alwaysright | November 7, 2007

November 7, 2007

The paperwork took a while. Between the four of them-- Kutner didn't do much-- they got through it faster, but there was so much to do that it still took hours. The conflicting treatments of interferon and steroids was tricky enough to justify-- though justify it Amber did, since she hadn't been wrong-- but there was Brennan's interference which couldn't be explained. Casey could sue the hospital, easy. Probably would, too; they'd risked her life when she'd only been dehydrated.

When going over the more mind-numbing parts of the papers, Amber worked through the past few days in her mind. She was crazy about Eric. That much she couldn't doubt. Seeing him again and again, even when it went against her better judgment; liking waking up next to him; bothering to stick around after their fights...

He'd stuck by her. Goodness knew why, but he kept coming back. The first night of this case, he'd come by with coffee. He'd then turned her down for sex, but he did say he had to work. A workaholic, that's who she was dating. She'd choose work over him any day, too. And this morning, chasing her after she'd run out of the department-- what an idiot. Amber smiled at the list of blood tests she was writing up.

By the time the to-do pile was reduced to nothing, lunch hour had long since passed. Amber collected the papers. "I'll pass these on to Eric," she said. Why not? Pretending to call him Foreman would only make them tease her harder. She didn't have anything to hide, by now.

"Have fun," Kutner half-jeered, half-saluted. Thirteen snorted, Cole raised an eyebrow, and... that was it. At least, in reactions to her. As she organized the papers into folders, Cole mentioned having to pick up his son, and Kutner offered to go with him. Thirteen, sneaky as ever, didn't volunteer any information, just saying by and leaving.

Amber walked the few steps over to the office. She raised the folders. "Look at what I've got for you," she said teasingly. "Bet you've been dying for these."

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Foreman raised his eyebrows at Amber's vehemence, but otherwise let it pass without comment. It was good to know that from Amber's perspective, their relationship was becoming less of an issue. Foreman could hardly ask them about it himself. And to his face, they weren't openly mutinous. They'd hesitated uncomfortably when they'd seen Brennan's direct disrespect. "Why especially Thirteen?" he asked, honestly curious. Amber revelled in screwing with her even more than the others and Foreman couldn't see a reason for it. Even though she'd said "hate", it seemed pretty cordial, except when it came to Thirteen.

It wasn't long before the waitress came back, carrying their plates. Foreman sat up straight, reluctantly giving up his hold on Amber's hand to make room on the table and to pick up his cutlery. Mickey's was known around the hospital for their pancakes and waffles, but Foreman didn't like the heavy weight of that many carbs sitting in his stomach, especially when he was trying to stay awake for a long shift. The fry-up he'd ordered could keep him going for several hours. The sausages weren't swimming in grease and they fried their eggs without dousing them in oil. It smelled delicious, calling forth a rumble from his stomach. Foreman dashed a bit of tabasco sauce on his hashbrowns and dug in. "When you get the job, are you going to be able to work with whoever's left?" he asked after he'd taken a bite and sighed in appreciation. "I never felt like I had to top Chase and Cameron because they were there. I just had to be better for myself."

Amber rolled her eyes. "That's right, I forgot; you think Thirteen walks on rainbows because she's gorgeous." Men could get caught on the most superficial things. It didn't matter how pretty she was, Thirteen was a pain. "Unfortunately, House is the same-- if it was just me, fine, but he'd do her before he'd do me." Not that they'd be doing each other; they'd settled that much during their last face-off. Plus there was Eric. Sleeping with their boss would probably fit in his category of back-stabbing career moves.

"And the only way he'd hire two women is if he thought there was a chance we'd make out at work." Saying it, Amber couldn't help but imagine it for a moment, kissing Thirteen in the most gratuitous manner in front of the whiteboard while House watched approvingly. Amber snorted. "Now there's a thought."

The waitress discreetly slid their plates onto the table, quietly leaving once she was done. Well. The girl had certainly gotten a lot better since the last time Amber had been here. She liked that. She'd leave a good tip; improvement deserved encouragement.

Amber poured just enough syrup over the pancakes to scrape a light layer over their surface with a fork. As much as she'd love to indulge, she didn't have time to pay the price in work-outs. (Which reminded her, she had to find a group to play basketball with.) "Oh, please," she replied. "I'm better than them. Once House hires me, I'll top them just by doing my job better." Amber had no doubt of her skills relative to the losers who'd clung on so far. Taub didn't have the imagination for diagnostics, Kutner was too careless, Thirteen was just annoying, and Cole was too proper.

In getting the pancakes the way she liked them, Amber had sat upright, pulling her legs away from Eric's. Their hands were busy, too. She glanced at him making quick work of his dish. It looked good. She smirked. Maybe it was too soon for this, but somehow she doubted it-- and she might as well find out. With a quick jab of her fork, Amber impaled one of Eric's sausages and immediately stuffed it into her mouth, grinning at him as she chewed.

Startled into an incredulous laugh, Foreman set his fork down and stared at Amber. "Whoa, whoa, whoa. How did this get to be about my opinion of Thirteen? I'm not the one thinking about kissing her!" He wasn't even going to touch the idea of Amber sleeping with House. That had to be a joke, and not a funny one. And he'd never said that Thirteen was gorgeous, or even more than conventionally attractive. He'd certainly never been thick enough to say that he found her attractive. That was all Amber's imagination, and Foreman would be more insulted at the implications, except that he couldn't believe Amber was clearly picturing what kissing Thirteen would be like while she was on a date with him. With an uneasy stir of arousal, Foreman remembered that he'd thought he'd never in a million years suggest a threesome to Amber, out of a pure regard for his own health, but now he was wondering. "Do you--I mean, would you?" Not with Thirteen, necessarily, but the idea of Amber with a woman didn't exactly dampen his enthusiasm. She certainly seemed to be giving it a hell of a lot of serious thought for someone who claimed to feel nothing but hate for a rival. Foreman could hardly help the expression of frank interest on his face, glad yet again that a flush wouldn't show.

