other one continued with the penetration. Broken words and sounds of encouragement, legs spreading like it was the most natural thing in the world, his muscle relaxing-- yeah, he wanted this. Really wanted this, enough to try to ignore his fears. And Amber'd give it to him, proud and happy. (And she wouldn’t think about how much she might be motivated by her recent defeat; anal penetration was no way to show someone up or to reestablish skill; she wouldn’t read into this. He’d asked to be touched, she was only delivering.) He’d just better not mope about it afterward, she was tired of having to put up with his suffering for getting what he wanted. If they both got their rocks off, where was the problem? She’d tell him off if he tried to pull another guilt trip.

Wasn't hard at all to slip her finger index past his sphincter-- not much, just up to the first bend, enough to twist, curling into his ass, stroking softly. Worked her way in; he'd been so sensitive the last time, but he hadn't really surrendered to pleasure until his prostrate got attention. Soon, soon; she couldn't rush it. Plenty of nerves to stimulate at the tip, to make him feel good. Amber only wished she had how to talk, to tell him how hot he was, how she wanted him to come for her. The words were in her mind, and the feeling flowering in her as she squirmed, starting to become frustrated with unattended horniness; but the best she could do was to tighten her lips around his dick, bobbing her head up and down.

Grunting, Foreman twitched at the first real intrusion of Amber's fingertips. Slippery with the lotion she'd used, there wasn't any pain, but despite the insistent draw of her mouth around his cock, his attention centered on her finger as if that was all that was happening. The minute flutter of muscles alternately impeded her progress and urged her deeper, and Foreman couldn't decide which he wanted more. His abs tensed as he eased down further. The burn in his thighs from holding himself up hurt worse than her finger did. The slight penetration, going deeper with each new push, felt weirdly huge, awkward, but also satisfying--something to press against, solid and unmistakably present.

He had no idea how Amber had known--if she'd known, fuck, maybe she did this with every guy who ended up in her bed--but having her fingering him while she sucked him heightened the whole experience. More than just a blowjob. Getting sucked off was easy, he only had to lean back and let his orgasm grow until it washed over him. Amber could have him coming in five minutes, or less, the way she sucked him down so deep and still seemed able to flick her tongue across the underside just there with every bobbing stroke. But her hands, her finger--it gave him an anchor, a place to hang his thoughts, until none of this was just sex; he was involved, far more than a simple orgasm would leave him. Foreman could feel how careful she was, and he could tense up, or relax, and guide her that way. She had to know him, in order to make this work, and care, and want to take her time. The pleasure was different, too, the red flare dull at first, but growing, and deeper; more initimate.

"Uhn, more," he said, gasping a bit and looking down, aroused all over again as he watched Amber blowing him like she couldn't get enough. If you want a real good fuck, you'll have to wait til we get back home--he hadn't missed those words. Foreman had no idea what she meant, whether he should be sweating with nervous fear or nervous anticipation. He swayed a bit, starting to move against her finger instead of away. Yeah. Yeah, good. Amber was going to be so fucking smug. Foreman couldn't bring himself to care, to worry. His cock was straining, and he'd come hard, he knew, if only he got more.

"Mmmmhhhh," Amber purred, pleased. Her finger's easy glide in without had already told her as much, but it was so damn satisfying to hear Eric himself beg for more-- well, begging by his current standards of comfort. And if he was, jesus, actually asking, then she wouldn't hold back. (Later she wouldn't say I told you so. At least, not in those words. Yeah, she was right, that was reward enough, as was his reaction right now, fucking himself on her finger; didn’t need to rub it in his face. Much.)

Her index finger had stretched him out enough to add another; he took that in too, quickly, as if he’d grown impatient and was sucking in everything that came near. As for going in deeper, Eric himself did that, one of his flexes driving her fingers in further. Amber moaned, from deep inside her throat; shifted to lean more weight on her already-tired knees so that she could bring her left hand between her legs, rubbing her labia not to bring herself off but to make the pleasure spread, help take the edge off her own need. (So wet, from her previous orgasm, so full--) Let her focus on him, taking more of him into his mouth, working her jaw constantly, hardly licking now, aimed just as suction. The saltiness of his precome was everywhere, in the back of her throat, on her lips, accentuating the taste of his cock. Her index and middle finger coiled in deeper, probing, searching, massaging; didn’t take long to find that hardened elevation. There. Amber smiled for a second, winced; hurt to do so, with her mouth full. But it was still with triumph that she stroked his prostrate, gently yet firmly, absolutely convinced it’d make him forget all his hesitations, and more besides. C’mon, she thought to herself, Eric, give in. Don’t fight it.

Amber's moan vibrated around his cock. Foreman exhaled sharply, breath leaving him in explosive little bursts. Fuck, one finger felt huge, two left him clenching down tight, fear suddenly leaping into his throat again. Every fraction of an inch of movement rubbed him raw, and he didn't know--he couldn't--God--

Foreman had no idea if he cried out, wordless and sharp, or if every sound only echoed in his mind. He knew he jerked, nearly pulled his cock out of Amber's mouth with the movement. But, fuck, the feeling of Amber's fingers stroking just there, fucking Christ. On some level, he knew it was his prostate, that there were nerve endings there. All his brain would allow him to think was that he wanted it again, that deep strange pleasure, the surprising force of it. Foreman's abs tensed as he pushed for more. Amber's mouth, sucking him in, the answering twitch of her fingers, worked him into a frenzy. Not that he was bucking his hips, or even moving much, but there was a storm raging through his mind. He didn't have to move. Hands squeezing Amber's shoulders, Foreman could ease forward into the hot suction of her mouth, and then, back, there, again, shivering at the bolts of sensation. Balls tightening, cock stiff and slick; it felt timeless, like it would last forever, until with one spiking jolt, everything kicked into a higher gear.

