More (3 page)

“Come by the house,” Tabby yells out the window. “Jules is putting on a fashion show.”

Who could say no to that? Not me. I rev my engine and follow them to the apartment.

~~~

“The place looks killer,” I tell Tabby when we walk in. It really is the perfect blend of their two personalities. Soft and elegant like Tab and funky and fiery like Jules—who is still clearly pissed at me.

“Show me your room,” I pick up Jules in a cradle and walk her through the door, despite her surprisingly hard punches to my chest.

Showtime.

“Foster Sutton,” Jules hisses. “If you don’t put me down right now, I will give you a replay of my knee to your balls. This time in slow motion.”

“Hey now, Jules.” I try to lighten the mood. “No need to get violent. I know you’re pissed at me and I can only assume it’s from yesterday,” I say. “Which, I might add, I don’t remember. I went black at about four o’clock.”

“Of course you did,” she snaps.

“It was one last hurrah after my last final,” I lie, not wanting to go into my real reason for downing half a bottle of Jameson. “I told you, I’m on the straight and narrow now, and I promise, no more hitting on you or begging for one last hook-up. I want to be your friend and not some asshole trying to get into your pants.”

“That’s not what you said last night.”

“I’m saying it now. I’m sober and plan to stay that way. I have my own internship this summer and I need to be coherent.”

“What?” Jules asks, this time with a smile. She really does care about me. Even now, when she’s pissed, it doesn’t stop her from being happy for me. I want to kiss her. Badly. Pick her up and throw her on the bed and smother her with my mouth until there’s no part of her left untouched.

Get it together, man.

“You’re looking at the new apprentice to Chef Paul at that little bistro in Uptown. I start tomorrow.”

“Foster.” Jules wraps her tiny arms around my waist.

I breathe her in. I can smell the herbs on her. The lavender from her bath and the mint on her breath—she’s been drinking tea.

“I’m so proud of you.” She reaches up to kiss me on the cheek.

“I should say the same.” I kiss her back. “Our own little Ally McBeal.”

“We should celebrate. Let me cook for you,” I blurt.

She gives me a confused look.

Slow down, you’re scaring her.

“After the fashion show, let me cook something for you and Tabby.”

There we go. Add the best friend into the plans—good recovery, Sutton.

“Can’t,” Jules says. “We’re continuing our girls’ time with movies.”

“Okay, what about tomorrow night? I can show you what I learned after one day on the job.”

“No can do, big guy.” She frowns, but doesn’t seem to be all that upset. “We’re going out tomorrow. Tabby’s leaving for Illinois on Sunday to spend some time with her family before summer semester starts. So we’re having our own last hurrah.”

“Oh, maybe—”

“Noah’s coming with us,” she interrupts.

Shut down.

“Ah,” I say. There’s no way the noble master would approve of having me along—not to mention my deal with him. After the accident, and after everything came out, I promised I’d stay clear of Jules. Friendship with Jules, nothing more, is what I agreed to. It’s that, or Noah tells Jules what really happened between Jenna and me. If that were to happen, there’d be nothing left of our relationship. I’d rather have Jules this way than not at all. No matter how much it sucks.

“Maybe next week then,” I say, trying not to look sad and pathetic. “Now let’s get this fashion show going.”

The next thirty minutes progress with oohs and aahs from Tabby. Meanwhile, I’m stuck trying to adjust myself every few minutes so Jules doesn’t know exactly how I feel about seeing her all career-sexy.

For the finale, she comes out in a casual sundress and I about lose my shit.

Tabby stands. “And this.” She waves her hands over Jules. “Is for casual Fridays at the office.”

Jules rolls her eyes.

“Sweater
on
during the day.” Tabby pats her arms, before sliding the sweater off Jules’ shoulders. She’s enjoying herself, making a big production out of it. “Sweater
off
for our Friday nights on the town.”

Tabby laughs and Jules is now visibly blushing.

“What’s the matter, Foster?” Tabby teases. “Need a tissue for all that drool?”

I snap my mouth shut.

Though I’ve seen Jules in much less, there’s something about this dress that’s so unbelievably hot. It fits her tiny body perfectly, but isn’t slutty or overdone—like most of Ash’s wardrobe. She is the epitome of feminine as the dress hugs each delicate curve perfectly. The material is soft cotton and I imagine running my hands over it, over her, unzipping the back, and letting it pool on the floor. Taking her—

Tabby’s clapping jerks me out of my reverie.

“Yes, this is perfect to wear tomorrow,” Tabby says as she releases Jules’ dark waves from the tail she had it secured in. The silky curls drape across her shoulders and Tabby fusses with them.

It’s almost my undoing.

“There,” Tabby adds. “A little gloss for your lips and done and done.” She swipes one hand across the other, clearly proud of herself.

All I can think about is some jackoff at the bar pawing at Jules.

There’s no way I’m going to let that happen. It’s just that simple. I guess I have plans for tomorrow night after all.

Jules

After Foster leaves, taking the last of my pride with him, we finish the night watching old Hitchcock films. Tab said I deserved a reward and I can’t argue. Not only the shopping and hair, but making me try on all those clothes for Foster was beyond embarrassing.

The funny thing is, it didn’t seem like he minded all that much. Some of the time he appeared to be enjoying himself. God, I love him in those moments, when there’s no stress and he’s just himself. I hope he makes the straight and narrow work this time. I hate to see him waste his talents.

I try to concentrate on the movie, but Noah’s calls and texts to Tabby interrupt all the best parts—like when Tippi is being pecked to hell by the birds. And with all the buzzing of his incoming love messages, I’m having a hard time enjoying the blood and gore.

Noah Adler is Tab’s boyfriend and Editor-in-Chief of our college paper. Foster and I grew up with him and he’s a pretty amazing guy. Most importantly, he is Fred Astaire to Tabby’s Ginger Rogers. The two are ridiculously gorgeous and completely hot for each other.