"Hey!" he protested a second later, when Amber stabbed one of his sausages and took a huge bite. He'd reacted too slowly to protect his plate, still caught up in the idea that Amber might actually be interested in being with a woman, and missed his chance to retaliate. He sat back with another quick laugh, at the sight of a bit of grease at the corner of Amber's mouth as she chewed ostentatiously, smirking at him the whole time. "You've got some--" He circled a fingertip near his mouth, to show where the spot was on her chin, and licked his own bottom lip in an unconscious mirroring. He had no problem watching Amber for a minute, even if it meant his dinner getting cold (and stolen). It hadn't occurred to him that House would have some objection to having two women on his team. Foreman and Chase had both laughed at Cameron's indignant reaction to House hiring her for being attractive. That's House--the perpetual excuse. The same excuse House used year in and year out to make racist jokes. Foreman hadn't seriously thought before about what it would mean for Amber, having her opportunities squeezed because she knew how House's mind worked, and that definitely didn't include anything like fair hiring practices. Snorting softly to himself, Foreman smiled at her, feeling closer to her than he had when she'd talked about stealing for kicks or crying her way out of speeding tickets. Turned out there was an area where she got shafted, maybe not the same way he did, but it still happened. Foreman picked up his fork again, and with a grin, made a quick move for Amber's plate, snagging one of her strawberries for himself, daring her in a glance to protest. For whatever reason, he was more at ease now, content without the resentful weight anger on his shoulders any longer, and it was as easy as returning Amber's teasing, and watching her warmly as he started forking up his food again in earnest.

Eric's eyes widened; there was a definite alertness in his gaze that hadn't been there five minutes ago. Discreet as he might try to be, fiddling with his words and hiding his drool, he'd grown cardboard stiff as if he'd been caught in the act. Amber didn't need to read his mind to know what the act was. Men! "Maybe I thought of kissing Thirteen first, but you're the one fantasizing about it now."

Amber didn't mind Eric's gaped-mouth fascination, though. In fact, she'd have been surprised if the thought of girl on girl didn't appeal to him. She just didn't want to mix Thirteen into their personal lives. Or any other women. "Would I kiss a girl who wasn't Thirteen?" she asked, completing Eric's question. She went on nonchalantly, cutting into her pancake pile with her fork. "I have."

She left it at that, unable to hold back a smirk as she lifted three layers of lightly-coated pancakes into her mouth. That ought to leave him nice and stunned. He'd be dying to know more but scared to death to ask. And she'd tell him, eventually. It was just fun to tease him.

Oh, it was almost cruel. Eric's lower lip glistened after he'd licked it, the lingering sign of his longing. She'd sworn to herself that they wouldn't go far tonight, no matter how much she might want to take him home. And she did feel that warm rush of arousal. She almost regretted her decision. But somehow, knowing that they wouldn't do more than touch... it made Amber more playful. Amber pressed her tongue against the spot Eric had indicated, slow and luxurious-- and laughed. Now way that'd clean up the stain.

She grabbed a napkin and dabbed it around her lips. The aftertaste of sausage and strawberry lingered in her mouth-- an odd but not displeasing combination. "How about you? What's it like to be back?"

There was nothing Foreman could say. He wasn't fantasizing about Amber and Thirteen--and if he was, it wasn't his fault; Amber had all but deliberately planted those images in his mind. I am not was too juvenile a response to even consider blurting out. He shook his head, intending to turn away the obvious bait, and then Amber hit the bullseye again with I have.

Foreman had to pause before he could swallow the mouthful of hashbrown he'd just chewed. Amber admitted it. The questions piled up in Foreman's brain like a ten-car crash on the Turnpike. No way was he going to ask a single one. The only way he'd get out of this with any dignity at all would be if he acted nonchalant. Maybe he'd never know if Amber meant she'd had relationships, girlfriends, or if it'd been a one-off situation. Foreman wasn't going to pry. He knew how that would end: with Amber conducting her own inquisition into his romantic past. Considering how she'd reacted to meeting Shanelle, someone he'd only dated for a couple of weeks, and casually at that, Amber's reaction to learning about Claire, who he'd nearly married, was not likely to be something he wanted to weather. Not while they were still this fragile, and, God willing, not at all. Foreman would be keeping those cards close to his chest.

He took another bite, to at least pretend he was too busy eating to dignify Amber's teasing with a reply. His eyes tracked her tongue as she licked her lips, though, her mouth glistening even more, emphasizing her full pout, before she resorted to a napkin. Her question, after all that, came out of nowhere, and Foreman reached for his own napkin, frowning slightly and taking a swallow of coffee before he replied. "It's not the same," he said, breaking eye contact and looking down at the tabletop. There were a few grains of sugar on the laminate top, and Foreman pushed a trail through them with a fingertip. "At Mercy, I had my own team," he said. Who did what I told them to do, the subtext there, didn't need to be dwelled on. "I was teaching as much as anything. Here..." No one really wanted to hear what he had to say. House might trust him while he was busy fucking off, but when Foreman disagreed with him, House openly dismissed him and his opinions. "No one wants to learn from me," he said. "Why should they? I screwed up."

She'd taken the teasing too far. Rather than amuse, it seemed to have hurt Eric. His expression clouded over, his over-excited interest gone. Amber refused to believe it was because he was judging her for sleeping with women; even if he'd come from a poorer family and/or 'the hood,' it just seemed impossible he'd be that conservative. A lot of doctors were, for who the hell knew what reason, but Eric didn't seem that way—or, to be more accurate, Amber sure hoped he wasn’t that way.