"Fuck. I'm--Amber, you're--making me come." Garbled as the warning was, there was no way he could force out any more coherent words. All he wanted was to push through into the hot slam of sensation. Moving now. Needing to. Couldn't help it. Lightheaded, panting, Foreman drove back onto Amber's fingers one last time, and that was all it took. The stroke tipped him over the edge, a deep groan vibrated in his chest, and he came in sharp, incredible pulses of pleasure.

Victory; he'd lost it. Groaning, rocking to spark off the two distinct pleasures on either side of him, Eric gave way like a wall of sand crumbling against a wave. Amber had to stop touching herself, gripping his thigh again with her left hand; his sharp movements knocked her head back repeatedly, and if she weren't careful, she could easily fall. Wouldn't that be funny, if just before he could come, she disengaged? But Eric was still relatively restrained; Amber had been with men who were far more intense about fucking her mouth. And she was determined: digits digging into his flesh, legs locked to keep her torso up, Amber could handle a few head bangs.

Having readjusted herself to deal with his erratic, powerful thrusts, Amber smugly enjoyed the fruits of her labor. Pity she couldn’t get a good view of his face, bent as she was to keep sucking his dick-- it must've been a glorious sight, pinched and uncensored. They'd talked about cameras, maybe—but Eric probably wouldn't want evidence of his ecstasy at being ass fucked. His tremors-- she felt every one, shaking out from his hips-- would have to be reward enough, as would be his thoughtless cries. Christ, he must've forgotten that they were in a semi-public spot; this the passers-by could hear. God. Yeah. They'd know what was going on, wonder who was so lucky. Maybe those boys from the court heard, would put two and two together.

At Eric's timely warning, Amber pulled back slightly, expecting him to jerk harder-- and, yeah, he really did twitch all over the place. His dick pulsated in her mouth like one last clench before releasing all it had to offer, the come hot and bitter. Good, yeah, that's what she wanted: Amber kept on sucking with relish, remembering how much he'd loved that the other time she'd blown him; kept on stroking with her fingers, too, because no matter how shy Eric was about things up his ass, testing proved conclusively that he was wild about it. Maybe he could throw a ball better than her, but this-- sex-- Amber ruled.

As Eric's movements subsided, Amber took a deep breath through her nose; swallowed the come that had accumulate in her mouth. Sticky, it needed a strong gulp to go down; and then, whole body spent, Amber’s legs gave way, collapsing. She found herself suddenly sitting on the floor, legs splayed around Eric's and her ass against the cold and wet tile floor tile. Startled, she looked up, though she quickly tried to mask it as amusement.

Refusing to look weak, especially since no matter how amazing she'd been just now, she'd still lost that game, Amber got to knees and then her feet, barely using the wall as support. Now that the goal of getting Eric off was accomplished, the exhaustion that had been with her all along manifested itself, flooding her nerves. Too many sore muscles to name, plus a crick in her neck. And what she'd been assuming were leftover water drops was actually sweat, built up all over again from the fucking.

Throwing Eric a tired smile, Amber cranked on the shower. She could hear water hitting the space outside the box, but she was too tired to close the door. With the long break, the shower was steaming hot again. The heat ached against her worn body, but it felt good too, like a vicious massage. "Some work out, huh."

Coming seemed to last, longer than Foreman could account for. The sensation arrowed between Amber's fingers and her mouth on his cock, until one seemed to intensify the other, both of them setting off new ripples after the first jolt had passed. God, it--he couldn't believe he was getting off on this, but it was so shockingly true that he couldn't deny it. One foot slid out from under him, only an inch, but it was enough to make him fling out an arm, banging his hand against one of the glass walls of the shower. Foreman braced himself, huffing for air, the aftershocks of his orgasm reverberating in incredible shockwaves as long as Amber kept sucking him. His ass twitched around her fingers as she rubbed one last spark of pleasure out of him.

It probably wasn't very gentlemanly, but Foreman tipped his head back, eyes closed, and barely noticed when Amber stopped touching him. His body was humming, nerves brought up to fever pitch and then completely satisfied, so that he felt lazy in the best possible way. Exhausted, but so content he could barely move. His eyelids felt too heavy to open, but he managed it, returning Amber's pleased smile. He flinched under the first hot spray of the shower, but a second later it felt glorious. Amber was right--this was exactly like the endorphin high of a good workout. It was simple to transfer his weight from the shower wall into leaning on her, allowing Amber to lean back just as heavily. Arms wrapped around her, Foreman wanted to go to sleep with his head resting on her shoulder, with the hot water rushing down her back and his shoulders. "How do you do that," he muttered, too tired to even make it into a question. Kissing her throat briefly, he murmured, "So good," against her skin.

