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After almost five days of Foster not answering my calls, not returning my voice mails, and only replying to my texts with nothing more than one-worded answers to my questions, I knew something was wrong between us. There’s been a noted disconnect in our communication since the moment the man of my past, Cal, showed up at my door, and Foster walked out of it.
This thing between Foster and me has changed into something more than we originally agreed upon that fateful day in his kitchen. They aren’t conscious thoughts—at least not on my part—but there are always unspoken assumptions in any relationship between a man and a woman when orgasms are involved. We had all the right intentions, but one can’t fight the chemistry of the human body. It has a tendency to oppress the mind with all those hormones running through it. I blame science.
However, Foster’s days of ignoring me are coming to an end. It’s Sunday afternoon, and he should be home. I’m not a stalker, but the past few weeks, he and I had routine sexfests and pizza on this day. So, I’m going to pop by and see if he wants to continue the weekend tradition, and while I’m at it, I’ll ask him what the hell is going on because nobody likes to be ignored, especially me.
In front of his apartment, I put on my game face and give his door a sturdy knock, so there’s no way it couldn’t be heard. Almost immediately, the sounds of footsteps carry through his place, getting louder until they’re just on the other side of the divide. When the wooden entrance swings open, a svelte blonde woman I’ve never seen before catches me off guard. She’s undeniably attractive.
Gravity drops heavily in my gut, and a surge of uncontrollable fury zings through my body.
I don’t like that she’s here.
I’m jealous, and I shouldn’t be…but I am.
“Hi,” she says, confused. “You’re not the pizza guy, are you?”
So, he is continuing the pizza Sundays—just not with me.
“Um, no,” I reply, fiddling with the buttons on the bottom of my jacket. I remind myself that there’s no reason to be jealous or upset even though those feelings are creeping up fast and furious. “Sorry. Is Foster here?”
“Is that the pizza guy, Hills?” a male voice calls.
“No,” she responds, her corn-colored hair sweeping across her shoulder, as she turns to face the guy approaching. “Tell Foster he has company.”
A man with dark hair and warm eyes the color of teak, comes into my view. A curious smile crosses his lips.
“Oh, well, come on in,” he says, waving me inside. “I’ll let him know you’re here.”
I hesitantly step inside. “Thanks.”
“Foster!” the male shouts to the back of the apartment. “Someone’s here to see you.”
The sound of a door clicking open from the rear alerts my ears.
“I’m not falling for that,” Foster calls in response, his voice warming me in ways that it shouldn’t. “It’s your turn to buy.”
“It’s not the pizza guy,” the man retorts, obviously delighted.
“You can’t pull that shit on me. My IQ is still higher than yours, even after killing all those brain cells last night. Just pay the man.”
The dark-haired man laughs a little and shakes his head. “He always thinks he’s got one up on me. Why don’t you have a seat? I’m sure he’ll be out in a minute.”
“Right,” I say, stepping into the main living area, unbuttoning my coat and taking a seat in a nearby chair.
The man and the woman, whose names I still do not know, sit next to one another on the sofa.
“I hope I’m not interrupting anything,” I say.
“You certainly aren’t,” the man confirms. “We were just hanging out.”
The blonde woman, the polite gentleman, and I all veer our focus toward the hallway when heavy footfalls ring through the apartment. Foster comes into view, his hair slightly damp, and he slows when he spots me seated in his living space.
“Hey,” Foster says, his voice hitching slightly. He shoves his hands into the front pockets of his denim pants. “EJ, I wasn’t expecting to see you today.”
Thanks for the warm greeting.
“I know. I just haven’t heard from you in a few days, and I wanted to stop by.” I rise from my seat. “Sorry. I can tell it’s a bad time and all. You have company.”
“No…” He fingers through the strands of hair just over his ear. “It’s fine. You can stop by. Did you need something?”