Her comments had to have bothered him on some other level. Feeling guilty for being caught thinking about her with other women, even though she hadn't minded that much? Whatever it was, she wouldn't know just by wishing to read his mind. "Did I make you uncomfortable?" Amber asked honestly. If his hands hadn't been occupied with utensils, she'd have reached to touch him. If she knew why he'd grown sullen she could fix the problem. And on the slim off chance that he was a homophobic prick, better to know now. Amber didn't quite feel like eating at the moment, so she laid down her fork and watched Eric, waiting for his response.

Jesus, was he really dragging that drenched, hissing cat back into the conversation? Amber resisted the urge to roll her eyes, settling for just crossing her legs and cutting away another serving of pancake. "Of course no one wants to learn from you, no one even knows who you are. All anyone knew last week was that you were a random guy Cuddy pushed on to House." Eric wouldn't like being reminded of that one bit, but it didn't make it any less true. Any enemy of House's, at the moment, became the group's target, in their vying for a golden spot.

"And yeah, you screwed up, but you were also right all along. Which was better than even House—maybe he’d have gotten there first if he weren’t thinking with his pants, but he didn’t." Amber popped the pancakes into her mouth: they were wonderfully chewy and sweet, the underlying strawberry taste genuine. After chewing and swallowing some, she continued, "Not even I really know what you're like as a doctor. But if you get it right sometimes, the others might start wanting to learn from you." Amber swallowed the rest. "But is that what you want to be to us, a teacher?" Seemed to her he more wanted to be a magnificent ruler to a grateful audience, but she had promised to give him the benefit of the doubt.

Foreman lifted his head, glancing at Amber's face without quite meeting her eyes, trying to figure out where her question came from. Amber wouldn't take back anything she'd said, whether it made him uncomfortable or not. It was more likely that she'd stick to a topic so that she could tease him even more. But he couldn't figure out what she was reacting to, unless he'd played 'unconcerned' a little too well. "No," he said, confused enough to be open about it. The only discomfort was over how much of his past he could carefully keep to himself, so obviously he wasn't going to bring it up. Nothing Amber had said had bothered him. He let a slight smile show. "Just curious."

Despite all the better instincts drilled into him by his mom, Foreman rested his elbows on the table, over his half-eaten dinner, and linked his fingers together. They'd come here to talk out their problems, but maybe he should've known better than to expect any sympathy. Nothing Amber said was wrong, but Foreman hardly needed another battering to his self-esteem. It was strange, being with her, when he couldn't expect even the most cursory reassurance. If he'd told Wendy the same thing--not that he'd ever told her much at all about his work in Diagnostics--she might've said, you're still a good doctor, or they don't know what they're missing. Foreman couldn't decide whether he missed hearing that kind of pointless pablum and resented Amber for not offering it, or if it was more refreshing not to have to wade through any bullshit. Having his weaknesses not only pointed out, but driven home with the mallet of Amber's airy dispassion, left him self-conscious and surly.

"No," he said, awkward and stiff. Teaching hadn't fit him right. He'd done his best to guide his fellows without acting patronizing or jumping down their throats when they'd made simple mistakes, and walking that line had left him strained and constantly over-correcting: too cheerful one moment, and too sharp the next. He sighed. The feeling of not fitting--of being on the edge of being revealed as a fraud and kicked out--had only intensified after he'd come back to Princeton-Plainsboro. Maybe it was too much to ask for Amber to remember that confession, and save him the trouble of actually saying the words again. The problem was, she agreed. He didn't belong, in her estimation. He hadn't earned it, and he'd stolen a spot from someone who might have. "I don't know," he said, in full retreat. If you get it right sometimes--not good enough. He had to be right every time. If the candidates didn't want to learn from him, then he wasn't holding his own.

Foreman picked up his fork, but his eggs were cold, now, and the few bites he'd eaten sat like a lump in his stomach. "I like the work," he said, mostly to his plate. "I've got the double speciality. I thought--" He grimaced, and met Amber's eyes for a moment. "I always thought if I got this far it'd be enough."

"For someone who's curious, you sure let the subject drop," Amber said. Despite his negation, Eric was still tense with deliberate coolness. Maybe he didn't want to be uncomfortable but was anyway. She'd seen that reaction before. Well, he'd just have to learn how to be less shocked by her kissing other women because that was just the beginning. The table's surface was cool and slightly greasy beneath the back of her hand. Amber wrapped more of her hand around Eric's, since he'd gone ahead and held hers. "You can ask questions, you know. Now or later." Later might be better for both him and her, when he'd gotten over the awkwardness.

This whole conversation had become too fraught anyway to discuss past sexual escapades. He was avoiding her gaze again and barely responded to her comments and questions. He hadn't appreciated her bluntness. But what was she supposed to do? This morning he'd told her he was scared of ending up like Marcus, and she got that fear, but the distance between them was far too great for that to happen. A few slip-ups like the ones he’d made during this last case wouldn't land Eric in jail, nor would Amber coddling his wounded pride make it any less true that he had to earn the team's respect. Amber let out a breath, annoyed that she had to walk on eggshells and sorry that she'd accidentally ground them up further beneath her feet.

Amber nudged his calf again with the edge of her foot, soft yet firm. "You have come far," Amber pointed out. "It's not personal, you know. Everyone there survived medical school and we're testing each other out. You could be a walking miracle and we'd still want proof." She felt slightly ridiculous comforting him on something he should know, but this was supposed to be a fun meal, right? Them catching up and making mends? And she might as well experiment with different methods of getting him out of his sulks. "But I wouldn't be here if I didn't believe in you. Give them time, they'll come around."

For a moment, Foreman watched their hands on the tabletop, Amber's squeezing lightly over his. Asking about her love life could potentially be incredibly hot, but that was all the more reason not to get involved in that conversation right now, when they were in public. He'd save his questions for when he'd feel comfortable enough reacting to the answers in whatever way seemed most...expedient.