He finally straightened. Wouldn't be much of a shower without soap, and the hot water would run out on them again in no time. He stepped out long enough to grab the bar from the top of his sports bag, and brought it bag, lathering up quickly. His arms felt twice as heavy as they should, but he soaped down quickly, then handed Amber the soap and shuffled around her so that he could rinse off while she washed. His ass ached a bit--just enough that when he moved, he was reminded that Amber had had her fingers there, like the lingering ghost of the penetration. Probably should've freaked him out more, liking that, but right now he was too damn tired to care about anything except how spectacularly he'd come.

Eric had gone off in his own world, eyes closed and leaning against the shower wall. Seemed to forget even her, trilling with whatever was going on inside him. Amber watched that moment of seclusion, expression softening. It was bittersweet, knowing she'd pushed him that far, that he'd felt comfortable enough to be that selfish. She knew how hard it was for him to let go, keeping up those notions he'd drilled through his skull on how to behave and treat women. It was also a bit-- lonely. She wasn't a part of that peak, not really. No more than he was when she came. In the end, what did it matter who got you to orgasm, if the results were the same? Then again, who else would've blown and fingered him in the gym? No one else, so far.

Apparently Eric was so buzzed he didn't notice her thoughtfulness, simply snuggling her. She let his own emotions, brimming with joy, wash over her just as the water did. Fell into his embrace, wrapping her arms back around him, sinking her weight into his. Stroked the nape of his neck as he cradled his head upon her shoulder, slowly, tenderly. She wanted to sleep here and now, so badly, just enough to deal with the exhaustion. But she couldn't show it. She'd lost already, couldn't expose more vulnerabilities. Cockily, she told him, "I'm just amazing." His vague but heart-felt flattery was much appreciated; Amber knew just how hard he'd come, but she was glad that his first post-reaction was glowing. Could've just as easily closed up, like last night. Amber pressed her lips against his jaw, the hot water mingling between them.

While he stepped out, Amber tilted her head up into the spray, closing her eyes, summoning up reserves of energy. They'd eat soon, at that sandwich place. That'd do her wonders; her stomach growled its approval. Tired, in a cramped place, she kept bumping into Eric, elbow in his back, her shoulder blades against his chest. Their feet too skirted round one another as they shuffled for the prime spot beneath the shower head. The soap in her hands, Amber lathered up for a full-body wash, enough to undo the accumulated sweat. Her ponytail she left up; knowing them, they'd likely need another round at cleaning up before going to sleep, and she'd take care of her hair then. Besides, the water temperature had already drastically fallen.

Fully rinsed off, Amber picked up her lotion and forgotten condom and walked out of the box, stretching her arms over her head. She trailed water everywhere. Not that she cared, now that they were done with the room, but she quickly dug through her bag anyway for a towel, if only to keep from shivering.

Foreman took a long breath as Amber cradled his head against her shoulder. "Mm. You are." This was so damn perfect--the only thing that would make it better would be if they could walk out into her living room instead of into the gym. As satisfied as he was, remembering where they were brought a flush to his cheek. Once he'd washed, he rubbed his towel briskly over himself and started to dress. Even that small exertion pulled at muscles he barely knew he had. A workout would be more focused in its effects. Sex, now and last night, seemed to bring out aches he didn't know could happen. Reminders of how good it had been, both times, but also the vaguely uneasy sense that he was giving himself over to things that he didn't know if he should want.

Ignoring that feeling, Foreman pulled on his shorts and jeans, then paused long enough to get his shoes on so he wouldn't slip on the wet floor. After throwing his sweater on, he packed up everything else, until all he had to carry was his gym bag and his jacket. The change room key was safe in his pocket. Foreman grinned, shame and satisfaction warring for the upper hand. There was no way out of it: he'd considered having sex at the gym a possibility right from the moment they'd arrived, or he never would have asked for the private room. It had a surcharge, above his membership dues, and it wasn't always available. He could've pointed Amber at the women's change room and gone himself to the men's, but instead he'd picked here. Anything that happened--if people stared at them because they'd been too loud--he'd just have to suck up and deal. It had been his idea.

"Ready?" he asked. "I'm starving." His stomach rumbled agreement. Felt like he'd already worked off that morning's omelette, rich as it had been. No better sign that Amber had worn him out, although Foreman kept that to himself. She'd probably think he was talking about the game, which she'd lost, or else only about the sex, as if that's all he got out of being with her. He wished there was some easy way to say I had fun that wouldn't sting her pride, but for now, he settled for a warm smile as he opened the change room door and started to lead the way out.

Amber's skin was still slightly damp as she pulled on her jeans and shirt over her underwear. A glance in the mirror confirmed that her hair was fast on its way to becoming chaos itself, escaped strands plastered all over her head. That required immediate attention by undoing her ponytail, brushing rigorously to work out the knots, then tying her hair up again. Better but not perfect. Most of her face was splotchy red, except of course for her lips, which were relatively pale. Damn it. Amber allowed herself a quick frown while Eric's back was turned; on the heels of their fight, she hadn't given much thought to the after of their gym trip. No makeup, a boring plain outfit, and a pathetic hair style to go with it. The tank top and yoga pants had been a hit, but this...

