AllFreeNovel
Share Us
THIRTEEN
Foster lay in his bed in the dark, staring holes into the ceiling. The fan was on high, the chain clink-clink-clinking against the base, but he was still too hot and restless to sleep. He’d heard Cela come into her room about an hour earlier. The TV had gone on for a while, then off again. So he was all too aware that she was right there, beneath the sheets, barely a foot behind his head.
It’d been two days since he’d done everything wrong in the hallway. Now he was convinced she was avoiding him as much as he was avoiding her. It was juvenile of him. He’d never avoided a woman he’d slept with. Not even Darcy after she’d ripped his goddamned guts out. He’d had awkward before, but never had he experienced the brutal assault on his restraint that Cela caused. Being anywhere near her flipped all his fucking switches. When he’d seen her with that scumbag, Gerald, he’d been ready to kill the guy for even daring to breathe on Cela. He hadn’t even had time to form full thoughts—all he’d seen was red. It’d taken all he had to give Cela a chance to come willingly instead of simply picking her up and hauling her over his shoulder so he could get her safe as soon as possible.
Then in the hallway, she’d gone pale, shaken by the news of Gerald’s background. Everything about her had called to Foster. He’d pictured himself crowding her space, kissing away that fear, and dragging her into his apartment to make her forget about it all. But he’d stayed glued to the spot and had turned down her invite to come over. His knuckles had ached from clenching his fists so hard to hold himself back. After she’d gone into her apartment, he’d stood in the hallway for a full five minutes, staring at her fucking door.
Pathetic.
He rolled onto his side, yanking the sheet off his legs and closing his eyes, trying to will himself to sleep. But the loud ding of his phone had him lifting his head. “What the hell?”
He grabbed for his phone, pawing around in the dark, and flipped it over. A text message. He sat up on his elbow.
For the love of God please turn off whatever is making that annoying sound.
He blinked, once, twice, shocked at the name of the sender. He peeked at the wall behind him, then tapped a message back.
Sorry. Crappy fan. Will turn off.
He climbed out of bed and hit the switch. His phone dinged again.
Thx. Hope I didn’t wake you.
He sank back onto his pillows, hearing the words as if they were said in that spice-laced voice of hers. He typed back.
No. Can’t sleep.
He held the phone in his hands, wondering if she was going to respond, half hoping she would, but knowing this was merely a neighborly transaction—the modern equivalent to banging on someone’s wall and telling them to keep the racket down.
When nothing appeared on the screen, he reached over to set the phone back on the bedside table. But as soon as he put it down, the perky noise filled the silence again.
Count sheep?
He chuckled and tapped back a message.
Those bastards fell asleep hours ago. Got tired of all that jumping.
There was a soft sound from her side of the wall. Had he made her laugh? The thought warmed him. His phone dinged again.
I could sing you to sleep.
He stared at the words, not registering them for a moment. It was so out of the blue that he didn’t know how to react. He typed back:
U sing?
Former choir girl. :)
Of course you are.
Watch the virgin jokes, smartass.
He laughed out loud, knowing she could probably hear it on her side of the wall. Somehow being in the dark, having that thin barrier of drywall and wood between them made it all easier, lifted some of the weight from the last time they’d seen each other.
I’d love to hear u sing.
There was a long pause before her reply, but when it came, it was a simple one.
OK.
