“Your place should be ready to get back into by this evening.”
I stare at Foster with a mixture of disbelief and awe because I know, without his help, there’s no way in hell I would have been able to juggle everything and get it accomplished in this kind of timeframe.
Without even turning my way, he mutters, “Stop looking at me like that.”
“Like what?”
“Like I did something out of the ordinary.” It almost sounds like there’s a hint of embarrassment in his tone.
Batting my eyelashes at him, I put my hand over my heart, making my voice high-pitched. “But, Aladdin! You used one of your three wishes to help me in my time of need.” I start humming the movie’s theme song, “A Whole New World,” and it isn’t until we’re at the final stoplight before we arrive at the office that he turns to me. His expression is dark, and he’s glaring at me. Except one tiny thing is off.
His eyes. Those whiskey brown eyes are different. There’s a lightness present in them which isn’t normally there. Well, okay, unless he’s with his sister or mother, of course. His eyes hold mine, and he shakes his head, making a dismissive sound before turning back to the road once the light turns green.
As we pull in and park in the office lot, I release my seatbelt. Just as my hand sets on the door release to open it, I hear him mutter, “Ten thousand years will give you such a crick in the neck.”
My jaw slackens because… Holy shit.
Foster Kavanaugh just quoted the Genie in the movie, Aladdin.
Chapter Thirteen
Foster
It’s only noon and I already feel like calling it a day. Which is not at all like me, but this day seems like it was hardwired to suck.
I’m putting off returning a call from some dude who claims to need to speak with me about being the sole beneficiary of Hendy’s life insurance policy. Like I want anything? I want my fucking friend back, damn it. But that’s not the entire reason I’m not calling the guy back; I’ve got so much shit going on right now it isn’t even remotely funny. I’m juggling getting the security system installed in Noelle’s place now that the cleaning crew managed to get the mess taken care of and I have ordered replacements for Noelle’s, uh, intimates.
Yeah. My man card nearly got revoked by phrasing it that way. But it sounds a lot less creepy than saying I ordered a slew of bras, panties, and sleepwear for my office manager because that right there—creepy as fuck.
I plan on taking her to the grocery store so she can load up a bunch of groceries before I bring her home. I want to inspect everything inside, especially the locks and alarm system, and show her how it all works.
On top of that, I get a call from my mother and it goes something like this:
“Hey, Ma.”
“Foster Bryant Kavanaugh! Why do I have to hear about this from your sister? Is Noelle all right?”
That’s right. No happy greeting for her eldest—and only—son.
“Yeah, I’m doing great and my day’s going all right, thanks for asking. And I love you, too, Ma.” I can’t help it. I love the woman, but I have to give her shit. That’s just my style.
She lets out a long, slow exhale on the other end of the phone. “You know I love you more than anything in the world, Foster. But I—”
“More than Laney? Go ahead. You can say it.” I can’t resist the smirk that creeps over my face because I love doing this to my mother.
“Fosterrrrrr.” She drags out my name and gives a quick huff of a laugh. “If you’re deflecting like this, that means Noelle’s in pretty serious trouble. Am I right?”
I dart a quick glance over to the woman in question sitting a few feet away at her desk. “Yep. But I’ve got it under control.”
“Bring her over tonight for dinner. Please, honey pie?”
Honey pie. Thank God she doesn’t say that shit in front of the guys.
“Will do. Hoping to finish up by about five thirty, six o’clock. Knock on wood.”
“I’ll make some lasagna rolls and have some prosciutto ready.” She pauses, and it’s enough of a pause for me to know two things:
My mind has already gone back to last night when I witnessed Noelle eat prosciutto and cheese, appearing as though she were about to orgasm right then and there.
My mother’s up to something. Likely, whatever she says next will be a “fishing expedition” of sorts.
“So … she spent the night at your house?” Yep. She’s fishing all right.
“Ma. I’m at work.” I try to cut her off. But, again, this woman knows me. And I swear I can hear the smile in her voice when she responds next.
“Ah. I see.”
I roll my eyes. Because even though Ma knows much of what I’ve been through, she doesn’t know everything and she still wants the whole happily ever after shit for me.
“Nothing to see, Ma.” I attempt a stern tone.
“Foster Bryant.” She sighs. “You like her. Don’t deny it. But please tell me you respected her last night and didn’t do your little manwhoring business?”