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The lie rolled off his tongue with ease.
Truth was, he was a fucking mess after last night. He hadn’t slept after their middle-of-the-night talk. He’d just lain there, watching her sleep, trying to come up with a scenario where she didn’t pack up and move away in a week. He turned back to ladle more batter onto the griddle, avoiding Pike’s pointed stare.
“She can’t stay, Foster.” Pike said quietly. “She won’t. Last night, she was telling me about what’s waiting for her back home. She’s spent her whole life preparing to take over half of her father’s practice. And she loves her family and the career she’s chosen. Her life is there.”
“I wasn’t going to ask her to stay,” he replied under his breath. Though, he was more than tempted to. But what could he possibly offer her in exchange for veering off the life plan she’d set up for herself? Sure, they were great together in bed. And yeah, he had enough money to give her anything she could want or need while she was here. But they hardly knew each other. Even if she liked last night—which he hadn’t even had a chance to confirm yet—there was no way she could be ready for the type of relationship he craved.
The smell of smoke snapped him out of his ruminating. He turned down the heat as the pancake started to burn around the edges. The sound of a door opening somewhere behind him had him turning around again, though. The dog scampered that way with a bark. Cela appeared in the kitchen a few moments later, wearing her wrinkled clothes and a haphazard ponytail. Sh
e had her arms wrapped around herself as if she were cold. And when she bent down to scratch the dog under the chin, she moved so gingerly, he cringed.
Shit.
“Hey there, Monty,” she said softly.
“Morning, doc,” Pike said, as casual as could be. Like Cela was here every morning. “Coffee?”
She rose and gave him a small smile, her eyes darting briefly toward Foster. “Actually, I really need to get back to my place. I’m due at work in an hour.”
Foster frowned and set down the spatula. “You should at least eat some breakfast before you go.”
“He made pancakes,” Pike said, a wry tilt to his mouth.
Foster shot him a shut-the-fuck-up glare.
She curled her lips inward and glanced toward the door, clearly ready for escape. But he could tell manners were so deeply ingrained in her that she couldn’t do it. She gave a quick little nod. “Yeah, okay, I can stay for a minute. You didn’t need to go through so much trouble.”
Foster breathed a brief sigh of relief that she wasn’t leaving yet and turned to pile a few pancakes on a plate. “No trouble.”
Pike sniffed.
Foster put the burnt pancake on Pike’s plate.
When he turned around with both plates in his hand, Cela was sliding into the chair next to Pike, the strained press of her lips the only indication that she was feeling the effects of last night. God, he was an asshole.
Yes, she’d pushed him last night, had asked to be with him, but he’d taken it too far. Not that he’d never left a girl with marks or bruises the next day—it was part of the deal. But up until now, he’d only done it to women he knew were totally into it, who thrived on submission and pain play. But with Cela, he had no idea what her pain tolerance was or if she had limits he’d crossed. It’d been completely irresponsible on his part to scene with her. The girl didn’t even know what a scene was, and he’d chained her to his fucking door. Then later, he’d laid his shit about his sister right on her. Like she needed to know about his family’s tragedies on top of everything else. No wonder she was ready to bolt.
He set the plates in front of them and grabbed the bottle of syrup off the counter. “You okay?”
“I’m fine,” she said, though there wasn’t much conviction behind it, and took the syrup from him. “Thanks.”
Pike grabbed his plate and stood. “I think I’m going to eat this in the living room. Hit me with a little syrup, doc.”
“Pike, you don’t have to—” Cela started.
“Nah, doc, it’s okay. My morning show’s on. Gotta get my daily dose of Lara Spencer.”
Cela frowned but poured syrup over his pancakes and said nothing else.
“Come on, Monty, let’s see how you like Foster’s cooking.” Pike gave Foster a quick glance, then sauntered off toward the living room, Monty fast on his heels.
Cela put a bite of food in her mouth, looking down at her plate like it held all the answers. He had no doubt everything was setting in now. Last night when she’d woken up, it’d all still been comfortable in the darkness—safe. But now in the light of day, her body was probably aching, her skin sensitized, leaving no path for her mind to deny what she’d participated in last night. And knowing Cela, that probably meant a heaping dose of shame and guilt.
Foster blew out a breath and served up his own breakfast, then grabbed a bottle out of the cabinet. He tapped out two pills and set them next to Cela’s plate, then poured her a glass of water. “Take those. It’ll help.”
She eyed the pills. “What are they?”
“Ibuprofen.”
