I laugh, feeling a little awkward. I could tell him what she said, but I don’t want any reason for him to pull away and not let me see the real him. If I tell Foster someone else saw that there’s more to him, he might do exactly that, so I keep quiet.
“She was just telling me how to spot a good kiwi from a bad one.” I place the bag into the cart and walk alongside him. “Let’s get back to the subject at hand—you making me dinner.”
He stops at the meat section and grabs five packages of steak.
My eyes widen. “Are you throwing a party?” He gives me a wicked smile, and I shake my head. “Let me guess.”
“Zinc, iron, B12…”
“Do you have a book somewhere?” I didn’t see one around the condo, but he’s clearly been reading up on what I should be eating during the pregnancy.
“Internet. I have a lot of time on the road.”
“And you don’t want to be a normal guy and just watch porn?”
He shrugs. “Not doing it for me anymore.”
He doesn’t elaborate, and I’m afraid to ask because deep down I know what I want the answer to be—that he feels this intensity between us and could only ever be satisfied by me.
The other night when he was on the road playing Milwaukee, I tried my vibrator, imagining it was him hovering over me. My tongue sliding over his neck tattoos, the growl he’d let out as he came. He looks like a growler. He didn’t when we were together before, but I feel like he would be if he was on top, and we had more time than we did.
“Bread aisle!” I say a little too loudly.
Foster chuckles. “You look a little flushed there.” He tips his head closer to mine. “You thinking about something dirty?”
God yes, and I’d be cutting this grocery trip short if we had the kind of relationship where I could have him whenever I wanted.
“No.” I shake my head and walk ahead of him toward the bread aisle.
He puts a loaf of wheat bread in the cart and then puts a box of sugary cereal in the cart.
“Okay, so I have to eat steak and bananas, and you get what’s practically a bowl of sugar?”
He drops another box of cereal into the cart. “It’s my vice. No apologies.”
“Foster Davis, heartthrob, bad boy, eats the same cereal as a six-year-old.”
“And proud of it.” He flashes me a smile, showing his full mouth of perfect white teeth—all except for one on the right side that’s a little unaligned but somehow adds to his hotness. As though he’s imperfectly perfect.
“If you get that, then I’m buying cookies, and you can’t complain.”
He holds up his hands from the cart. “You can have whatever you want. I told you your cravings are mine to fulfill.”
“I think I’m too early to have any cravings. There hasn’t been anything I’ve wanted so badly I had to have it.”
Liar.
Well, one thing. But we’re not gonna go there.
I turn the corner and almost run right into a little kid. I stop and draw back. He looks up at me, looks scared, and runs off screaming for his mommy.
“Well, that doesn’t bode well for my future.” I frown.
“Our kid is gonna love you.”
I stop, and he strolls right past me. Two words from his statement hit me with a force I wasn’t ready for—our and love. I hurry to catch up while Foster continues shopping as though that sentence wasn’t earth-shattering.
“Oh, stop being so surprised. You’re a likable person. I told you that already.”
