Page 73 of Race to Me

While I pack a small bag, Foster claps his hands together. “Okay, now that you’re a free woman with four years of college under her belt, what else do you want to change?”

My eyes flit towards Envy’s side of the dorm room. Torn posters lay half hung and half scattered on the ground. Her clothes still linger, and the scent of apple perfume weighs heavy in the air.

“I want to change this.” I gesture around. “Pink?” I guess?

Foster nods, smiling. “Okay, Kate may be a better option for redecorating than me. Anything else?”

I run my hands through my hair, grabbing a loose strand. “Bright pink.” I tell him, feeling a sense of empowerment washing over me.

“I like that. All of it?”

“No, like maybe a little bit underneath.”

He sends me a boyish grin, one that almost makes me melt right into the poster riddled floor. “Alright, Freckles. Let’s get started then.”

Twenty-eight

And so, my wish is granted, and Foster drives us on the bike to a local drug store. He bends down and grabs a box with a pink-haired girl smiling on the front. “This?” he asks.

A little knot appears in my stomach out of excitement. “Yes!”

∞∞∞

“Lift,” Foster says, grinning, and I raise my hands high above my head. His fingers curl around the fabric of my shirt. He slowly peels every piece of clothing from my body, leaving only a pair of black boy shorts and my bra.

Foster exhales, his warm breath floating against my chest as he rips off his t-shirt and puts it on me. The scent is intoxicating, and the moment is intimate and quiet. Although, downstairs there’s a rumbling of music traveling through the closed bedroom door.

We don’t care, though; we’re paying very close attention to what we’re doing.

“I hope I don’t fuck this up.” he admits, gripping my hand to lead me to his bathroom.

∞∞∞

With gloved hands, Foster sets me on his counter while he reads the directions from the paper inside the box.

“Okay, it’s a good thing you’re already blonde because if I bleached your hair it would probably fall out.” he jokes, leaning against the wall to very tediously check each step. His tan skin glistens, and I can’t take my eyes from his hard body.

Every edge and curve is sharp and refined.

He shakes the plastic bottle and squeezes it, pouring out a small dollop of the pink liquid onto his gloved hand. I turn my body to look at myself in the mirror and pull out the section I want to be done: a thick piece underneath on the right side.

I turn back towards Foster with a mischievous grin, feeling like I’m doing something incredibly dangerous, although it’s only pink hair dye. “Ready?” he asks.

It takes no more than two seconds for him to saturate the strand. He wraps it in a little plastic wrap so it doesn’t go anywhere. “So, thirty minutes...” He crooks his finger under my chin. “What could we possibly do in thirty minutes?”

I nibble on my lip. The little butterflies that have taken residence in my stomach every single time he’s near flutter about, making me blush. “I can think of a few things,” I whisper against his lips when he moves in closer.

I wait with bated breath as his fingertips trail up my bare legs, landing on my inner thighs.

His hands slide up the outline of my curves, and his palms travel to either side of my face, pulling me in for a heated, passionate kiss.

I feel his length hardening as he stands close, between my open legs. He grips me everywhere, a low growl resonating deep within his rising chest. “Property of Ghost?” Not a statement, but a question.

I nod, raking my nails through his thick hair. “Of Foster,” I remind him.

He reaches down to unzip his pants. “Oh shit!” he shouts, looking down at his hands. They’re covered in blood.

His eyes roam over me to check for any injuries, but I already know what happened. I turn towards the mirror, laughing when I see red in my hair in lieu of bright pink. At some point during our tangled exchange, the plastic wrap fell from my hair. “Why did it turn red?” I laugh nervously.

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