Foreman picked up his napkin and wiped his mouth when he'd finished eating. He wasn't quite satisfied, but he wasn't ravenous anymore either. Didn't matter, he could cook for himself later. Right now, he was too busy loving the glint in Amber's eyes, the warmth as she leaned forward to tease him. Her eyes were clear and warm, her smile almost letting him forget how frigid with anger she could become. So damn beautiful. Foreman smiled back, happy with the way he'd skirted that disaster. He had Amber right where he wanted her: eager to tell him whatever stories she had, and not pissed off at him for daring to ogle. Yeah, he had a feeling there were a few details she wanted to share, and if it was only to make him squirm uncomfortably in public places...she'd done worse, or better, already. Foreman figured he could handle it. "Mmhmm, up to you," he said. Oh, God, he had to be the luckiest guy on the planet.
His hand was under Amber's, fingers cupped slightly as she teased him back with a light, almost ticklish touch in the center of his palm. Her fingernails traced the lines on his palms, enough to get him remembering what her hands felt like on other parts of him. He'd been completely unconscious of the fact that with his arm resting palm up, the tattoo on his wrist that showed all the more clearly against the slightly paler skin of his inner arm, was so obviously on display. Foreman looked down at his wrist, and his arm muscles tightened just enough to start to draw his hand back from Amber's. With a breath, he focused on relaxing, and left his hand in hers. He wasn't going to ruin this evening when it had been going so well. There would always be things like this, questions she'd ask, and he couldn't duck every one. "It's a Native American symbol," he said. He had other tattoos, one on his opposite shoulder, and another down one calf. Amber wasn't the first woman who'd asked about them. She might be the first in a hell of a long time who he wouldn't put off with that pat answer, and it wasn't because he was that desperately eager to hear about the time she'd been with a girl. "That's my second one," he said. "I got it done before I left for college. Marcus..." He'd been on track then, or nearly. Trying, anyway, a high school sophomore when Foreman had been ready to head to New York and Columbia. "Marcus thought I was going to forget him. All my friends." So-called friends, the ones he'd been moving away from during his senior year, when he'd been on the basketball team and pulling As instead of ditching school to smoke up. "So I got this done with him. Like I had to prove something."
no subject
His hand was under Amber's, fingers cupped slightly as she teased him back with a light, almost ticklish touch in the center of his palm. Her fingernails traced the lines on his palms, enough to get him remembering what her hands felt like on other parts of him. He'd been completely unconscious of the fact that with his arm resting palm up, the tattoo on his wrist that showed all the more clearly against the slightly paler skin of his inner arm, was so obviously on display. Foreman looked down at his wrist, and his arm muscles tightened just enough to start to draw his hand back from Amber's. With a breath, he focused on relaxing, and left his hand in hers. He wasn't going to ruin this evening when it had been going so well. There would always be things like this, questions she'd ask, and he couldn't duck every one. "It's a Native American symbol," he said. He had other tattoos, one on his opposite shoulder, and another down one calf. Amber wasn't the first woman who'd asked about them. She might be the first in a hell of a long time who he wouldn't put off with that pat answer, and it wasn't because he was that desperately eager to hear about the time she'd been with a girl. "That's my second one," he said. "I got it done before I left for college. Marcus..." He'd been on track then, or nearly. Trying, anyway, a high school sophomore when Foreman had been ready to head to New York and Columbia. "Marcus thought I was going to forget him. All my friends." So-called friends, the ones he'd been moving away from during his senior year, when he'd been on the basketball team and pulling As instead of ditching school to smoke up. "So I got this done with him. Like I had to prove something."