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Foster shoves his chair back and stands. As I breathe a sigh of relief to see him wearing a pair of blue shorts, he grasps the empty tumbler and brushes past me as he heads out the door. I follow, anger bubbling in my belly. If he is itching for a fight, I am more than happy to indulge him.
In the kitchen, he yanks open the freezer and removes a bottle of Grey Goose, filling his glass halfway before placing it on the counter. It was coated with a thin layer of ice that started to melt where his hand had grasped the bottle.
“Is this how you deal with adversity in your relationships?” I goad. “You drink?”
He sips from the glass and then grits his teeth. “We have no relationship other than business.”
“You’re a real asshole! I wish I never met you.” My sneakers squeak against the wood floor as I walk away. In a flash, my back is against the hallway wall with Foster pressed over my body. He forces his lips upon mine, and I get a mouthful of his vodka breath, which makes me dizzy as his cold tongue dips inside mine.
I wasn’t sure what to do, but his kisses always make me weak. Foster grasps my sweaty hair, and a small moan escapes him. As I wrap my hands around him, caressing the sculpted planes of his back, all my anger disappears and is replaced with a desire which curls in my core. Foster finally breaks away, taking a step back, his green eyes sharp and wild.
“FUCK!” he shouts, startling me.
“Is that what you want from me?”
He scrubs at his face, breathing, “I’m not sure what I want from you.”
When I reach out to touch his shoulder, he flinches away. My anger was back—a huge fireball threatening to explode in my stomach.
“You better figure it out before we’re married.” With that, I stalk down the hall to my bedroom, slam the door, and click the lock before I collapse on the edge of my bed.
Foster didn’t kiss me like someone involved in a business deal. He kissed me like someone wanting a personal relationship, and I responded. Chest heaving, as if I’d just run a marathon, I sit there. When I regain my composure, I strip off my wet clothing and head for the shower, where I spend over twenty minutes letting the hot water cascade over my sore body. Even though I consider that Foster’s behavior could have been influenced by alcohol, he seemed angry about my relationship with Stefan.
