Total pages in book: 83
Estimated words: 79800 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 399(@200wpm)___ 319(@250wpm)___ 266(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 79800 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 399(@200wpm)___ 319(@250wpm)___ 266(@300wpm)
Foster asked me to go with him.
That’s a big damn deal. While it’s not a label, it’s us taking our relationship to a place we’ve yet to take it. Letting those from outside this little bubble into our relationship. It’s a huge deal, massive, and I have no idea what I’m going to wear.
I hear him enter the room, but I don’t turn around. His strong arms wrap around me. “What’s going on in that pretty head of yours?”
“I don’t know what to wear.”
“Is it just me, or is my bed filled with options?” he teases.
“Foster, this is important. You’re taking me to meet your family. I want them to like me.”
“Hey.” He turns me in his arms, and I bury my face in his neck. “I like you. That means they will like you. Besides, what’s not to like?”
“I don’t want to mess this up for you. This is a big deal. I know you don’t take women to meet them, and I’m just me, and I don’t take this privilege lightly.”
“You’re just you? You’re Eden: beautiful, kind, big heart, great kisser, pussy that—”
I let out a squeak and place my hand over his mouth to stop him from saying more. “Stop.” I laugh.
“Eden, today is just another day. My friends are going to love you. I promise you, no one there is going to judge you for what you decide to wear. They’re not like that,” he assures me.
“How much time do I have?”
“As much as you need. We’ll leave when you’re ready.”
“I’ll hurry. Do you mind getting the potato salad and the cheesecake out of the fridge? I’m ready, aside from being dressed.”
“Anything you need,” he says, pressing a kiss to my lips. “I’ll see you downstairs.” He pats my ass, making me laugh, and a satisfied smile tugs at his lips as he leaves the room.
“It’s just a cookout,” I mutter under my breath. Digging through the pile of clothes, I settle on a pair of cutoff jean shorts and a pink tank top. I quickly get dressed, grab my flip-flops, and head downstairs. I find Foster sitting at his island with the bowl of potato salad and the cheesecake I made last night in front of him.
“Ready?” he asks, standing and sliding his phone into his back pocket.
“As I’ll ever be.”
“Babe, you don’t have to go if you don’t want to,” he says, concern in his tone.
“I want to be there with you. I do, I just… It’s hard not to let old rejections shine through.” Deep inside, I’m still that little girl who longed to be seen.
“If anyone understands that, it’s me. But these are my people, and I know them. They’re going to love you. Besides, they can’t wait to meet the woman who’s been making me smile and who finally got me to open up to them about my past.”
“I’m proud of you,” I tell him. I am. In the last several months, Foster has opened up more, smiles more often, and seems lighter, as if the weight of the world is no longer resting on his shoulders. I don’t know if it’s me. It could just be the offseason, which is quickly coming to a close. Whatever the reason, he seems happy.
He makes me happy.
“Come on.” He nods toward the door. “It’s time to show you off.” He winks. My heart flutters in my chest as I follow him out the door.
Fifteen minutes later, we’re pulling up to a massive house. “Wow.”
“I know. Don’t let it intimidate you.”
“They all live in this neighborhood, right?”
“Yeah. They want me to move here, too, but these houses, they’re way too big for just one person.”
“Um, Foster, I think all five of you, with their wives and kids, could live here and be just fine.”
“They’re not that big.” He chuckles. “Stay there. I’ll get your door,” he tells me. However, I don’t listen. I reach for the handle, and I’m stepping out by the time he makes it to my side. “You were supposed to stay put.”
I stick my tongue out at him, and he leans in, but I dodge his kiss. “Nope. You’re not getting me all worked up before introducing me to your friends. Not happening, mister.”
“They’d understand. Trust me,” he says, trying again, but once more, I dodge him. “Fine,” he grumbles, “but I get more kisses when we get home.”
“I can agree to that.” I smile up at him.
He grabs the bowl of potato salad and the cheesecake, refusing my offer to help. He has both of them in one hand, and the other reaches for me. Hand in hand, we make our way to the front door. He doesn’t bother to knock. Instead, he walks right inside and leads us down a hallway that opens into a massive kitchen full of people, and all eyes are on us. I swallow hard and paste what I hope is a friendly smile—not a scared one—on my face and wave awkwardly.