It was Amber's sigh that worried him the most, made him think that he'd been wrong to tell her what was on his mind. Foreman wasn't so dense that he didn't realize he was talking, obliquely, about the same things they'd been fighting about. But he wanted to talk to his girlfriend, not a subordinate he'd had to reprimand for being unprofessional. If they couldn't manage to separate out those roles now, then it was unlikely they'd ever get to that point. It hadn't worked great yet, but Foreman was a big believer in leaving home at home and work at work. If he hadn't fallen for Amber so quickly, before he knew what she did...well, he would have lost out on a hell of a lot. It had been worth it...so far. As long as they could keep moving away from this argument.

Amber's foot nudged his, the touch reassuring in a way that nothing she'd said had been. Foreman lifted his face, catching sight of the slight hint of impatience on Amber's face, but also the matter-of-fact way she put her viewpoint in front of him. That, more than anything, made him believe it when she said she believed in him. Foreman squeezed her hand, tight, a soft laugh coming to his lips. His smile was slow to appear at first, but then it spread across his face, warmth that had nothing to do with the heater he was sitting beside filling his chest. God, when was the last time someone had told him they believed in him? Told him without qualifications, without a hidden jab waiting for the next breath to snatch away any sense of satisfaction he might have gotten out of hearing it? His mom. Last spring, when dad had brought her for her birthday... I can see from your face, you’d never hurt anybody on purpose. And she hadn't even known who he was...

Foreman licked his lips. His voice was husky, but he managed, "Thanks." He'd promised himself, over and over again, that he wasn't going to let Amber see him get emotional just because his mom was sick. He swallowed hard, squeezed her hand again, and smiled, wide and true. If he could get away from the topic, show her that he wasn't dwelling on it, then maybe he could divert her attention. "So did you date a woman," he asked, his grin growing teasing, "or was it more of a tequila-shot situation?"

That was all he'd wanted: confirmation. Watching his happiness grow was day break, warm and bright and promising. It was impossible not to smile back in return. It was so simple! An hour ago, too, he'd asked just for an apology. Amber was a trained manipulator and she'd long since learned the usefulness of flattery and adulation and sucking up. Eric had never been a tool to her so she'd avoided applying those same principles to him-- she'd assumed somehow that to compliment him would be a trick, just like flirting with that intern boy or goading House into imagining her in bed.

He should've known that she wouldn't be here if she didn't think him worthy. Amber didn't waste time on the hopeless, she had better things to do. Maybe he did know. Because it was true, she really did believe in him. And maybe hearing it out loud, from her own lips, made all the difference. Eric seemed like so independent and self-confident, but he still craved the high opinion of others-- the other wanna-bes. House. Amber.

Amber's pancakes had gone well past lukewarm, her coffee would be thick and disgusting, and all she wanted to do was grin back at Eric, playing with his hand. This feeling of satisfaction and pleasure and excitement was why she'd invited him here. She’d remembered how good Eric could make her feel and she'd wanted that again. Well, she'd gotten it.

Eric performed the least subtle topic switch in the history of ever, but Amber rolled with it. So it'd been his own insecurities he'd been queasy over and not her non-discriminating taste. "I didn't date," Amber said. She'd barely tolerated seeing anyone more than once, didn't matter the sex. Women weren't Amber's favorite, but she wasn't going to dismiss half the human population without at least experimenting first. "And no, I wasn't always drunk. I wasn't the first time." Amber innocently popped a soggy bit of pancake into her mouth, smirking as she teased by not explaining about that 'first' time.

Amber really shouldn't be able to make him feel this good about himself with only a few half-hearted compliments. She'd crushed his self-confidence only to build it back up again, and Foreman had no idea when her opinion of him had started to matter so much. He was supposed to be aloof, independent, anything but reliant on what his girlfriends thought of him; he was supposed to be the one offering compliments and reassurance, instead of searching them out. All his confidence, his suave attitude with women, was built on a foundation of unshakeable confidence in his own worth, as a partner, in bed, and as a person. Maybe it was Amber's own independence that had left him wondering about himself. Knowing she could take him or leave him. If it came down to work, then leaving might be her best option, and she knew it. Hearing that she believed in him made Foreman feel that he still was the guy he'd always thought, capable and proud. He hadn't forgotten his promises to listen, to try harder as a boss, but knowing that Amber hadn't entirely written him off would make that easy as well. If he wasn't the best, he'd work until he'd improved, simple as that. It helped him sit up straighter, a tingle in his chest rising from Amber's answering smile, and reach with renewed hunger for his toast. It was cold, but he was still hungry. The eggs would be inedible, but he could eat the rest.

Chewing, Foreman granted Amber a skeptical look when she confirmed that she hadn't been with a woman as a one-time thing. The emphasis on first time didn't pass him by, either, and Amber's goading smile was probably another trap. If he started asking too many questions, he'd lose just as quickly as if he'd shown no interest at all. The possibilities were making themselves known to his imagination, but he'd only get details if and when Amber wanted to share. Finishing his bite, he ran his thumb across the back of Amber's hand, lightly, trying to make her shiver. Their legs were already pressed together under the table; the solid, warm presence at once comforting and promising more. "I guess you're not the sort to kiss and tell," Foreman said, pretending half-disappointed, half-resigned acceptance. He nodded seriously, coming to a firm decision. "Wouldn't want to invade your privacy."

Amber lifted her mug for another sip of coffee but frowned as she peered its contents. Cold and gross, as predicted. But that could be easily solved. Amber twisted her head left and right looking for that brunette. The girl had her back to her, but as if a sense of premonition-- or a nervous tick borne of very good common sense-- alerted her, the girl turned around and caught Amber's meaningful stare. She rushed over. "Another two coffees,” Amber ordered;; if hers was undrinkable, so would be Eric's.

