More Than Water (34 page)

Then, there’s my parents’ sudden announcement of a visit tomorrow weighing heavily on my mind.

Nothing like short notice.

Of course, I agreed to meet with them. They’ll be flying in town on business, and they asked that I join a social brunch with potential clients, which I don’t do often, but it’ll be easy enough to attend since the meeting is local. My father does this occasionally to show the human and family side of the company. Apparently, that family aspect is a selling point for some clients.

In this same request for brunch, he also stated that he would like an update on my plans for after I graduate. My parents are aware of my acceptance letters to now four MBA programs. I’m dreading the conversation, having no firm answer.

“How’s it coming?” Foster asks, joining me in the stacks.

“Dandy,” I comment pseudo cheerfully, shelving a book and then joining him at the cart. “All locked up?”

“Yep. Just you, me, and the bound words of a few hundred geniuses.”

“Sounds intelligently creepy.”

“It wasn’t meant to be seductive.” He lowers his voice. “But we are alone.”

“Get to work,” I tease, pulling another volume from the cart. Then, I make my way down the aisle to put it in its proper place. “I don’t want to be here all night.”

“I thought you enjoyed my private company.”

“I do, but I’d rather enjoy it one last time in bed before you leave. And the sooner we’re done here, the sooner we can get there.”

He teases me, “You sound so determined.”

“I am somewhat.”

“Now, you’re being modest.”

“I didn’t even know I possessed that trait.” I lean a hip against a series of books perched on metal shelves.

“You always have. You’re just now learning to embrace it.” He eases a book into its proper place.

“Don’t tell anyone. I wouldn’t want my reputation to be tainted.”

“Never.” Foster picks up a book, ponders its cover for some time, and then adjusts the dark-framed lenses over his face. “Evelyn?”

“Yes, Fozzie?” I reply, unabashedly staring.

He’s so fucking sexy. Who knew that geek was my type?
Maybe it isn’t, but Foster certainly is.

“When I get back from visiting my sister”—he rests the book back in the cart—“I was wondering if maybe you’d like to come with me to meet my family.”

“I already met your parents,” I say, closing the distance between us.

“A drive-by at a wedding doesn’t really count. I was thinking, I’d like for you to meet them more formally, like for dinner possibly.”

“You make it sound like we’re a serious couple,” I tease.

“Is that a problem?” he quickly quips back.

“No. I take you very seriously.”

“The feeling is mutual.” He slips his palm to my lower back and tugs me close. “My family is a little…different, but I don’t want you to be scared. They’re really down-to-earth.”

“Now, you have me curious.” I circle my arms around his waist. “Is there something I need to know?”

“Not anything of importance.” He seals his chest to mine. “We can talk about it when I get back.”

“You know, your vagueness will be your detriment.”

“How so?”

“My imagination is very vivid.” I kiss his temptingly kissable lips. “You’re not part of a mafia family, are you?”

He laughs. “No, nothing like that. We’re just normal everyday people.”

“With giant brains, I assume?”

“Now, that is an insult. Giant doesn’t even come close. They’re gargantuan.”

“Of course. My mistake.”

He playfully smacks my ass, and we both get back to work, making a dent in the pile of returns that need to be shelved before we can leave for the night.

“So,” Foster begins, “you’re meeting with your parents tomorrow?”

“Yes. So nice of them to spring a surprise visit on me.”

“Do they do that often?”

“No. My father has some business he needs to attend to in town, and I get to reap the rewards of that.”

Crouching down to the bottom section of the cart, Foster says, “I never asked, but what kind of work does your father do?”

I thumb through the pages of a book, contemplating how much to divulge. Knowledge of wealth changes opinions so quickly, and I’m not sure if I’m ready for Foster to know that part of me just yet. I don’t plan to keep it a secret forever, but maybe after I meet his parents would be a suitable time to reveal that portion of my life.

“He’s in a kind of public relations,” I tell him vaguely, leaving out that it’s one of the largest international firms in the business. “Advertising mostly.”

Foster examines me, confused.

He opens his mouth to speak and then quickly shuts it, shaking his head.

His perplexity fades away.

“That must be where you get your creativity from,” he states.

“Possibly.”

“Are you excited at all to see them?”

“Not really. I’m just hoping it goes by with little friction. They want to discuss grad school.”

“And what do you plan to tell them?”

“Not sure.” I smooth my hands across the front of my skirt. “I’m hoping to put it off a little longer, if possible.”

“Why don’t you just tell them you don’t want to go?”

I chuckle. “That’s funny.”

“I’m serious.”

“It’s complicated and…”

“You do realize you’re an adult and you can make your own decisions?”

“Decisions come with the risk of consequences,” I echo back.

“Or with the risk of happiness,” he counters. “Just look at you and me.”

“True. You were a great decision.” I smile. “Anyhow, it should be a short visit. They’re planning to head south afterwards to go on vacation.”

“Sounds exotic.”

“Maybe.” I slide a blue book onto the shelf. “So, what time is your flight tomorrow?” I ask, referring to his family trip to Georgia to visit his sister, Camille.

She recently had a baby, and they’re all going down to meet the new arrival.

“Around two. I’m meeting up with my parents, and we’re all going to the airport together.”

“You must be excited to see your nephew.”

“I am. And Camille. I told her about you.”

“I hope it was all horrible and nasty stuff.”

“Absolutely. Nothing but the truth.” He scratches the side of his head. “Maybe you’ll get to meet her one day.”

“That would be nice.”

Grabbing the second to last book, I exit the aisle and enter into another row, on the opposite side of where Foster still remains.

“How many days will you be gone again?” I ask through the empty space over the lined up volumes on the shelf.

“Just a few,” he answers. “I was planning to be back for your show at the end of the week.”

“Well, that’s still up in the air.”