It was strange to think back on the morning's fight, tingling still with afterglow but not oblivious to her day's several losses. Watching Eric pack up the last of his things, just as she was hers, bumbling and grinning all over the place as if he'd won first, second, and third place in a triathlon (and in a way he had), it almost seemed none of it had ever happened. Like he hadn't jumped from her family as if they lived in nuclear waste zone, or hadn't yelled that his mom-- and everyone he was related to-- wasn't worth his time. No wonder he didn't want to see her family, if that's how he felt about his. Amber would spend dozens of dollars not to have to see her relatives for more than a few days at a time, but she wouldn't ban them from her life either.

Surprise, surprise. Sex and games hadn't solved anything (except, temporarily, for Eric's mood). Amber wondered how long it'd be before they were bickering about that again; she herself wouldn't bring up the topic of Thanksgiving, at least, not about the possibility of them going anywhere together for it, but they wouldn't go long without delving into the subject of family once more. It seemed to pop up naturally, between them.

Zipping up her bag, Amber slung it over her shoulder and stepped over the many and large puddles. Wouldn't do to get her pristine-white sneakers dirty. Once she'd reached the door, she opened it and reached out her hand for Eric's. Wary as she was, it didn't mean she couldn't enjoy Eric's easy, sauntering jubilance while it lasted. "Let's go," she said. "If you're starving, I'm just about ready to take up human flesh." Outside, the air was less dank, the lights stronger and clearer. The two women passing by, sadly, cast them no strange looks; they must've not been around to hear their noise. Amber wanted to tease Eric about fucking in the gym, locked room or not, but that'd invite his sour mood right back, so she didn't comment on it. For now.

"Then we'd better get you fed." Foreman smirked, but didn't quite make the joke--she'd already eaten enough of him for one day. Straightening his shoulders, he braced himself to face any disapproving looks or smirks they might get walking down the hall. Amber took his hand, and although she probably didn't mean to reassure him on that score, Foreman was going to take whatever comfort he could get from it. He smiled at her, and squeezed her hand a bit, before hitching his bag higher on his shoulder and heading out.

He had to let go long enough to sign the key back over to the staff. The guy looked supremely bored, and clicked a few keys on the computer without much bothering to look at them, and that was fine by Foreman. Once that was done, he took Amber's hand again on their way out to the parking lot.

The little café he had in mind did mostly fresh sandwiches, salads, and their own coffee and pastries. It was independent, a little slower but a little less busy than the Starbucks on the corner. The parking lot was tiny, so it was usually impossible to find a parking space anywhere near it, especially on a Saturday. Foreman parked about a block away when he saw a chance opening, and climbed out, leaving his bag on the back seat. The air was fresh, but not as cold as the last couple of days, and after the sweat-stink of the gym, it felt good to breathe deeply. "Have you ever been here before?" he asked, pointing the place out. They weren't far from the hospital, and Amber had lived in the area for a while, so maybe it wouldn't be much of a surprise to her. "They do a great chicken salad."

As he'd expected, there was a line once they were inside, and Foreman felt even hungrier for the warm full smell of fresh coffee and some kind of homemade soup. He let his hand rest on Amber's hip, pulling her in so that their sides pressed together, from shoulder to hip, and concentrated on the menu board above the serving area.

Eric took her hand at once, but he was so pleased right now he'd probably follow her to hell's gates without a second thought. Might even be thinking that she was doing that, what with her making him experiment with new acts like public sex and bondage. Whatever was running through his mind, Amber squeezed his hand back and within a couple of steps they fell into a rhythm, their paces matching easily. Probably had something to do with their equal heights, but Amber was tempted to think it was because they were well-suited for one another-- though that was as solid an argument as one based on astrological signs.

On their way out of the gym (in which no one noticed them, damn it-- what was the point of fucking in public if they didn’t get credit for it?) and to the café they didn't really talk. More after-effects of their orgasms? It wasn't bad, just different. Amber didn't know how other couples did it. She'd seen plenty of silent ones at the hospital, but those were extenuating circumstances. People acted different around the sick and the dying, she knew. Wasn't a good yardstick with which to measure her own relationship. Amber was okay with observing, following; Eric knew more about couple stuff than she did. He seemed okay enough with keeping quiet, focusing on the road. And this silence certainly wasn't suffocating like the one on the way over.

Maybe she should start taking notes on proper relationship behavior, her own and other people's (who weren't in the hospital). It was how she’d learned many a thing.

Half-wondering if she should type up said notes or write them by hand, Eric interrupted her thoughts with a question. "Sure, Alexandro's," Amber said. There wasn't a café in the region that she hadn't tried over the years. She couldn't afford to eat out all the time, what with low salaries and lingering med school debts, but even at her worst she went out at least once or twice or month. Often enough she could swing a discount or a free meal, and not always because of her stunning looks. "I think I've only had their sandwiches, though."

A bell on the door chimed as they came in and a blast of heated air greeted them. Scents of coffee and onion and tomato excited Amber’s stomach all the more; if Eric presented her with his omelet now, she'd eat it up in seconds.

It was when Eric touched her hip so casually, tugging her in close, that Amber felt a pang of not belonging. They'd gone from fucking in a public shower to-- this. It was the simplest place they'd been to together. Homey, informal. Really not the kind of place she'd go to with her flings. Strangely shy, Amber let herself be pulled in, stepping with him into the line.