He was making a valiant effort to finish up his portion, but Amber was willing to give up this fight. She was filled; no need to stuff down lukewarm pancakes. This conversation was way more interesting than her food anyway. Eric had loosened after her compliment, moving with more ease as he dug into the toast. Crumbs covered his lower lip and though he'd pointed out her grease stain earlier, she just smiled and waited to see if he'd lick them away himself. He'd probably still taste of those sausages.

It wasn't just physically he'd relaxed, either. Eric was teasing her now about sleeping with women. All the more confirmation that he'd tried to switch subject only because he'd been so caught up in what their coworkers thought of him. And if he was teasing... well, Amber couldn't resist doing the same back to him. She hovered her fingertips over the center of his palm, certain that it'd do things to him.

"You're such a gentleman," Amber agreed, grinning lightly. "You'd never ask." The thing was, she wanted him to. Showing off her sexual past, what wouldn't be great about that? She'd probably never get too into about what she'd done with (how many) men, given how jealous he’d probably get, but he'd want to hear about the women. Be transfixed, growing with desire. And Amber could give as many details as she liked, or as few, tantalizing him. "Tell you what, though. I'll tell you my first time if you'll tell me about one of your tattoos." Now that Amber knew him, they struck her as odd; they definitely went against his goal of fitting in with the other doctors.

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."

Everything felt so good and right. After days of fighting, she and Eric were grinning at each like fools with only a table between them; she was happily sated with a pretty good meal, the hint of strawberries still filling her mouth; and she was reviewing her very good memories of that brunette, organizing how to tell Eric the story so as to get the biggest and most rewarding effect. This was going to be great.

Strange how she could go from gloating to somber so quickly.

The sea-green ink was so faded that from a distance, on a stranger, Amber wouldn't have really noticed. But on Eric... For all the distance he put between himself and his brother, it sure did always seem to come back to Marcus. Maybe he was in jail, but he was here in Eric's history, mind, and body. A shiver ran all over Amber, raising the hairs on her body. If Marcus was the symbol of what Eric feared becoming, then Eric carried that reminder very close to his heart. "He was right about one thing-- you never did forget him," Amber said more to herself than to him.

Amber lightly traced the circle the tattoo formed with her free hand, trying to imagine the boy-- for as a teenager boy embarking on college, Eric would have been no more than that-- who imprinted this on himself. The inked skin wasn't quite as smooth as the rest of his inner arm. His second tattoo. As far as Amber had seen and noticed, he had three-- so one before and one after. What were those about?

But one tattoo a time. Amber stopped drawing its outline and rubbed her hand along his arm; her arousal, summoned a few minutes ago, deepened at the reminder of previous the times she'd touched Eric like this. It was strange to feel that desire coiling inside even as she struggled to understand the extent of Eric's grief and regret. She looked up into his rich, brown eyes. Casual acceptance and resentment warred in his expression, raised eyebrows contradicting how tightly and thinly his lips were stretched. "Do you know what it means?"

It felt wrong to launch into how she'd had her eye on a girl at campus, and how they came together at a party, right after this more somber memory. Like bringing party hats to a funeral. So Amber was grateful when their waitress arrived just then, two new steaming mugs of coffee clenched in either hand. Amber nodded at the girl to leave them on the table; she did so, long dark tresses falling over as she leaned to put the mugs down. Amber studied her for a second; her face was too round and her cheeks too high to really look like that other girl from so long ago.

The pause made it seem less strange to start, so Amber tried, her hands still all over Eric. "I was in my second semester at college--" But it wasn't right now, either. Just a few feet away, Eric was too far away; she wanted to whisper to him, if need be, and watch up close his facial shifts. Amber got up and, walking round the table, slid next to him, her body against his. She grinned and squeezed his thigh once, the silk of his trousers wonderfully sensual. "Sorry, where was I?"

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.

Mastery, independence, generosity. Belonging. Sounded like chapter titles out of a thousand pathetic self-help books. But with Eric's voice and hand guiding her, Amber found herself considering her life through the filters of those four nouns. The first two she had down pat; was she not an excellent doctor and fantastic woman? Hadn't she gotten here all on her own? And she saw no point to the third, a mere synonym for pity and hand-outs. The fourth... Eric's breath swept over the back of her arm, warm and ticklish. These past couple of weeks, what with trying to find a way to make her ways fit somehow with Eric's, so that they could be here eating lunch for dinner and flirting-- Amber thought that maybe she was learning a thing or two about belonging. It wasn't bad, not at all. It might even be worth the price it demanded.

Slipping into the booth and penetrating Eric's space, his eager, inviting gaze would've been enough to make her warm up all over. He just had this way of making her feel like no one else mattered-- and for a few seconds, Amber let herself believe that. "Right, second semester-- I was living in Bates dorm," Amber murmured, calling Eric closer with her low voice. Their torsos and legs were flush up together and his arm circled her back, but still she wanted him leaning in, hanging on her every word.

Bates dorm. That really took her back, to intro chem and her spiral notebooks crammed with equations and hallway carpets the color of sun-baked mud. She could almost smell the pot her infinitely annoying hall mates smoked every chance they got. "There was this girl, I'm pretty sure she lived in Bates too. I saw her often enough." It hadn't been every day, or even every week; but Amber did sometimes catch her going up the stairs at a Thursday 3am, dark flannel pajamas scraping beneath her heels, or hanging round the front entrance.

