Letting out a heavy breath, Foreman leaned forward to set his wineglass down. He hadn't expected to get into another draining conversation so soon, and more wine would probably blur together with his tiredness and make him screw this up. He was so goddamn tired of Amber telling him--with words, or with her body--that he was in the wrong. Tonight was supposed to be about the two of them just being with each other, feeling their way past all the crap of the past few days. Why did it seem like they were talking about the same damn problem, just with different words? He didn't miss Amber's flinch at what he said. She was defensive immediately, protesting, but that didn't stop Foreman from getting the message all over again. He couldn't help a chuckle, shaking his head. "You're doing it again," he said. "I told you I felt like I was wrong, and you're telling me how wrong that was." Nevertheless, Foreman sat back again, opening himself up to her. They were physically close, and talking quietly. It was already an improvement on a shouting match. "You can tell me," he said. It shouldn't be a game of trial and mostly error. "I'm not gonna pretend you meant only this and a little more."

It'd be a mistake to touch her now, he was sure. He wasn't about to disprove his own words. Chest rising and falling slowly, muscles loose, Foreman wasn't angry, just exhausted with how powerless Amber could make him feel. "I wanna hold you. I wanna relax with you. I don't think that's any different than what you want. But I keep getting the message if we both have the same idea, it's only okay if you thought it up first." He shrugged helplessly. Right from the first, she'd been in control, and he knew it. It wasn't something he wanted to accept as absolute. He didn't need to get stupidly macho on her--he was more enlightened than that--but he did need to know that he wasn't walking on eggshells with every move he made around her. "Amber, I want you to trust me."