It would be all too easy to get caught up in reliving the arguments he'd had with Marcus during his last summer at home. He'd been working two jobs, trying to put together enough money to cover what his scholarships wouldn't, so he didn't have time for Marcus's parties, which were nothing but a couple of guys driving and drinking as much beer as they could and still keep the car on the road. They'd had more than one close call, Foreman knew that, but tell Marcus that he might get killed out there one night and he acted like Foreman was another nagging extension of their parents. He wanted Foreman to be on his side, and only rolled his eyes when Foreman told him he was on the side of still having a brother when he came home from Thanksgiving vacation. Foreman knew that Dad was on Marcus's case, too--a fifteen-year-old, sixteen nearly, should have a summer job, in his estimation. But with Marcus's juvenile record and the economy, all he could've done was sweep up after other people, or maybe, if he scrambled, stock shelves. Marcus only wanted to "hang out", right when Foreman had decided he was sick of the guys he'd called his friends--none of them was doing more than technical college, and likely to drop out of even that--and he didn't want to get called prissy, uppity, oreo, just because he wanted a damn life.
"Yeah," he said. He'd never forgotten Marcus. Never forgotten how bitter it'd made him to see Marcus throw everything away, when Foreman had proved that you could haul yourself up. You could get away. The fact that Marcus thought that was a damn betrayal--no, Foreman had never forgotten that. But he hadn't forgotten, either, just how lonely Marcus looked when Dad slammed the trunk and got in behind the wheel to drive Foreman off to college. Mom had her arm around Marcus's shoulder, and she waved, but Marcus only glared at his feet, like Foreman had abandoned him, purposefully. Like it was some kind of punishment Foreman had decided to mete out. Foreman took a deep breath. Amber's fingers moved over the lines of the tattoo. It felt like nothing but skin, to him, so he didn't know why he should've made it mean so much. "It's about courage," he said. He covered her hand with his, and brought her fingertip to each of the four quadrants. The circle was stylized, but each part had a meaning. "Mastery. Independence. Generosity. Belonging." He'd focused a hell of a lot on the first two, in his life. Broken the idea of the circle, even if he'd never tried to get the tattoo itself removed.
Foreman sat up again when their waitress dropped off the fresh coffees. She left with an armload of dishes, when Foreman waved the rest of his meal away, and Amber didn't object, either. He half-wondered if this meant the end of their night; talking about Marcus usually ended most conversations he had with people. But Amber didn't let go; she held him even tighter. She'd been solemn, intent, when he'd been speaking, and brusque when the waitress had been at their table, but now that he'd stopped speaking, a smile began to show at the corners of her mouth. Foreman knew that look all too well--Mickey's had better start looking out for its bathroom. Amber leaned in, her voice low and confidential, and Foreman's face warmed before she'd even said anything compromising. Her words were honey-soft, her mouth shaping each one as if she fully expected Foreman's gaze to be riveted. And it was.
He wasn't expecting the quick change, or Amber suddenly snuggling up next to him, but it was easy to move with her. He shifted until he was able to rest against the corner of the seat, with Amber leaning against him. Foreman brought his arm around her and urged her the last few inches closer, so that their hips touched. Her hand on his leg started another flash of heat. Things were becoming a lot less slow the longer this story went on; Foreman was all ears, waiting to store up details until he could get home, since, no matter what Amber had done before, he wasn't going to get his ass shut down again tonight. "Second semester," he said, his voice rough. He tightened his arm around Amber and smiled down at her, not even bothering to repress his smugness. Her choice. He just got the benefit. He let his arm slip a little lower, his palm cupping her thigh, high enough that it was nearly her ass, and rubbed his thumb over her skirt. She'd come into his arms; she couldn't really expect him to stay entirely innocent.
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"Yeah," he said. He'd never forgotten Marcus. Never forgotten how bitter it'd made him to see Marcus throw everything away, when Foreman had proved that you could haul yourself up. You could get away. The fact that Marcus thought that was a damn betrayal--no, Foreman had never forgotten that. But he hadn't forgotten, either, just how lonely Marcus looked when Dad slammed the trunk and got in behind the wheel to drive Foreman off to college. Mom had her arm around Marcus's shoulder, and she waved, but Marcus only glared at his feet, like Foreman had abandoned him, purposefully. Like it was some kind of punishment Foreman had decided to mete out. Foreman took a deep breath. Amber's fingers moved over the lines of the tattoo. It felt like nothing but skin, to him, so he didn't know why he should've made it mean so much. "It's about courage," he said. He covered her hand with his, and brought her fingertip to each of the four quadrants. The circle was stylized, but each part had a meaning. "Mastery. Independence. Generosity. Belonging." He'd focused a hell of a lot on the first two, in his life. Broken the idea of the circle, even if he'd never tried to get the tattoo itself removed.
Foreman sat up again when their waitress dropped off the fresh coffees. She left with an armload of dishes, when Foreman waved the rest of his meal away, and Amber didn't object, either. He half-wondered if this meant the end of their night; talking about Marcus usually ended most conversations he had with people. But Amber didn't let go; she held him even tighter. She'd been solemn, intent, when he'd been speaking, and brusque when the waitress had been at their table, but now that he'd stopped speaking, a smile began to show at the corners of her mouth. Foreman knew that look all too well--Mickey's had better start looking out for its bathroom. Amber leaned in, her voice low and confidential, and Foreman's face warmed before she'd even said anything compromising. Her words were honey-soft, her mouth shaping each one as if she fully expected Foreman's gaze to be riveted. And it was.
He wasn't expecting the quick change, or Amber suddenly snuggling up next to him, but it was easy to move with her. He shifted until he was able to rest against the corner of the seat, with Amber leaning against him. Foreman brought his arm around her and urged her the last few inches closer, so that their hips touched. Her hand on his leg started another flash of heat. Things were becoming a lot less slow the longer this story went on; Foreman was all ears, waiting to store up details until he could get home, since, no matter what Amber had done before, he wasn't going to get his ass shut down again tonight. "Second semester," he said, his voice rough. He tightened his arm around Amber and smiled down at her, not even bothering to repress his smugness. Her choice. He just got the benefit. He let his arm slip a little lower, his palm cupping her thigh, high enough that it was nearly her ass, and rubbed his thumb over her skirt. She'd come into his arms; she couldn't really expect him to stay entirely innocent.