The bell rang again but Amber paid it no attention, too busy scoping out what other people were eating at their tables. A cream-colored soup was all over the place. No wonder, on a cold day like this soup was comforting. But she couldn't ignore the "Oh wow, Eric, is that you?" that piped up from behind them. Amber turned. A black woman with far too satisfied a smirk was eyeing her Eric like he was some kind of ride open to the public; Amber’s immediate reaction was to raise her arm, mirroring the way Eric’s had circled her waist, even if her hold was far more rigid.

This felt good. Foreman didn't think of it much beyond that. All he needed to know was that he liked having Amber next to him, the evidence of her hip bumping his proving that she was with him. It made up for the fact that they hadn't really had a chance to kiss or cuddle after having sex, or just to lie around basking in how good they were with each other. Why the hell focus on the bad memories if he could bury them again? He'd won time to think about going to Amber's parents' place for Thanksgiving. How bad could it be? He'd met his girlfriends' families before. He'd have to answer a bunch of questions over and over again, and probably rein in his temper, but for Amber's sake, he could do it. If they gave themselves an opening to duck out early, or only stay a day or two, then it would just be a matter of getting through those hours. Not torture, simply making nice. Whatever else they believed, Foreman knew most families didn't sniff at a doctor with a one-of-a-kind specialty.

Knowing the argument was coming helped him prepare for it. The next time Amber brought it up, he'd react better. And the less his family was up for discussion, the better. He'd keep the topic safe, and he wouldn't get broken up over the simple medical fact that his mom wasn't up for guests.

Foreman's bad mood had mostly vanished, as he'd known it would if he could just stop thinking about all the things in his life he couldn't control. Not that he could control Amber, either. But the fact that she was content to lean into him made him feel ten feet tall. That she'd give him a blowjob not because he hoped or asked, but because she had all the determination in the world to make him come as hard as he could--God, that left him smug and stunned at the same time, and overcome with affection.. Marcus, his mom, their Thanksgiving plans, none of that could compare with his satisfaction right now. "It's good coming here when the patient's stable," he said. "Since it's close. House usually paged me before I got home, and this way I at least got to eat."

Concentrating on the menu, he wasn't paying attention to the line behind them until he heard his name. Turning around, he suddenly felt as tongue-tied as a teenager asking a girl out on a first date. "Uh, hi," he said. For one mortifying instant, Foreman couldn't even remember her name. They'd dated. About a month. A year ago. Amber's arm circled his waist, tight as a noose. "Shanelle," he blurted, finally. "How have you been?"

Warning klaxons went off in his skull. Even if Amber hadn't tensed beside him, one more word between her and Shanelle and the whole story would probably come flooding out. Shanelle looked great--fuck, he shouldn't be noticing that--but then, she always had. She had a gym bag hooked over one shoulder: why the hell hadn't he remembered that he sometimes came here with women he'd met at the gym? Shit.

"Good," she said, grinning--and fuck, he knew that grin. She wanted to have fun with him. "How have you been?" Her gaze went to Amber, friendly on the surface, but probably it was all a prelude to teasing him.

Foreman forced a smile. He'd never liked the way she tried to force him to 'lighten up', by teasing him in public, and mocking him for trying to have a little damn dignity. Which was part of why it hadn't lasted. "Shanelle," he said, trying to cut her and Amber off from talking to each other. "This is Amber Volakis."

"Tricks of the trade?" Amber teased. Work was a good subject and she eased right into it, glad to take her mind off how bizarre it was to get a sandwich with a guy she really cared about. "I should watch out for the stable ones, since they're the real trouble-makers?"

But all her shy affection twisted into something hot and choking at the intrusion. Amber smiled as if constrained by invisible wires; moved with the flexibility of a solid iron block. Eric knew her name and was embarrassed to, sputtering out the greetings. Not a good sign. One wasn't embarrassed to know someone for no reason; Amber’s arm stretched back as if he'd intuitively stepped away. From which—or both—of them?

Shanelle was a knock-out, simply put. Strong features-- sharp jaw, curved nose with a rounded tip, short curly hair that showed off the shape of her face… more than all that, a bounciness that lit her up. And really white teeth too, her huge, playful grin revealed. Really pretty.

Amber hated her, irrationally and totally. Eric too, for asking how she was and was she one of the exes House had referred to? Amber certainly hoped so; it’d be the lesser of two evils, since Eric had said he hadn't loved any of them. Amber's hand flinched into a squeeze; she really didn't feel like holding him right now, but she didn't want to let go either.

Fortunately the introductions directed her actions. Amber snaked her arm back in front of her to shake (one-name) Shanelle's. "Dr. Amber Volakis," she expanded and wow did the bend of her lopsided grin feel unnatural, as if someone had hammered a sheet of metal into an awkward, lumpy circle.

For her part, Shanelle transferred her amusement-- what was she so pleased about anyway?-- from Eric to Amber, only now instead of checking out a likely fun time, it seemed she was about to burst out laughing. "Good to meet you," she said, shaking Amber's hand back firmly. Didn't give a title, but no last name either, so she could still be a doctor.

Enough of this. If there was shit to clear up, they’d do it now. No more stomach-coiling or questions. "So is Shanelle a former patient of yours or did you just sleep together?" Amber asked almost politely, hands clasped over her front.

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."