“All right, lady,” I yell at her. “Go already.”

“What do you mean?” she asks, looking up from her phone.

“Go to your man.” I wink.

“No,” she says rather unconvincingly. “What about our girls-go-boring day? This is our special time together.”

“You’ve been with me since nine a.m. Go. Plus, I want to watch the ending in peace without the incessant vibrating of your phone—it’s reminding me of Henry, and I’m out of batteries, so actually you’re giving me blue balls.”

“Are you sure?”

“Completely.”

“Okay then,” she agrees. “But we all have a date tomorrow night.”

“I’ll be ready,” I say, giving her a tight squeeze when she hugs me goodnight. “Thanks for everything today, Tab.”

“You did good.” She kisses the top of my head before dashing out to the love of her life.

That look in her eyes does something to me in the moment, and I decide it’s time. Time for me to find someone to put that look in
my
eyes. Foster and I are friends and he’s made it perfectly clear that’s where we’re staying—the dreaded friend zone—so it’s stupid to keep waiting on him.

Yes, it is past time I find someone. I flip my new hairstyle from side to side. I can do this.

The search begins—tomorrow.

Foster

Jules sends me a good luck text in the morning as I get ready for my first day at the bistro. I smile, knowing she’s thinking about me.

I clock my time on the motorcycle: from the parking lot, over the river, through the neighborhoods, into Uptown, to the staff lot outside of Paul’s Bistro. Nineteen minutes. I may be a fuck-up, but I’m a punctual fuck-up.

A skinny red-head meets me at the door.

“Foster?” he asks.

“Yeah,” I say. “Are you Jared?”

“The one and only.” He grins, nodding so much his hair flops all over.

Goofy dude.

“Chef Paul said you’d get me set up today.”

“You bet,” he says, leading me inside.

We walk through the quaint European-style restaurant filled with small tables. They’ve made great use of the space. The beige walls are covered in artwork and there are flowers and candles everywhere. It’s warm and inviting—definitely a place you’d want to take a date.

Jared seems like a good guy, cracking jokes throughout the tour and introducing me to staff along the way. I like it here already.

I follow him outside to the courtyard, the best part of the place. This is where I had my interview with Chef Paul. There’s a garden and lights strung overhead.

“So Keesha tells me to watch myself,” Jared says. “She said you’ll be running this place in a week.”

My friend Keesha worked with me at my last restaurant, a funky burger joint in Northeast Minneapolis. Paul is her uncle and I’m not ashamed to say Keesha got me this gig.

“No,” I tell him. “I’m just here to work. I have no interest in running anything.”

I mean it.

I can’t afford to be sucked into a delusion. I watched my dad with all his
big
plans too many times to go down that road. I’ll stick to safe, dependable. Unlike Dad, who died chasing dreams.

When I was in junior high, my poor old man had another one of his money-making schemes underway, refurbing old cars and selling them for a profit. But like most of his get-rich-quick plans, everything was done half-assed—shoddy equipment, inexperienced mechanics, zero money management. Dad was killed when a faulty vehicle lift dropped the car he was working on.

As a kid, I was devastated. We didn’t have the best family life—Mom and Dad fought a lot over money and the time he spent away from us—but my little brother, Tristan, and I adored our dad. As an adult, I’ve become more jaded and all I can do is shake my head at the fucking tragedy—not about the way he died, but the way he lived. He wasted so much time wanting more.

Before Dad died, we lived on the reservation for a few years. It was no picnic, for Mom especially. Being an outsider, she never really fit in. None of us did. And that shit stays with you. If you are always a burden and never really belong, it’s imprinted on you—deeper than my tattoo. Even if you’re too young to understand.

Maybe that’s why I’ve never felt worthy of Jules.

When I met her, she was this spitfire—tiny and determined. Confident is what she was, and that starts with your family. Jules was loved big time. Brought into this word with the promise of all its prizes. She had everything waiting at her fingertips.

Until her Dad left. It was the one thing we had in common—a missing father figure. It’s probably what brought us together.

I only wish I could find something to keep us that way.

Jared pulls me out of my trip down memory lane as he ushers me into the kitchen. It’s gleaming in all the stainless steel glory. I immediately feel at home and welcome the work as we start prepping for the night’s dinner menu.

The day flies by and at the end of my shift, I have all the essentials: the door code since I’ll be coming in before open to prep, my uniform, locker, and schedule for the week.

For the first time in years, things finally feel right.

Jules

“Wow,” Noah says when I walk into the living room wearing my tightest black leather skirt and highest black boots.

“Watch it, big fella,” I tell him. “Your girlfriend is in the other room.” I wink. As if. Anyone who looks at Noah and Tab knows they only have eyes for each other. There’s no room for anything (or anyone) else between them. I hate that I sometimes feel the pangs of jealousy when I’m hanging out with them. Still, it’s almost comforting in a way.

Especially when I know I could be next.

“Whoa,” Tabby says when she joins us. “What happened to the sexy sundress? Don’t get me wrong, you look like a little Goth pin up, but why the change?”

“I just figured I have all summer to be a buttoned-up goodie. Once the internship starts, it’s corporate suits and proper grown-up clothes. This might be one of my last nights as me.”

“Unless you decide to give up law and follow your passion.” Tabby nudges me. “You could wear whatever you want as a photographer, you know.”

“You sound like Foster.” I wave her off. “Plus, unless you want to support me for the next few years, I need a career with the possibility of making some real money. This poor college student bullshit is wearing on my last nerve. Not to mention, I will break some balls as an attorney and you know it. I’ll single-handedly wipe out all the pervs in this city.” I point my finger at the two of them. “You know I will.”