Amber didn't quite know why, but she couldn't help but watch that girl; her attention simply went to her like a compass points north. Her hair, straight and in want of a better conditioner, seemed to be everywhere except where it should be. Her lips were so full-- not unlike Eric's. Amber felt suddenly disconcerted; this was so strange, remembering the past in such detail while her hand rubbed Eric's thigh, thumb digging in a little more adventurously. She'd barely even thought of that girl in years and years! What had been her name? And had her eyes been green or brown? Forget eye color, Amber couldn’t recall the shape of her face. "She was so pretty, like an actress. Like Angelina Jolie! And she was always walking around without a bra." That much was true. She usually wore a grey t-shirt with her pajama pants. "I was watching her for weeks."

If it was being enveloped in Eric's scent or if it was the (half-faked) memories, Amber didn't know, but she was growing really, really hot. Her eyes flickered between Eric's and his mouth. No kissing. She wouldn't make the first move. She'd just tell the story. "But I didn't really think much about it. She was hardly the first pretty girl I'd ever seen. But the week before spring break, when all the professors were killing us with exams, I went to get a coke at the vending machine, and she was there." Amber raised her eyebrows to hint at what exciting events happened next, smirking.

Foreman barely realized he was holding his breath. It'd only been a few days since they'd lain together in Amber's bed on Sunday morning, seeing just how lazy they could get, with the greenhouse effect of Amber's bedroom windows letting them move together, achingly slowly, in a warm spill of sunlight. The weight of Amber's body against his arm, and her hand gripping his thigh, were all reminders of how she'd leaned over him, a wicked smile on her face, her hair cascading over her shoulder. Smirking, she guided him into her, her mouth opening on a silent gasp, her nipples peaked and so inviting. Foreman couldn't resist covering her breasts with his hands, and rubbing in strong, regular circles, echoing the deliberate, drowsy pace of her hips rocking against him. He'd felt like a banked fire, the coals glowing, not quite willing to go so far as to burst into flame. Amber's lips turned up at the corners, her eyes were gently closed, and she swayed with him, the slippery heat of her vagina so tight around him that Foreman could barely breathe.

He let his air out slowly, his hug tightening without a thought. Everything about Amber's story was designed to turn him on. The smug, tantalizing tone of her voice, its very softness that made him bend his head so he wouldn't miss a single word. The teasing roll of her thumb against his thigh, getting distractingly high and then moving back towards neutral territory. Foreman had always known Amber could provoke him with something as simple as a touch, a breath against his ear, a nipping kiss. For a moment, he forced himself to concentrate on what they looked like, sitting in the diner with only their ignored coffees sitting in front of them, curled up in the corner of the booth like a couple of teenagers. But what would anyone really see? It must've been obvious they were on a date. They'd made no secret of that. The food was done, and they weren't the only ones lingering over coffee. This wasn't like the restaurant, when Foreman had had his hand up Amber's skirt, fingers sliding through her wetness, making her arch right at the damn table--

Christ. He was losing the thread of the story, even though he was nearly quivering, he was paying attention so hard. Amber hadn't even said a word that would imply something more than that she and this girl were acquaintances, for fuck's sake, and Foreman was already wondering how discreetly he could shift his weight, spread his legs a bit to leave a little more room for his dick in his shorts. He licked his lips. God, he didn't even know whether to believe her. Amber's story sounded like a Penthouse letter as much as anything. But why would she tell him? Admit anything? Because they'd been talking about Thirteen, and this was definitely starting to look like a situation where Amber shouldn't be worrying about what Foreman thought of her. If Amber didn't hate Thirteen so obviously, then Foreman would start to think that he wasn't going to be Amber's only conquest in the department. He cleared his throat. As amusing as this must be for Amber, Foreman knew she wasn't going to follow through. Going slow. Her pace, her rules, her damn cockteasing with no relief in sight. "Uh, maybe this isn't the best place for the rest of the story?" he said, wincing even as he suggested it. Amber got the fun, but he was the one who might be left walking through the restaurant with a damn hard-on.

Recounting her memories in the warmth of Eric's hold, Amber buzzed. She felt drunk-happy, giggles almost ready to bubble from up her throat. And it wasn't that she wasn't aroused, because she was, a bit; nor was it that she hadn't noticed Eric's growing tenseness, like a spring being squeezed tighter and tighter. It just-- Amber only ever sought sex partners for precisely that, the sex. If some nights she didn’t come home with someone, it was only because the pickings had been slim; when she stepped into a bar, the goal was always fucking and orgasms. Why else even bother? Not like she wanted some hot idiot's small talk.

Eric had been for the fucking too, originally. But he was-- or at least her intentions were-- different, tonight especially. She'd sworn to keep things slow and, to her own surprise, her resolve was holding. With a simple turn of her face she could press her cheek against his; reacquaint herself with the smooth planes of his cheekbones and prickle herself with the thick hairs of his beard. Amber wanted, so badly, to take that protruding lip of his between hers, reclaiming Eric. She felt good. At ease. And remembering the beginning of what really had been her first kiss, and more, with a girl-- she hadn't made that much up-- excitement tinged her face red like she'd been running in the cold.

Yet none of this was enough to make her wet.

It seemed counter-intuitive. She was telling a hell of a sexy story, causing Eric to shift constantly and give her the biggest doe-eyes in the world, as if begging why the hell she was torturing him like this. He looked just about ready to break into a sweat and push her onto the table, his prudishness and public setting be damned. Any other night and she'd been in his lap already and grinding, kissing him all the harder for the audience of waitresses and pancake patrons. But Amber liked the power of the barrier her vow had created between them; liked that she couldn't do more than snake an arm round his waist and caress his thigh. She liked that with Eric, it didn't always have to end in orgasms and fucking.

"We got to talking; neither one of us really wanted to study." The next part was on the tip of her tongue, about how she'd followed her back to her room, when Eric put a sudden stop to the story. What, he'd already reached his limit? She hadn't even gotten to the fun part! If the thought of her merely looking at women was hot enough to make his pants too tight for comfort, would he get a hard-on every time her gaze happened upon a woman? Amber squeezed tight just about his knee, fingertips digging into his flesh. How annoying. She’d wanted to tease and play more. "I guess I could always leave off here, if you don't mind a cliffhanger," Amber said, her lilting voice implying a challenge. Was he too weak to take anymore?