Shanelle's laughter did not improve Amber's mood any, particularly not after she'd clearly disdained her title. Amber stiffened, jaw rising. She was taller; felt good to look down at Shanelle. Hooray for small, bitter victories. "Then I take that as a yes," Amber said. Eric had slept with her on their first night out, and as much the gentleman he played, neither he nor Shanelle seemed so refined as to keep their hands off each other. Why would they? They were both incredibly attractive; it'd make no sense not to take advantage of each other. Their smiles-- her playful one, that smug one Eric got whenever he was about to score-- they'd draw each other in, like Amber had in the parking lot, what was the point of if he was just going to let his cock follow every beautiful woman that crossed his pass--

Shanelle's dig at Eric only proved Amber's thoughts. Showing off. Hah, maybe that's why he worked out, it was easier to pick up dates in the gym than in rainy parking lots. "I know what you mean," Amber replied coldly. "He's very... confident." That'd drawn her to him, damn it, she'd thought it was hot, and now Shanelle was laughing over it and Amber felt so incredibly stupid for ever having been taken in by Eric's suaveness. That first night she'd thought him ridiculously cocky and hung up on himself, but since then-- Shanelle hadn't fallen for it, why had she?

Five weeks. They could get in a lot of fucking in that period. Interesting, too, that she remembered so precisely how long it'd been.

"No," Amber said, raising her hand as if to bring Shanelle closer. "You're not interrupting. You're staying in line, right?" There were still a couple of people ahead of them so they'd be here for at least a few more minutes. "I'm sure you two have a lot to catch up on, I wouldn't want to get in the way." Not if it meant she could pick up on more details Eric would've have spit out of his own free will. Amber smiled again, aiming for friendly, though she wouldn't be surprised if she fell far off the mark.

Suicide was beginning to look like the only possible option. Amber's voice dropped to arctic, and referring to him in the third person couldn't possibly be good. What the fuck was wrong with being confident? With knowing he was attractive? Amber played on that herself often enough--Jesus, she'd been showing off for the guys on the basketball court not half an hour ago, and now she was judging him for daring to pick up women when he was single? She was in a damn relationship, with him, and she was still flirting with every guy that walked by.

Foreman nodded tightly, hoping it would confirm that he wasn't interested in hearing all the old news. When had he and Shanelle every really talked, anyway? She hadn't been interested and he hadn't been forthcoming. Wendy had tried to drag his thoughts and feelings out of him, and with Amber, Foreman was starting to realize that he wanted her to know. He and Shanelle had connected enough in bed, and they'd had some good conversations, but that didn't mean that twelve months later they needed to have a chat.

Of fucking course Amber invited her to keep talking. Frustration roiled in his stomach. "Not that much," he said tightly. Shanelle might take it as an insult, but what did he care? They hadn't spoken for a year, and they'd both been sure it was over. A chance meeting in a coffee shop wasn't going to change that.

Shanelle raised her eyebrows, but she evidently agreed. If she'd seen the stormy weather on Amber's face, maybe she'd realized exactly how far she'd pushed this. "You never did like sharing," she said, probably the first serious thing she'd said since she'd shown up. Her smile turned a little less goading and more sincerely friendly. "I'm the one who's in the way. Mind if I just--?" She slipped past them, on Amber's side, to where the people ahead of them in line had just taken their food. "Large coffee, cream and sugar, to go," she said to the barista, and smiled over her shoulder at them, the joke firmly back in place. "We'll have to do this again, Eric. Another year, okay?"

Bitch. Refused to give up any useful info and then went and cut the line. Amber had only been stiff and cold til then, but the injury of having her place stolen boiled her feelings straight into anger. Amber openly glared at Shanelle's back, every muscle strained so tight it felt like they could snap at any moment. Had no idea which was stronger, the urge to tell her off or to spin her out of the line. So Eric didn't like sharing, big fucking hoo. Well, neither did Amber.

Another year, okay.

It took all of Amber's willpower not to knock the coffee out of her hands.

Somehow though, she restrained herself as Shanelle sauntered out with her big stupid cup of coffee and work out bag to keep herself in such lovely shape and summon all the men to her. "How nice," Amber commented to Eric, trying to keep her voice impersonal though she could've spit from fury. "You already have a date for later."

Part of her knew no wrong had really been done; maybe that was what really kept Amber's reaction toned down when she could be doing so much more, pulling Shanelle back and demanding answers and throwing out the most hurtful words she could imagine. A flash from the past, that was all Shanelle represented. But-- to have her right in front of her, concrete and breathing and so goddamn perky, Amber didn't know what to do with herself, this goading frustration and ire. She'd wanted so badly to know how Eric's past girls had been and this glimpse wasn't enough-- why hadn't it worked out? Why her? Did she and Amber fall into some type that made Eric hard and that was all there was to it? But what did they even have in common? There was no physical resemblance.

"Ma'am?" the barista asked politely, and only then did Amber realize it was their turn.

Blushing-- fuck and now she was embarrassed-- Amber ordered quickly. "A large latte with low-fat milk and a chicken salad sandwich." She'd considered the soup earlier, since so many people had ordered it, but now she needed something to sink her teeth into. Proudly she dug through her bag for her wallet-- this meal she'd pay for herself. Eric could take his hypocritically polite treatment of women and stuff it.

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.

Amber didn't want to be here. Too pissy, too ready to lash out. Anything might set her off or, worse, nothing at all; she was twitchy and feeling like crap, unpredictable. She hated this. Hated not knowing if a look would make her snap at Eric or if she'd be able to calm the fuck down-- and it wasn't just the jealousy feeding her bad mood, but the embarrassment and excruciating frustration of skidding out of control. Eric hadn't done anything beyond have a life before meeting her and look at how she handled it. Amber seethed. This was exactly what she'd meant when she'd said she hated what she became around him.

