Page 39 of Race to Me

Finding out that Envy had drugged him infuriated me. He obviously knows because he kicked her out. So why didn’t he tell me? Both of our actions were stupid, obviously. But can I fault him for warning me not to go around his house when the people he hangs around do shit like that?

I’m hurt by what he did, but I don’t blame him. Anyone that blames someone who’s been drugged is part of the problem, and I’m not down for that. I just want him to open up to me.

Honesty.

Just to put the flirtation aside slightly... so we can open up to each other. But his dimples make that hard, and I know I want to kiss him again.

I hear his bike before he pulls in the drive, and my heart jumps at the sound.

“There’s a motorcycle pulling up the driveway.” Mrs. Rita announces as she passes my room with a wide grin on her face.

“Remember not to mention my birthday!” I beg her, not wanting to make Foster feel awkward or anything.

I rush out and fix my hair while I glide down the stairs, slowing when I get closer to the door so he doesn’t see how eager I am to see him. He comes to a stop just as I step out onto the porch.

I move to stand in the driveway while he kicks the stand down and takes his helmet off. He whistles while shaking his hair into a mess of tousled perfection. “Looks different in the daylight.” Foster says with a smirk. “This place is ridiculously big. Do you ever get lost in it?”

I shake my head with a tight smile. “Yeah, I’m always lost.”

Anyone who looks at my life would say it’s perfect, but that’s how it’s always been. I can’t blame him for not knowing; I hide things well.

“I called Kate,” Foster tells me, and I bite my lip nervously. “I wanted to give you something as a peace offering, and she said you’re obsessed with lattes,” He gestures to the bike, and I notice a ruffling sound in his jacket along with a sliver of clear plastic. “I couldn’t get you one on here, so this was the next best thing.”

Unzipping his jacket, he reveals more of the plastic. It was encasing a bouquet of tulips. No one’s ever gotten me flowers before, and the gesture melts me instantly. I almost feel like my legs will give out from my inner swooning.

They’re half broken and sad looking, but that’s why I love them.

Under his signature leather jacket, he’s wearing a black hoodie, one that I already plan on stealing if we figure out whatever this ... is.

We walk through the large front door, and I point to his riding boots. “Off, or Mrs. Rita will have your head.”

“Mrs. Rita?”

“My housekeeper,” I say quietly, already knowing he’s going to make some sort of quick-witted joke. But I have to admit, he does always make me laugh.

He playfully scoffs while we walk towards the kitchen, “You have a housekeeper?”

I shrug, grabbing a Coke from the fridge and tossing it to him. “She’s more than a housekeeper; she’s family.” To me, anyway. And I think the only reason she puts up with my parents’ crap is for me too.

He nods, cracking the can open and taking a sip of the fizzy liquid as I place my beautifully broken flowers in a vase.

I show him to my room, my heart racing hard in my chest.

“Looks different from the inside, instead of through the window.” Foster observes.

We both grow quiet, simultaneously thinking about our shared kiss in the moonlight. His feet bring him to the place of our moment, and his hand grazes the fabric of my curtains. As his eyes trail around, he can’t help but crack a smile.

“Everything is so ... pink.” He looks out of place, black mixing with cream and pastel pink.

I set the vase on my desk. “I like pink.” I shrug, unable to stop the giggle that escapes my lips when he throws himself on my bed.

I point to the desk, where I already have everything set up for us. “We’re working over there.” I say, but he shakes his head while patting the comforter.

“We’re working here.” Foster winks, and I have to roll my eyes.

“Keep the door open!” Rita chimes in, peeking her head in through doorway to wave. Foster quickly stumbles off the bed, greeting her with a charming smile and a handshake.

“It’s very nice to meet you.” he tells her, his body going rigid with nerves. Mrs. Rita draws him in for one of her signature hugs, the kind that squeezes your ribs so hard you almost cry out in agony, but you can’t. That’d be rude.

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