Foreman let his head fall forward, and then turned to face Amber with an ironic look on his face, a slight smile softening his words. "I don't mind the cliffhanger if it'll save me the blue balls," he said, hoping she'd go along with the light joke at his expense. With a sigh, he settled back more comfortably, still holding Amber close, but with a softer, meditative cast to his features. "Maybe I wouldn't even mind walking out of here holding my coat in front of my pants, but we're going slow tonight, aren't we?" It was less a question than a statement, and a pleading one at that. As good as it felt to have Amber pressed up against him, with the occasional wriggle as she snuggled closer, Foreman couldn't forget how she'd ducked away from his hug in the Diagnostics office. That wasn't about people seeing them; that was about Amber, and about how comfortable she felt with him. Which wasn't very.

Foreman didn't think this story was revenge, at all, but it was definitely a tease that wasn't going to end well for him, and that wasn't fair. If Amber wanted to work him up because she was getting off on it too, and they got carried away, and one of them had to call a stop--that was fine. If Amber wanted to taunt him at home, get him close and then walk away, well, Foreman would be annoyed, but probably it'd be too hot to really bother him, when he could finish the job with a few strokes of his hand. But here, in public, where he couldn't do anything and Amber wasn't on the ride with him, all the power was in Amber's hands, and whether she'd thought it through or not, she was using it against him. "I wanna hear the story," he said, murmuring low enough for her ears only. "But I don't want to start something that we're not gonna finish. Not tonight."

Amber shivered at how his breath brushed her ears, as gentle as a caress. It didn't make her want to lean against Eric less. His whispering suggested conspiracy and naughtiness, two things that attracted Amber. His eyes were but slits and for a dizzying second she almost imagined he was going kiss her; parted her lips in anticipation.

She wanted him. She didn't want him. Both warred in her, ultimately canceling each other out. And even if they were practically in the same space, with her nearly in his lap, his words were giving the very opposite message. Maybe she was enjoying flirting with this indecision but he wasn't. Eric drew away from her and into the plastic hardness behind them, the air between them nowhere near as cozy as his torso.

"Fine," Amber said sharply, letting him scamper away. "No more story time." Couldn't he fucking control himself? He was ruining her fun. She hadn't meant to get him hard; she'd only wanted to leave him with the smug satisfaction of hearing about her lesbian experiences and tantalizing images to jerk off to. Spoilsport.

She didn't know what to do with her hands. Or with herself. Maybe she should get up and let his highness' erection die in peace. But-- Amber gazed into his eyes looking for what Eric himself wanted. His expression was soft and mildly sheepish. He hadn't asked her to get away from him. At the heart of it, his request to go slower was no different than all the times she'd asked him to step back-- like early this evening, even, when he'd hugged her before she was ready. And like their second night, when her arousal had shut down on her for good.

Amber hadn't forgotten how grateful she'd been when he'd backed-- and here she was, almost doing the opposite.

Abashed with this realization, Amber dropped her head down for a second; slid her hand back onto the greasy table so as to make him less uncomfortable. At least she hadn't insisted to press on with the story. She looked up again, a wry smile quirking her lips. "I'll tell you the rest when we're alone together," she promised. "Soon." Something twisted inside her. Not guilt. Warmer and better than that. Unconsciously, she licked her lips. "I'm guessing you don't want to kiss now either."

Amber was a breath away one second, and then jerking out of his arms the next. Foreman hadn't expected much better when he'd called a halt. He snorted lightly as she pulled herself primly upright, like a cat offended that it had to pick its way through a puddle. He'd hoped she wouldn't pull away; he'd been relaxing easily, holding her, ignoring the fact that their waitress was probably waiting impatiently to get them out of her station instead of letting a second round of coffee go cold in front of them.

He was sorry not to hear the rest of whatever Amber wanted to tell him. Whether it was true or else an episode made up for the pure fun of seeing how much Amber could make him squirm; it'd been too early to tell. Foreman hadn't gotten hard. The hot flush through his body had promised it incipiently, but hearing about how Amber had met a girl wasn't enough, even with his overactive imagination, to give him the kind of mental fodder that would have him getting it up in the middle of a pancake house. Especially after two days of very little sleep and bad cafeteria food. His teenager self might've been raring to go. Foreman was a little more discreet, and, face it, twenty years older.

"Hey, I didn't say that," he answered her quietly. Amber had a bad habit of assuming. Slow down didn't mean throwing on the parking brake while they were rushing along at a hundred miles an hour. He liked the sound of that soon, though. Foreman sat up, twisting in the booth to slide one arm behind Amber, the other elbow rest on the table, leaning into her space, although with a cautious, unassuming expression. He hadn't missed the quick wetting of her lips, his eyes darting down to her mouth before he met her gaze again. "I always want to kiss you," he said, solemn and soft. And when the arguments didn't get between them, there was nothing but Amber to hold him back. Maybe now she wouldn't.

Wrapping an arm round her back, Eric imperceptibly nudged her closer to him; Amber went willingly. The diner's lights were not the most flattering, but Eric was still amazingly handsome in the soft, yellow pallor. He looked at her like a naturalist waiting and patient for a butterfly to land on his outstretched hand: inviting but not demanding. Amber's heart beat deep and intense, a drum in her ribcage.

A smile spread on her face. Seemed like they were finally on the same page. "That so?" she asked, matching his serious tone. She turned into him, one hand sliding down his side, the other pressing lightly against his chest. It wasn't comfortable, on seats designed for quick meals and between plastic booth and table, but she wasn't looking for anything long. "Then it's your lucky day."

