Despite the warm atmosphere in Amber's place, and Foreman's own assumption that he could walk right in and make himself at home, he didn't move beyond the entryway until he'd gauged Amber's mood a bit better. Did 'slow' include keeping him at arm's length to that extent? He wasn't about to assume, although he'd rather ask and get turned down than let Amber think that he didn't want or need any accommodations at all.
Amber's immediate flush and agitation broke the ice for him, and Foreman grinned. He recognized that embarrassment--had felt it himself, a time or two, but it seemed to be stronger with women. His mom would be mortified if she couldn't hand him freshly laundered towels when he came home from college at holidays, even when six months before she would've smacked him if he'd asked her to do his laundry or tidy up after him. He'd never figured Amber would care about that kind of appearance, considering that she expected him to pull his weight in this relationship. But then, maybe they hadn't reached that point yet. He was still a guest, even if she'd let him leave a few things here. "Hey, I didn't mean to dump that on you," he said, following her at a decent distance so that she could brush any mess she wanted under the figurative or the literal rug. "Just my sweater's fine, you don't need to wash anything."
He paused in the doorway to the bathroom, watching Amber fuss with the laundry hamper, an amused smile on his face. It wasn't that he meant to laugh at her, he was just damn happy to be here, to be having this ordinary, everyday conversation, instead of blasting accusations back and forth. He waited for her to either fling his sweater at him or yell at him for being an awkward guest--either seemed possible--and meanwhile, enjoyed being with her.
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Amber's immediate flush and agitation broke the ice for him, and Foreman grinned. He recognized that embarrassment--had felt it himself, a time or two, but it seemed to be stronger with women. His mom would be mortified if she couldn't hand him freshly laundered towels when he came home from college at holidays, even when six months before she would've smacked him if he'd asked her to do his laundry or tidy up after him. He'd never figured Amber would care about that kind of appearance, considering that she expected him to pull his weight in this relationship. But then, maybe they hadn't reached that point yet. He was still a guest, even if she'd let him leave a few things here. "Hey, I didn't mean to dump that on you," he said, following her at a decent distance so that she could brush any mess she wanted under the figurative or the literal rug. "Just my sweater's fine, you don't need to wash anything."
He paused in the doorway to the bathroom, watching Amber fuss with the laundry hamper, an amused smile on his face. It wasn't that he meant to laugh at her, he was just damn happy to be here, to be having this ordinary, everyday conversation, instead of blasting accusations back and forth. He waited for her to either fling his sweater at him or yell at him for being an awkward guest--either seemed possible--and meanwhile, enjoyed being with her.