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“Better,” he says. “Grilled cheese with bacon and tomato soup.”

“
Your
tomato soup?” My mouth is already watering.

“You know it.”

Don’t I ever. Man, I could so get used to this treatment.

My heart clenches knowing when our time runs out, I’m going to be in a world of hurt.

Foster

That smug, preppy ass mother fucker. It appears I’m going to pay for an entire lifetime of bad karma this summer. I mean, how the hell am I supposed send her off to work every day to that guy?

Jake—what kind of name is that anyway? Pretentious. That’s what kind of name it is. And perfect for Jules.

Don’t fuck this up for me,
she said. I’m starting to think she meant more than the internship. Maybe she meant the guy too. Christ knows how many of her relationships I’ve sabotaged in the past for my own selfish purposes.

I look at her sleeping in the bedroom now. So peaceful, beautiful. Perfect. Maybe she really does belong with a Jake. The two of them could be attorneys, live in the burbs, pop out a few kids, and have a great life. Better than anything I could offer her.

Everyone thinks I’m a fuck-up because of the drinking, the drugs, the women. But I don’t have a problem with any of that stuff. It’s guilt, distraction, weakness…it’s also helped me stay away from Jules, or at least to stop our relationship from taking the course we both want it to. Because if I did that, Noah would tell Jules that we were only dating a few weeks before I cheated on her. With my best friend’s girlfriend. He’d say I’m a lowlife who doesn’t deserve her.

He’d be right.

~~~

The next day I hold it together. It’s pretty damn impressive if I do say so. I get Jules off to work in the morning and pick her up in the evening without any comments about the douchebag. We share stories about work, eat dinner together, and fall into an easy pattern. A
friendly
pattern, of the platonic sort.

I may not be happy about that, but living with Jules is about as good as it gets. I’m learning all kinds of new things about her. Things I never knew, like she brushes her teeth like seven times a day, she’s incredibly passionate about recycling, and she only watches the news on PBS, which she tells me is the only reliable source of information.

And when she’s not completely doped up on pain medication, she needs to read to fall asleep. Her bedside table is piled with books. Everything from mystery and romance to sci-fi and classics. Last night she was having a hard time propping up her worn paperback of
Gone with the Wind
.

“I read it every summer,” she told me.

“How do I not know this?” I asked her, floored there was so much I didn’t know.

“Because I am a deep and complicated soul?” She grinned.

“You’re something,” I countered.

“Here.” She shoved the book in my face. “Read to me?”

Reading a book was one thing I never expected to do in bed with Jules. But I did it. She curled up next to me and I read all about Scarlett O'Hara and Rhett Butler. I read until her breathing slowed. I read when her eyes finally fell shut. And then I read some more just because.

I loved every second.

Jules

“You work too hard, Jules,” Mr. D. says, walking into my cubicle.

I’ve been putting the finishing touches on an important brief and it’s taking longer than I would like, with the typing one-handed and all. So I plan to eat lunch at my desk and bring work home in the evening to keep up.

Actually lunch is the favorite part of my workday. Foster sent me off with a brownbag this morning with a ridiculous name on it. It proudly reads:
Miss O’Hara.
What’s inside is even better: a turkey, pear, and brie sandwich with homemade kettle chips and a very large and orgasmic-looking brownie.

“Well, I’m still a little slow with this.” I hold up my hand for Mr. D.

“Not your fault,” he says. “And this is an internship, it’s not like we’re paying you millions. You are more than we could ever hope for this summer, a perfect fit for D and D. Anyway, I wanted to pop in and tell you that and to take it easy.”

“Okay,” I tell him. “I will.”

He pats me on the back and I settle in for lunch at my desk, knowing I won’t let up. At least not for a while, anyway. Plus, it’s not like I have a lot going on in the evenings. With Tabby gone and Foster keeping his hands to himself, I need something to keep me busy.

Right now I’ll settle for that orgasmic brownie.

~~~

I get back to work and two hours fly by before I have another guest.

“How’s the hand, little lady?” Jake asks. He has not let up since the first day, checking in on me, walking me down to Foster in the evening, bringing me coffee. I hate to admit it, but it’s nice.

“A lot better actually,” I tell him, honestly.

“Happy to hear it,” he says. “So in that case, I was thinking I could start making it up to you.”

I raise an eyebrow, my brain on high alert.

“No, not like that.” He laughs. “Get your mind out of the gutter, Taylor. I was thinking I could have you work on one of my top custody cases—Robins v. Robins. I’m in court next week, and you are welcome to sit in. Experience the wonder of the United States’ legal system.”

Excitement runs through me, this would be amazing for my resume. “Really? You’d do that? What about Mr. D.? Think he’d agree?”

Jake gives me one of his killer smiles. “Yes, yes, and yes. I already talked to Mr. D., as you call him, and he thinks it’s a great idea. The only thing is, I’ll need to bring you up to speed fast. That means your lunches and a few evenings are mine until we go to court.”

“Done,” I tell him.