Amber tilted her head, holding her breath for a second; studied Eric's expectant and hopeful expression. She wanted to remember this moment, how good she felt. But there was no scanning equipment advanced enough to perfectly preserve feelings and sensations, so Amber let herself give up; let herself close the distance and gently press her lips against his like they were old friends reacquainting after decades apart. She tasted the salt of the eggs, the spices of the sausages; she remembered the last time they'd kissed, Sunday, hugging each other so tight and grasping to make the most of every moment. She'd almost asked him to stay, chores and work be damned. His lips were as soft as she remembered; his scent, more intoxicating. Amber could not resist deepening the kiss, wetting his lower lip with her tongue.

The slow stroke of Amber's hand, down his ribs, to rest at his hip, was the sensation Foreman had been waiting for. No more of this flirting and fighting. They'd had an ordinary conversation, and this would be an ordinary kiss, even if it felt charged with all the expectation of several days' wait. Foreman smiled as Amber flattened her palm lightly against his sternum. Her eyes were clear as water, the slight pout of her lower lip only emphasizing the studied way she leaned in. "Must be," he said, warm, making no move himself because it was that much more satisfying to let Amber cross the last of the space between them.

Her kiss was astonishingly gentle. Foreman's eyes slid closed at the sweetness of it. Amber's tongue flicked out, and his heart fluttered in response, but he kept himself still and open, echoing her kiss but not yet returning it. One thing no one had ever accused him of was being unable to learn from his mistakes. As long as he could tilt his head and follow Amber's direction, the soft, exquisite sensation lasted. After a moment, the kiss ended; Foreman opened his eyes long enough to scan Amber's expression, seeing a warmth there that he'd nearly forgotten. Foreman raised his eyebrows, silently seeking permission, before he gave back as good as he'd been given. No more than the light brush of his lips against hers, barely seeking out the taste of coffee from her tongue, and stopping before either one of them got carried away.

After the second kiss, Foreman pulled back, just enough to gaze into Amber's eyes. He was smiling--he knew it--but there was no effort in it; he'd have to have forced himself not to. "Can I walk you to your car, Dr. Volakis?" he asked, resisting the temptation to keep kissing until he was dizzy with her.

Eric kept his distance, responding to what she gave and going no further. It was like setting down a doll: it went nowhere, stuck in the exact pose you left it. Disappointing. Amber wanted more of a reaction; it wasn't until he pulled away that she realized she'd been hoping he'd hug her closer and deepen their kiss, his tongue pressing at her mouth. At the same time, Amber got it-- Eric was trying to respect the boundaries she'd so clearly marked at the beginning of their date. She appreciated his going at her pace but he clearly didn't understand what that pace was. What could they do, short of mind-reading?

Amber did not hide her longing, brow wrinkling in disappointment. She would've asked for more but as if he'd understood the message on her expression, Eric came forward once more; by the time his lips were on hers again, she was smiling, pleased. His kiss was an echo of hers, down to the pressure and rapid tongue flick, so fast she almost thought it a figment of her imagination; but still her heart warmed. In the place of deeper, more was a fairly good substitute.

She shared in the joy dancing in his eyes, glowing back at him. The Eric that had called her in to the lab this morning was a mere shadow of this one, nothing like the vibrant, confident man before her now. Solving the case and being right about Brennan probably had something to do with his improvement, but it was a lot to do with her too, she knew. She'd made him beam like he'd just gotten a whole row of A pluses. Amber's hand rose from his sternum to just behind his ear; he always liked it so much when she stroked there. She did so now, caressing the base of his skull. "Okay, but I don't want you to go." They'd only just started enjoying each other; why let go of that now? "Let's go do something else." But what did couples do when they weren't trying to get into each other's pants? Movies? But she just wanted to go home, which eliminated pretty much all other outings. Maybe he'd be okay with that. "We could go back to my place-- still going slow," she added quickly; she didn't want Eric to get the wrong idea. "And just watch tv or something. I do have a nice television."

Foreman's smile grew all the warmer when Amber said she didn't want him to go. He'd been envisioning holding her hand on the way out to the parking lot, and stealing a few more kisses outside where the heat of Amber's mouth would be all the more noticeable in contrast to the chill air. Seeing her drive away wouldn't be easy, but it would come with the satisfaction of knowing that they were back on the right track. Besides, he'd really had his ass kicked the last couple of days; an early night wouldn't hurt. It would make up for Amber's insistence on a measured pace, anyway.

Her offer was far more appealing than his bed, though. Foreman let his eyelids droop to half-mast as Amber massaged tender circles into his neck muscles. If she wanted him to still be on his feet and able to get himself home from her place, he'd have to tell her to stop doing that--it left him so peaceful that he might just fall asleep on her. He'd let her keep on for a while before he told her that, though. "Yeah," he said, swallowing a yawn. The remnants of his headache were slowly fading as Amber's fingers found the tension points. Hell, watching television was about all he was up for, as long as he was this tired. Forty-eight hours at the hospital usually left him out of the loop with his usual news channels and sites. A little catch-up, without any expectations piled on top, sounded just about perfect. "I'll follow you."

This time, Foreman didn't wait for overt permission, but took Amber's hands all over him as a sign of what she wanted. He kissed her again, still not hard, but with a little more initiative, going for what he wanted rather than holding himself back to Amber's exact pace. He sucked gently on her lower lip, tasting her lipstick, for a moment, before pulling back with a rueful sigh. They still had to pay and get out of here before they could forget completely that the world existed. Foreman pulled out his wallet and covered what he estimated would be their total bill, plus a reasonable tip. He didn't know the exact price of Amber's meal, but if he'd guessed high, the waitress could keep the extra--she hadn't hovered over them waiting for them to leave.

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