Page 23 of Heart Me Up
I hadn’t told anyone about Drew and Lucy in well over a year. It had been easier not to mention it. I’d gotten tired of people giving me pitying looks and trying to escape my presence as quickly as possible. I couldn’t believe how supportive Foster had been. And he didn’t even try to get out of our date.
I was surprised I’d been comfortable enough with Foster that I’d told him so soon. I’d planned to keep my sob story to myself until at least after he and I had been out a few times, assuming we ever got that far.
Instead I’d felt at ease almost as soon as I’d arrived at Foster’s house, and I found myself wanting to tell him everything and get it over with. Maybe it was because he and I had had fun together Thursday night. Maybe it was because he’d helped his neighbor even though it had made him run late. Maybe it was the way he’d pretended he wanted to pet Mariposa so he could sit right next to me on his hard-as-fuck couch. Maybe it was all of those things together.
Truthfully I’d probably never know exactly what it was that made me so comfortable with Foster, but the feeling was growing stronger each time I looked at him. It was a combination of a warm, fluttery sensation in my chest and a deep, relaxed certainty in my gut.
I’d almost kissed him when he was awkwardly trying to brush Mariposa’s fur off my clothes. I couldn’t stop smiling over his expression when he realized he was about to dust off the front of my pants with his hands.
I might not be ready to sleep with Foster tonight, but this date was going to end with more than a boring goodnight kiss if I had anything to say about it.
We’d decided against the steakhouse, settling instead on a diner near downtown Bent Oak. Both of us had been there before, and Foster’s suggestion of comfort food was a good one.
Once we sat down, we discussed the menu options, but each of us went with our first choices. Foster ordered the meatloaf, and I chose the chicken pot pie. Before the server could leave, Foster suggested we add two milkshakes. “Milkshakes can’t cure anything,” he told me, “But they can make you feel a little better.” My heart wentawww, andI teared up slightly. Maybe I wasn’t as recovered from my emotional outburst as I’d thought.
I pretended I had something in my eye—I did—so I could grab a napkin to blot away the evidence.
“Um,” I began, floundering for a neutral conversation topic. “What made you want to become a police officer?” I took a sip of water to occupy my hands.
“Oh, too much testosterone, probably.” I wasn’t expecting that, and I inhaled quite a bit of my water in surprise. I think everyone in the diner turned their heads to watch me cough.
Eventually I was able to say, “I need to hear about this.”
Grinning, he said, “I didn’t want to go into the military, but as a teenager I got off on the idea of carrying a gun and stopping crime like they did in the movies.” Foster thanked the server as he placed our milkshakes in front of us.
“Cheers,” he toasted and clinked his strawberry to my chocolate. We busily sucked on our straws, but the ice cream was a little too thick still. Our cheeks hollowed out from how hard we were sucking, and I wasn’t the only one who found the action suggestive. Foster made eye contact with me, and without blinking he lifted his lips from his straw and licked at some milkshake dripping from the corner of his mouth. I pulled away from my own straw to laugh into my napkin.
“Thanks,” I said.
He furrowed his brows. “For what?”
“For going out with me even though I dumped my depressing story on you. For making me laugh.”
He was about to reply when our food arrived and we set about filling our bellies.
“What made you and Greg decide to open a pet resort?” Foster asked.
“A little money and too much testosterone, probably,” I told him, making him laugh. “No, we both majored in business in college. We were roommates, and we decided we wanted to start our own company. We both loved animals, and the pet care industry was beginning to boom, so that’s what we chose to do. Greg’s family loaned us the start-up cash, and we finished repaying them a few years ago.”
“That’s impressive. It seems pretty successful from what I saw.”
I could feel my skin heating up. Blushing at a compliment about my business? Fuck, I had it so bad for Foster already.
“Thanks.” I took a totally non-suggestive sip of my milkshake. “Tell me about Mariposa. She belongs to a friend of yours in the FBI?”
“Yeah, Malcolm. We’ve been friends for, wow, about six or seven years now.”
“How’d you meet? Was it on a case?” Foster gave a half-shrug and waggled his hand a little. “Sort of.” He wiped his mouth with his napkin and took a drink of water. “I was a traffic cop with Austin PD at the time. I’d pulled over a car because it was weaving a little and I suspected the driver was drunk. He also didn’t have any license plates.” More water. “When I got up to the driver’s window, he pulled out a gun and shot me.”
“What the fuck, Foster!” I exclaimed. “Are you okay?”
“I’m fine. I hardly had time to react though. I was wearing a vest, and I twisted away when I saw the gun, but the bullet caught me on the outside of my arm.” He put his hand over his right bicep. “I barely got my weapon pulled before I was shot. I don’t know if he winged me on purpose, but he could've shot me again and he didn’t. He just drove off.”
“Wow. Were you hurt badly?”
He shook his head. “The bullet gouged my arm pretty good, but I didn’t even spend the night in the hospital. A few days later a patrol cop found the car abandoned a few miles from where I’d been shot. They never found the gun or the guy who shot me.”
“Holy shit. You could have been killed.”