“Okay then, we start tomorrow.”

~~~

The meds continue to knock me on my ass, so I wait until I get home to take them. And that usually means an evening nap. Groggy, I pad out into the living room. My blanket is still wrapped around me and I’m holding it with my good hand.

“Okay, Little Chef,” I hear coming from the TV, followed by some French music.

I sigh at the cutest scene in my living room. Foster is curled up on the couch with a big bowl of popcorn watching
Ratatouille
. The big, tough man.

I move in, wanting to get me some of that.

The man and the popcorn.

Without taking his eyes from the movie, Foster opens his arms for me to nestle in.

I do, gladly.

“This is my favorite part,” he says, once I lean back against him.

Foster holds the popcorn out to me and I shovel in a handful. When it dissolves in my mouth, I almost moan. It’s seasoned with parm and some spices I can’t quite recognize. Even his popcorn is fantastic.

We watch as the little rat tries to teach the goofy boy to cook. Surprisingly, it’s a really good movie—what I see of it anyway—when I’m not melting in Foster’s arms or daydreaming about his hands moving lower.

When the movie ends, it seems neither one of us wants to move. We stay there curled up in each other. For this first time since this all happened, I almost thankful I broke my arm. Happy to have Foster close, thrilled to have him taking care of me, hoping it might turn into more.

“You would be great at that, you know,” I tell him.

“What? Cooking? I’m already great at it.”

“No, running a restaurant. Your own place.”

“Me? Come on. I’m not entrepreneur material. Plus, aren’t you the one always harping on me because I don’t have my shit together? You think I could run a restaurant?”

“Yes, I do. The reason I tell you to get your shit together, is because I know you can do so much better.”

“You say I run from responsibility.”

“Well, you have in the past, but look at you now. Taking care of me. Your apprenticeship. You step up with things you care about. Maybe you haven’t cared enough in the past.”

“Maybe I do better in the shadows of someone else. I’m the fuck-up, remember? The party guy. ”

“Not true. I know that’s what you choose to believe. That’s where you’re most comfortable, but you’ve never been in the shadows, Foster. You’re more like an eclipse. You outshine everyone in the room, wherever you are.”

“When was the last time you had your pain meds?” He laughs.

“It’s not the meds talking, dumbass. I’m being serious here.”

“Yeah, well, that sounds more like my dad. He was a dreamer, risk-taker, and look where that got him. I think I’ll stick to the sure thing.”

“You’re not him, Foster.”

Why can’t he see that?

Foster

I spend the day running around like I’m batshit crazy—I drop Jules off, work at the restaurant, run errands, and stop by the Center to make sure the kids know I haven’t forgotten them.

I’ve volunteered at New Day Counseling Center ever since Noah kicked me out of our apartment. Though I did spend a few months sulking and drinking first. Then I found something better. A place where I could be useful. I work with kids who lost someone due to drinking or drugs—overdose, accidents, drunk driving.

While the parents and older siblings go to the Center for counseling and group meetings, I keep the younger kids entertained. We play games, hang out, and eat whatever treats I bring in. But sometimes it gets deep and we talk about what brought them in. That was the case last week—it’s also what sent me on my drinking binge. I admit it, I can’t stand to see kids cry. It messes me up.

This afternoon, I could only stay a few minutes before I had to be back at D and D, and that’s left me a little edgy. I know I could’ve told Jules and she would have insisted I pick her up later, but she doesn’t know about the Center and I’m not ready to share that bit of information yet. It’d feel like I was only doing it for good PR or something—slimy and contrived.

Similar to the situation going on in the apartment right now.

Jules is giggling in the other room at something
Jake
said. Apparently they’re working on a case together.

Working, my ass.

Jules is whip-smart and incredibly talented, but I know this asshole has an ulterior motive. He wants Jules, simple as that. And he thinks this is the way to get her.

I’m afraid he might be right.

Yet here I am hiding out in Tabby’s room like a fucking pussy. This is what got me in trouble in the first place. Always worrying I’m not good enough, making my life’s decisions based on what someone else thinks of me. No more. Of course, I’m not giving up on Jules, but I have to get my shit together first. It’s the only way. Then the next step will be to convince Noah.

I work on a few new recipes to show Chef Paul this week. He seemed pretty receptive to it. Though I should be in the kitchen doing this instead of writing on a pad of paper, but since douchebag is in there…

Fuck it.

I need the kitchen to do this, and I need to put
my
career first. Just like Jules.

When I walk out of Tab’s room, they both stare in my direction. I hold up my hands. “Don’t mind me, just doing some work in the kitchen.”

Douchebag makes a comment under his breath I can’t hear, no doubt an insult. I do, however, hear Jules’ response.

“He’s training to be a chef,” she explains. “One of the best in the city.”

Touché fuckface!

“No problem, Foster,” he says. “Go at ’er.”

What an ass!

“Thanks,” I reply. “I will.” I put my headphones on and get to work.

In the span of two hours, I make four new dishes. Four incredibly expensive dishes. I’m not even sure my first check will cover the expense of the ingredients. Amazingly enough, I’m able to push Jules and fuckface out of my head the entire time. It feels incredible. But not nearly as good as the hand sliding up my back right now.

I turn into Jules and she removes the buds from my ears.

“Are you trying to torture me?” she asks.

“Maybe, why?”

“My mouth is watering from the smells coming from in here.”

“Where’s lawboy?” I ask, looking around.

“He left. We’re done for the night.”

“Hmph. I didn’t even see him leave.”

“I know, you’ve been in the zone back here,” she says. “So do you need a taste tester?”

“Always,” I say, chomping at the bit to have her try these new recipes. Well, actually I’m more excited about feeding her.

I pick her up and set her on the counter. My fingers burn when they touch her hips, and it takes every bit of will-power I have not to nestle my body into those hips now that she’s at the perfect height for me.

“Let’s do it up. You’ve been off your pills for more than twenty-four hours, right?”

“Yep, I’m drug-free, baby.”

“Okay, then I have two bottles open to enhance your experience, my lady. White and red.” I pace the length of the kitchen trying to decide what I should feed her first. Deciding on the scallops, I pull out several small plates from the cabinet and I begin to feed her.