She needed a moment to herself. Skulked down the counter to wait for her order, staring down at the light-grey marble. Someone had spilled salt and there were scuff marks, probably from sliding trays. This level of upkeep, Amber just hoped she didn't find a dead roach beneath her table. No, actually, she hoped she did, or a big fat rat; she'd love an excuse to rag at the manager.

She got about a minute to herself before Eric slid down to where she was; just from peripheral vision she could tell he'd brought with him an ample serving of sullen resentment. Poor boy with such an unreasonable girlfriend, angry because his ex threw herself at him for more of those orgasms he so generously spread around. Amber looked the other way, not trusting herself to speak. She just needed some time, was that too much to ask for?

Apparently. "Congratulations." Her fingers itched to tap the counter. What the fuck was she supposed to do with that information? So what if he'd never left stuff at her place? He'd probably put more personal 'things' inside her. "Sounds like a beautiful relationship."

Amber didn't get it. Or, if she did, she wasn't making it easy on him. Foreman wanted to roll his eyes and snap that he'd already made more of a commitment to Amber than he had to Shanelle, in a fifth of the time, and that should fucking mean something. But he wasn't about to explain it. He waited for their trays to be deposited in front of them, at more or less the same time. Despite the line, the place wasn't full. Most people were grabbing sandwiches and coffees to go. Probably a good idea. If they ended up in a screaming match here, Foreman knew he wouldn't feel comfortable coming back for as long as anyone might remember it, and he liked this place. "It wasn't." That was the point. It had been fun, a distraction, better than dealing with House going off the wagon in a seriously stupid way and ending up with all of them questioned by the fucking cops. It hadn't been a relationship.

Not saying another word, he took his lunch and found a table. It wasn't near the counter or the door or the washrooms, and there was a large potted plant that hid it from most of the rest of the room. As much privacy as he could find. Amber could follow him--or not, he supposed. That might be safer, if she just ditched him here instead of making a scene. He stared down at his food, shoulders hunched. Why would she want to have lunch with him, when they were both in such shit moods? Dammit, it wasn't his fault Shanelle had walked in right then. That he'd known her at all.

Didn't seem likely he could retrieve the situation. Maybe Amber would kick him out later, after he'd taken her home, and they could cool off, apart from each other. Until then, they were stuck. Foreman picked up his sandwich and bit in, nearly surprised that it tasted just as good as usual and that he was still hungry.

It wasn't, Eric snapped. Amber wish she could be reassured; he'd been on the defense since the moment Shanelle came in and for all she knew, he was exaggerating how little they'd cared about each other. Shanelle had commented that he'd never liked sharing... that was pretty true. Amber had forced out of him the information about his brother and he'd clammed up about his mom. Miserably Amber accepted her tray; she was more or less at the same level as Shanelle, only with more of Eric's stuff in her apartment. What did she care about his possessions? They were only things, not even that personal. If they never saw each other again, he wouldn't cry to loose his precious deodorant and razor blades. At least, Amber hoped not.

Eric had stalked off to a table, not looking back or giving any other indication of inviting her. For a moment Amber hesitated, trying to interpret his wordless messages. Were they fighting badly enough not to eat together? The meal wouldn't be any good with this stony, sullen silence. But she hadn't ordered to eat alone. She’d have gone home for that.

Regardless of what he'd wanted, Amber followed and dumped her tray on the table. The way Eric stared down at his meal, Amber wasn't sure if he wanted her there. Great. She'd gotten jealous for no reason other than being faced with the Ghost of Girlfriend Past, and now he was justifiable pissed. And they'd finally gotten past his bad mood.

They shouldn't talk. Ever. Just fuck.

It was Amber's turn to stare at her food. Even as tired and cranky as she was, she didn't feel like eating, not with this stupid thing between them. God, she'd played such the loser today. Not one thing had turned out right. She'd lost the wrestling match, he hadn't gotten hard even though they were all over each other, then they'd fought about their families, and she'd been an abject failure at basketball, needing to invent points to save face--

This day sucked. A lot. They could fuck away this round of bitterness too, but what good would that do? They'd just fight. Again. Amber lowered her face, embarrassed and awkward and wishing she were anywhere else. Her hands curled in her lap. "I'm sorry," she mumbled. "I just--" There was no excuse. "I was being stupid." Couldn't help myself, she didn't add. She could save herself some pride.

It was more of a relief than it probably should have been that Amber decided to join him. Foreman didn't know whether to be relieved or to brace himself for the questions she'd fling at him. If she acted like she'd caught him cheating on her, it'd be about the only thing that could make this lunch even worse. The clatter of her tray showed Amber was still angry. Foreman glanced up, chewing on his bite, trying to get a sense of just how badly this was going to go.

