The second he sat up, Amber was all over him. What the hell? Foreman took another sip of his wine and tried to concentrate on Amber's answer to his question, smiling a bit tightly, although with her head on his shoulder she probably wouldn't see. It just made no damn sense. The only possible reason he could come up with was that Amber was playing power games. Foreman couldn't deny liking that kind of thing, or playing around in bed with his girlfriends where he, or they, pretended to draw back. Occasionally. But he and Amber weren't in bed. As far as Foreman knew--and that didn't mean much; apparently he knew fuck-all about the rules, since they kept changing on him--they weren't planning on going to bed any time soon. So why did Amber need to keep jerking him around?
Ordinarily he'd be crowing that she liked action movies. He could sit back and let her pick them, give in to her choices--earning points that way--and suggest the highbrow stuff when it was his turn, getting the best of both worlds. Instead he found himself frowning at the Rangers spanking the Flyers, swallowing another mouthful of wine, and not keeping up his end of the conversation. He just bet he knew how the script was supposed to go after this. He'd offer to put his arm around Amber--more comfortable that way, and it gave him some leeway to return any caresses she offered--and as soon as he made the move, Amber would back away, accuse him of not respecting her boundaries, or else just jump up from the couch with some excuse like getting them more wine.
Lose-lose situation. Seemed like he'd been in a lot of them lately. Well, Foreman didn't feel like bringing it up. He'd had enough of arguments. Maybe he should lean forward, set his empty wineglass down, and then put back the space between them that had been there in the first place. See how Amber liked that, when she was the one getting the game changed on her halfway through. It was a stupid idea, sulky and unworthy. He'd just sit here, watch the hockey game, which was already in the third period, and when it was over he'd go home. He was too damn tired to navigate all the mixed signals. They could try again after he'd gotten some sleep.
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Ordinarily he'd be crowing that she liked action movies. He could sit back and let her pick them, give in to her choices--earning points that way--and suggest the highbrow stuff when it was his turn, getting the best of both worlds. Instead he found himself frowning at the Rangers spanking the Flyers, swallowing another mouthful of wine, and not keeping up his end of the conversation. He just bet he knew how the script was supposed to go after this. He'd offer to put his arm around Amber--more comfortable that way, and it gave him some leeway to return any caresses she offered--and as soon as he made the move, Amber would back away, accuse him of not respecting her boundaries, or else just jump up from the couch with some excuse like getting them more wine.
Lose-lose situation. Seemed like he'd been in a lot of them lately. Well, Foreman didn't feel like bringing it up. He'd had enough of arguments. Maybe he should lean forward, set his empty wineglass down, and then put back the space between them that had been there in the first place. See how Amber liked that, when she was the one getting the game changed on her halfway through. It was a stupid idea, sulky and unworthy. He'd just sit here, watch the hockey game, which was already in the third period, and when it was over he'd go home. He was too damn tired to navigate all the mixed signals. They could try again after he'd gotten some sleep.