“I’m sure you’ll make it happen,” he says encouragingly. Foster peeks through the shelves. “Do you have any idea what you’re going to do yet?”

“No,” I grumble. “I’m still waiting for that miraculous moment of inspiration that’s supposed to come to all artists.”

“You’re waiting for a miracle?”

“Is that too much to ask?”

Foster walks down to the end of the row, rounds the tall stack, and joins me where I shove the final volume away.

“You know,” Foster says like he’s beginning a lesson plan, “scientists believe there’s an explanation for everything, and miracles are simply a myth. People just need to know where to look.”

“Is that right?” I mock. “Then, tell me where to look. I’m open to suggestions.”

“You’re grouchy,” he teases, sliding his palm around my waist. “Maybe what you really need is a healthy dose of oxytocin.”

“Of what?”

“It’s a pleasure chemical.”

“You know I love it when you talk nerdy to me,” I jest at his playfulness. “Forget dirty wordsmithery. Science is where it’s at.”

“Is that so?”

I nod.

“You could also benefit from a little serotonin,” he utters in a seductive tone at my ear.

“Keep talking.”

“Dopamine.” He trails his warm tongue along the length of my neck.

“That’s so fucking sexy.”

“You’re not kidding, are you?” Foster nips at my chin. “You really like this?”

“Shut up.” I grab his ass, tugging him against me. “What else do you have?”

“Endorphins.” His mouth seals to mine. “Lots of endorphins.” He kisses me soft and slow, like a drawn-out dream playing across my lips.

“What are they?”

“An endurance chemical that keeps me going all”—his lips press to my neck—“night”—his fingers slide under the fabric of my shirt—“long.” His palm cups my breast.

“I love endorphins,” I sigh, unfastening his belt buckle as he continues to slay the sensitive skin on my throat. “Bless endorphins and all their dorphi-ness.”

“You might be more partial to oxytocin.”

“Oh, yeah?” Unbuttoning his pants, I reach down into his shorts and grip his ready erection. “What does that do?”

He grunts. “I’ll show you.”

Foster dips his palms under the hem of my skirt and trails his hands along my thighs. He hooks his fingers around the elastic of my panties, pulling downward until gravity takes them. I step out of the small piece of fabric while he tries to make haste of my top.

“Aren’t there security cameras we need to worry about?” I question, mid lift of my shirt.

He peers over both shoulders, scanning the walls and ceiling. Hauling me up by my ass, he carries me about ten feet to the left and into a shadowed portion of the stacks. Foster assesses the area one more time and then continues where he left off, relieving me of my blouse.

“We’re out of view here,” he states, unhooking my bra. “It’ll be our little secret.”

“I’ve never had sex in a library before,” I admit, helping his pants and boxers find their way to the floor.

“You think we’re going to have sex?”

“Why else would we be taking off our clothes?”

He tightens his mouth, withholding his enjoyment.

“Don’t you tease me, Foster Blake.”

He grabs my thighs, wraps them around his waist, and then presses me firmly to the bound volumes at my back. I hold tight to his shoulders as he tauntingly slides his length through my folds.

“Do you mean like this?” he asks.

“No.” I bite my lip, struggling with patience. “Not like that.”

“What do you mean then?”

“You…in me…now.”

He chuckles against my cheek. “I love you and your crazy mouth.”

“And I love you inside me.”

As if it were a command, Foster finds my waiting entrance and thrusts himself deep into me.

“Like that?” he asks at my hair, slowly pushing in and out of me.

“Yes,” I respond, breathless. “Just like that.”

Foster presses his lips to mine and seduces my tongue with his own as we make love among the words of geniuses, their thoughts and ideas stamped in the pages surrounding us. I savor his taste and the comfort of his body commingling with my own, taking solace in the relationship that I don’t think either of us ever fathomed. I’m not sure how or when it happened, but this man snuck his way into my heart. He’s the answer to the questions I never thought to ask.

We gyrate our hips in unison, steadily letting the heat coarse between us. I cling to his shoulders when the euphoric sizzle grows from within and spreads throughout my entire system. Foster pounds into me hard and fast when I grip his hair and call out his name, shattering around him. He grunts loudly, reaching his own climax.

I love that sound.

“Do you feel that?” he asks, holding me close.

“It’s challenging to miss.”

“No, not this.” He moans, pushing deep inside me for emphasis. “The way your skin feels like it’s battling hot and cold? The way you can’t catch your breath?” Foster caresses the space where my heart lies. “And the warmth pounding from here?”

I smile, savoring all the sensations he’s describing. “Yeah, I feel it.”

“That’s oxytocin being released through your system.”

“You make it all sound so mechanical,” I utter, humored. “Like there’s an equation or formula for everything.”

“There is for the physical part.” He touches his forehead to mine. “But I don’t think there could ever be a formula to define what makes you and me.”

“EJ!” Chandra calls as I slip on the second emerald earring. “Your ride’s here.”

“Coming!” I shout back, shrugging into a light jacket. Then, I grab the coordinating clutch from my dresser.

My mother was kind enough to have them both delivered for today’s brunch, still making sure I dress the part even though I’m clearly an adult. At least she takes the guesswork out of what she expects. I will give her that. I found the package with the new items on my bed when I arrived home from Foster’s place earlier this morning.

I exit my room and make my way to where Chandra is standing at the door with the formally dressed driver peeking across the threshold.

“That’s really pretty,” Chandra comments. “Your mom certainly does have good taste.”

“Thanks,” I say, stepping into the hallway. “I’m sure she just hired a personal shopper. I’ll see you later.”

“Later.”

We wave good-bye and then the driver and I descend the steps to the car waiting at the curb. He opens the door, and I slide into the black interior. I greet my mother sitting on the far side of the vehicle, examining her nails.