But instead of anger, Amber's face was flushed, and she was staring down at her lap like someone had just died. Without being correctly diagnosed. Because of her. Foreman swallowed, bread scraping the sides of his throat as he did. Knowing how competitive Amber was, and how tense she'd gotten when Shanelle had greeted him, he'd expected the worst. It hadn't even crossed his mind that Amber might apologize. He sat up a bit, shoulders easing, and he set the sandwich back on his plate. He'd bet he wasn't quite concealing his surprise. "I felt like an idiot," he said, the admission slipping out, acknowledging what she'd said but trying not to dwell on it or make her feel worse. "Seeing her." The timing couldn't have been worse. Maybe he shouldn't have brought Amber here. But it had to happen sooner or later, with her exes if not his.

Hesitating, he considered the rest of his lunch again. He wanted to reach out to her, but the farthest he got was putting his hand out on the table, offering to hold hers if she'd mirror the gesture. "I'm sorry it happened. I didn't want to ruin lunch."

"Why should you feel like an idiot?" Amber asked sharply. "You dated her for a while and she happened to run into us. What were you supposed to do, go back in time and stop yourself from sleeping with her?" There was nothing he could've done, no magic solve-all solution; his past existed whether or not they ran into the people who'd been a part of it. What she needed was to fucking deal.

Amber looked to the side, staring at the not-quite beige wall. Still not hungry. Not even the scent of coffee roused her appetite; too angry at herself. Eric could make her the happiest person in the history of all time, but so what if she kept fucking up? She'd drive him away; she'd make herself give up to spare herself the shame, before he got sick of her. Amber trailed her right hand down her hair, then rested her wrist against the nape of her neck.

She didn't want to say anything. God, everything in her head was so incredibly stupid, this pointless jealousy. Bad enough she had to think and feel these things, why subject Eric to it? He only wanted to eat his sandwich in peace, he'd just said so. He'd complained today that he never knew what she was thinking, but this couldn't possibly count. Telling him she was sorry and that she'd been stupid should be enough, no need to beat the dead horse. Accept the past and move on, that'd do. And so Amber lifted her sandwich and chewed her way through a small first bite, hunger sharpening the taste of mayonnaise.

Okay. It wasn't over. Foreman pulled his hand back. Amber's apology should have been enough. It wasn't like he'd thought through what he'd just said; it had come out, just like his admission about his mom earlier today. He told Amber this shit and then there was no way to call it back. She was right. It hadn't been his fault and there was nothing he could have done, so it was stupid to have felt bad about it. Foreman sat back a bit, drawing into himself. Amber didn't look any closer to feeling better, but she also looked like she'd bite his head off if he even said something else.

He stirred his soup and started eating it. It was delicious, exactly what he needed, rich and hot. If only his mind would stop circling around for something safe to say, some topic that wouldn't set either of them off, then he would have been perfectly content. As it was, physically at least he was completely content. That went a long way toward keeping him from arguing with Amber when she clearly didn't want to be argued with. Before Shanelle had walked in, he'd noticed Amber looking around, studying what everyone else was having. The corn chowder had been pretty popular. She would have ordered it if she'd wanted some, but it didn't hurt to make a peace offering, anything to clear the air.

"This is good. Want to try it?" Foreman lifted his spoon, half offering it to Amber, being sure to keep his voice neutral. If she didn't, no skin off his nose, he was enjoying it and didn't need to share. If she did, it didn't have to mean anything other than she liked soup.

The bread was thick and crunchy, not yet moist from the sandwich's contents. The chicken slices were a good size, enough to chew on but not to stuff up her mouth; the thin celery bits were crisp and fresh. Amber supposed the food might taste good but it all came out as bland in her mouth, unappealing and instantly forgettable. Even the coffee left no impression on her.

She kept on eating, though; the first swallow was ravenously received by her stomach, clamoring for more. Once she started, she couldn't have stopped herself. Everything might taste of sawdust, but her head felt more balanced, less fragile.

But even as her hunger lessened, Amber could not get her mind off Shanelle and her knowing smirk, as if she were imagining Eric naked and knew precisely how to fill in the details. She was shorter, but maybe he liked that, made him feel manly to bend his face down to capture her lips; lift her off the ground to squeeze her against his body—of course Shanelle looked fantastic, in this and all the other images running through Amber’s mind.

For the most part, Amber kept to herself. She heard Eric chewing and then sipping at an unhurried pace. Hopefully he'd get more out of his meal than her, with or without her glowering. What wonderful company she provided.

The abruptness of his words startled her, making her look up quickly. Amber almost laughed: soup as a token of peace. She didn't know which was sadder, the fact that he'd offered it, his casualness in no way hiding how anxious he was for the bait to work, or that he'd needed to in the first place. The latter won, Amber decided; he'd only had to stoop so low because of her. "Soup won't make everything better," she chided-- and accepted the spoon anyway, fingertips brushing against his as she took hold of the metal. Her other hand cupped beneath the traveling spoonful, Amber brought the corn chowder to her mouth; it had more flavor than anything else she'd tried this meal.

"Thanks," she said after swallowing, returning the spoon. Then, "I know we're both on edge and I don't know what to do." Because it was the truth and maybe by admitting it, he could suggest something-- Amber just hoped he wouldn't be patronizing. But Eric did have more experience in this field, maybe he knew how to smooth down rough spots like these. Or was that food-sharing bit the most effective tool he had at hand? It'd probably have worked on Shanelle, who'd have just laughed all this off; wouldn't have bothered with jealousy.

"I just keep thinking about her," Amber blurted out, "and other women you've been with, and I keep comparing--" Stopped there, pressing her lips together and freezing her expression cold.

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject