by Roni Loren
Foster tilted his head back and stared at the ceiling, trying not to think of Cela walking into that bathroom with Pike. He couldn’t get the image out of his head. He’d stood there and done nothing even when she’d looked back at him with question marks in her eyes. What an asshole. Instead of stepping up and telling her he didn’t want her to go, he’d let his ego win. He’d wanted her to turn down Pike, to come to him on her own volition.
“So are you going to take her out again?”
He wanted to. God, did he want to. If nothing else than to give her the night she should’ve had for her first time. “There’s no point. You know I don’t date vanilla girls.”
“She didn’t seem all that vanilla this weekend,” Pike lobbed back.
“And she’s leaving in a few weeks.”
“Yeah, the leaving part kind of sucks,” he said, his tone resigned. “But are you just going to ignore what happened? I mean, you took the chick’s virginity, man. Shouldn’t there be some sort of something after that? A debriefing or whatever.”
Foster snorted. “A debriefing?”
“What? I don’t know the fucking term for it. But walking away and pretending it didn’t happen is a dick move. Even I know that much.” A car door slammed in the background and the connection got fuzzy with the wind. “If you’re not going to say something to her . . .”
“I’ll take care of it,” Foster said, cutting him off, irritated that Pike was pointing out everything that had been driving Foster crazy over the past two days. Like he didn’t know it was a shit move that he’d barely managed a few sentences when he’d called to check on Cela the next day, or that he’d changed the time of his run this morning so he wouldn’t bump into her.
There was a swift rap on his door. Lindy stuck her head inside. “Sorry to interrupt but there’s an Agent Long from the FBI on the line for you.”
Foster’s grip on his phone tightened, that familiar sick feeling at the mention of a call from the FBI eclipsing his ruminating. Foster only talked to Agent Long about once a year and usually it was to get a no-news update. But Foster had just talked to him a month ago, and the man never called him. “Pike, I’ve gotta go. Important call.”
He hit the Off button and nodded at Lindy. “Put him through.”
A few seconds later, Foster picked up his office phone. “Agent Long, what’s happened?”
Long didn’t waste time with greetings or niceties. “We may have a lead.”
The breath gusted from Foster’s chest. How long had it been since he’d heard those words? The case had been cold for so long he’d doubted he’d ever hear them again. “What kind of lead?”
“It’s not much. But a guard overheard some jailhouse talk this weekend, a name was dropped, a nickname, and some details that seemed to fit the case. The years would work out.” He cleared his throat, and there was the sound of shuffling papers. “We’re going to go in and question the guy, see if we can get him to give us more. But I wanted to give you a heads-up.”
Foster’s stomach twisted, the desire to have the knowledge about as strong as the desire to want to cover his ears and never know. “Thanks for calling.”
“Do you want me to notify your parents?”
“No,” he said quickly. “Until you have something solid, let them be.”
“I understand. I’ll get in touch when I know more.”
“Thank you, Agent Long.”
Foster hung up the phone and tossed his sandwich in the trash, his appetite gone and a restless need to do something productive burning through him. Work. That’s what he could control. He couldn’t control whether or not Agent Long could find what they needed. He couldn’t control that his parents probably wouldn’t take his call even if he tried to contact them. And he couldn’t control how things had gone down with Cela Friday night. But this office, the people in it, the services they provided—that he had ultimate authority over.
He pressed a button on his phone. “Lindy, let the R & D department know that I want a briefing in an hour on where we’re at with the smartphone app.”
“An hour? But, sir, they said they’re not quite ready to . . .”
“Tell them to figure it out.” He hung up the phone, feeling a shred better.
Taking the reins always moved things back into place inside himself, whether it be at work or behind closed doors. He didn’t like variables and unknowns. Didn’t like surprises. And after all the surprises he’d experienced with Cela Friday night, he was desperate to do something that would put his world back into the right boxes.
He didn’t need a temptation like Cela shuffling everything around in his brain.
He’d talk to her. That was the right thing to do.
But it’d only be to say good-bye.
—
I sat on the top of the picnic bench in the grassy area next to my building, enjoying the sunshine and the very un-Texas-like seventy-degree day, and threw the rubber ball Gerald had handed me. Gerald’s Maltese mix, Sammi, took off like she’d been launched from a cannon to chase down the ball, her tail wagging so hard it was only a blur. I grinned. “I love that it never gets old for dogs. Same game over and over and they’re happy.”
Gerald smiled as he watched Sammi tumble in the grass when she pounced on the ball. “Yeah, she loves running. I feel bad that she’s cooped up most of the day. I’m hoping to be able to rent a house with a yard one day soon.”
“You could always look for a dog walker or a sitter for her while you’re at work. A lot of college students do it for cheap.”
“Do it for cheap, huh?” He turned to me, his blond hair falling into his eyes and the corner of his mouth curling. “You volunteering?”
For some reason, the question made the back of my neck prickle. I shook off the odd feeling. “Nah, I’m leaving in a few weeks, so I’m not a good candidate. But I can give you a few names of my classmates if you’d like. My friend, Bailey, has done it for a few families.”
“Leaving?” Gerald’s smile dropped. “Well, damn, I didn’t know that. I’m going to have to take you to dinner before you head out. Thank you for all the advice you’ve given me about Sammi.”
“Uh, I—”
“She can’t do that,” a firm male voice said.
I startled at the sudden interruption, then spun around to find its source.
Gerald turned with me, scowling. “Excuse me?”
Foster stood behind the picnic table, arms crossed, laptop bag slung over his shoulder, and a fierce expression on his face. “You asked her out. I said she can’t go.”
I stared at him, dumbfounded.
“And who the hell are you?” Gerald asked, an edge creeping into my neighbor’s normally affable demeanor.
“Not your concern.” His gaze slid to me. “Come on, Cela.”
I reared up at his bossy tone. All these days with barely a phone call and now he was going to order me around? Screw that. “I’m playing with Gerald’s dog.”
Foster’s mouth thinned. “I think he wants you to play with more than that.”
My jaw fell open, and Gerald jumped to his feet. “The fuck’s your problem, asshole?”
Gerald stalked toward Foster, but Foster didn’t move. He simply stared the coldest stare I’d ever seen a person give another. Even my blood chilled, and the look wasn’t directed at me.
“Yes, please,” Foster said smoothly as Gerald neared. “Give me a reason to hit you. I’d so enjoy that.”
Gerald halted, clearly disconcerted. “Look, man. I don’t know what your problem is, but don’t fucking threaten me. You don’t know who you’re dealing with.”
“I know exactly who I’m dealing with.” He pinned me with his gaze. “But there will be no problem as long as Cela comes with me and you don’t ever talk to her again.”
“She doesn’t have to go—”
“Hold up.” This was going downhill fast. Sammi was barking at my feet, and Foster looked as if he could truly kill Gerald. I hopped off the table, my hands out in front of me. “Both of y’all just calm down. I’ll go.” I looked to Foster. “I’ll go, all right?”
Gerald straightened. “If this guy—”
“It’s fine. He’s a friend.” I stepped next to Foster, and he immediately grasped my elbow, as if afraid I’d change my mind. I had no idea what was going on with him, but the last thing I wanted was a brawl outside the apartment complex. “I’ll see you later. Bye, Sammi.”
The dog did a little spin and yapped happily in reply.
“Let’s go.” Foster turned me with him without another word and led me toward the building.
But I wasn’t letting him get away without an explanation. As soon as we cleared the lobby doors, I turned toward him, shaking his grip. “What the hell was that? Have you lost your mind?”
“You don’t need to talk to that scum,” he said, the disgust clear on his face before he turned to climb the stairs.
I followed behind him, seeing red. “Excuse me? Did I miss the part where you have the right to tell me who I can talk to?”
He spun around, two steps higher than me, expression grim. “Gerald Mondale is a registered sex offender. He used to be a high school teacher until a freshman girl came forward with molestation charges. He got early parole on a technicality.”
My stomach dipped. “Oh my God.”
Foster climbed up the rest of the stairs, and I trailed behind in stunned silence. Gerald? The neighbor I’d chatted with almost weekly about his sweet little dog? When we both reached the hallway, Foster turned back to face me. “I know I don’t have the right to tell you who to talk to. But when I saw you with him, heard him make a pass at you, I wanted to choke the words right out of him. Promise me you’ll stay away from him.”
My throat was knotted and dry, the post-danger rush of adrenaline filling my veins. But I managed to nod. “Sure, yeah, I promise.”
He gave a swift, matching nod. “Good. Thank you.”
I stared at him for a few long moments, the from-a-distance crush I’d had for him before Friday night now morphing into a desperate longing inside my chest. I wanted to step forward, press against him, loosen that tie from around his neck and wipe that tense expression off his face. But everything about him said I wasn’t invited. I tore my gaze away to glance toward my apartment door. “Well, I better get going.”
“Cela . . .” he said, his gentle tone tearing into me.
God, why did that make me want to cry? What the hell was wrong with me? I’d seen Pike in the hallway earlier when I was heading out, and it hadn’t been like this at all. I forced my gaze back to his. “So is this where we have the awkward ‘let’s still be friends’ conversation?”
He frowned. “It’s not like that.”
“Right. So if I asked you over for dinner . . .”
He glanced away, his guilt like a fog invading the small hallway.
I shook my head, more disgusted with myself for asking the question than his response. “See you around, Foster.”
Before he could respond, if he had even planned to respond, I unlocked my door and shut him out.
The stupid tears came then.
So much for not getting my feelings involved.
Epic, one-night-stand fail.
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.
He could almost sense her taking a deep breath, building up her nerve. Then, as if putting a needle to a record, the slightly muted sound of her voice leaked through the walls. A low, haunting melody filled his ears, and he involuntarily closed his eyes so that he wouldn’t miss any of it. He couldn’t pick out the words, but it was vaguely familiar, something he’d heard before. And it was beautiful, her voice strong and unbroken, a sound befitting the nickname he’d given her—angel.
And he kn
ew this was supposed to be putting him to sleep, soothing him. But instead, he felt his body prickling with each note, awareness brewing in his nerve endings as her voice strummed through him, stroking his senses. He could picture her there, sitting up in bed, wearing probably next to nothing because it had to be hot in her room as well, and belting out that song. A song that, though he couldn’t hear the lyrics, spoke of longing and need. Loneliness.
Those feelings bled through him, mirroring his own, and tightness built in his chest—like rope being wrapped around him and cinched. His body went unbearably hot. Too much more and she was going to drive him to middle-of-the-night madness. The sexy, throaty sound of her last notes drifted through the barrier between them, and he reached up to press his palm against the wall, feeling the faint vibration of her words.
When all had gone silent again, he opened his eyes and took a breath before lifting his phone again.
That was beautiful, Cela. *in awe*
Thx. Did it make u sleepy?
It made me hard. But of course he wasn’t going to type that.
Yes.
Liar.
He ran his thumb along the side of the phone, knowing he shouldn’t, but unable to stop himself.
Ur right. It made me want you.
Full minutes passed as he stared at the screen. She wasn’t going to respond. He’d given her the cold shoulder two days ago and now was making a pass at her. He was a fucking dick. He was about to type back an apology when his phone dinged.
I’ve heard that’s good for sleep too.
He rubbed a hand over his face and climbed out of bed with a groan—paced. But his good sense and self-control had left the building fifteen minutes ago. Hell, who was he kidding? Those two things hadn’t been around since the moment he’d invited Cela over to their apartment. The girl undid him.
There was a soft tap from her side. He stopped at the spot on the wall where it’d come from and leaned his head against it, imagining her mirroring him on the other side, staring back at him with as much longing as he knew resided in his eyes right now. He lifted his phone.