Page 43 of Race to Me

His lips press against mine, and I lose myself to his touch. The way his fingertips trail my exposed thigh. The brilliant way the warm, summer breeze flows through my hair, and how my stomach growls, breaking the perfect moment.

He stops, I groan.

“You’re hungry?” Foster worries.

“No,” I lie, remembering the one text I received from my mom while we were working on the project. ‘Remember to fast for the next 48 hours. Family pictures are happening this week when we get back.’

No ‘happy birthday’, no ‘I’m sorry we weren’t there’ ... just reminding me to watch my figure. I’m already small, but words like that make me question the way I see myself. Shaking off that heavy weight for a moment, I look into Foster’s eyes to forget.

My stomach growls again, betraying me. He helps me up and makes sure I get through the window safely.

Foster takes off his hoodie and hands it to me. I smile while putting it on, inhaling his delicious scent. “Want me to drive your car?” he asks, pointing to my skirt.

“Where are we going?”

He fixes his shirt, but I didn’t miss the little show of tanned abs as he does. “This bomb ass place for burgers,” He pauses. “You like burgers?”

“Yup!” With the way your eyes keep drinking me in, I like anything you do right now.

After we get into my Range Rover, I smirk when I see Foster, with his edgy appearance and tattoos, holding onto my pink steering wheel.

Foster grins, his pearly whites gleaming against his tan skin. “Don’t even say it.”

“You look cute.”

The butterflies race more as we drive away, his hand clasping mine the entire time. I text Rita to let her know, but I don’t think she minds if we leave, anyway. She seems to like Foster.

We get to an unfamiliar area, and I get a little nervous. “Wait, where are we?”

“Liberty City.” he replies, and I internally cringe. I’m not allowed here; this is a rough part of town.

We park the Range Rover and step into the parking lot of Foster’s favorite burger place, an old sign lights up the name ‘Jack’s Burger Joint’. Underneath, it says ‘Burgers-Shakes-Fries’. As we step inside, the delicious aroma of steaming sandwiches and fries hits my nose, making my mouth water. We walk up to the counter, and Foster turns to me. “What do you want?” he asks, waiting patiently as I look at the menu.

A big cheeseburger with fries and a large chocolate shake sounds amazing, but Mom’s text is replaying in my mind. “A salad with light vinaigrette dressing.”

He chuckles and looks to the guy at the counter. “Two number threes, please. Two cokes and one chocolate shake. Two straws,” Foster sends me a wink, taking our table number from the cashier after he pays.

I can’t help but laugh as we walk away. He can be so sweet when he wants to be. “What’s number three? Because I’m pretty sure you didn’t order a salad just now.”

He holds his hands up. “Look, I’m not taking you to my favorite burger place and letting you order a salad. That’s almost cruel.” Foster jokes, helping me into the seat at an outdoor table. The breeze is perfect, and I’m so happy to be here with him.

But I still can’t get my parents’ warning out of my head that this is a very rough part of town. It’s on the news every night for a different violent crime. “Shake is here,” a waitress announces, plopping down a tall glass that has two candy apple red straws inserted.

I involuntarily moan as I take a sip, “It’s good right?” Foster smiles, “Just wait until you get your food.”

A handful of stolen glances lay between us as we sip on the shake, waiting for our food to arrive. And when it does, I sink my teeth into the juicy burger, wondering how anything could taste so delicious.

Melted cheese, fresh veggies, perfectly grilled patty, all closed in a buttery set of buns.

“I told you.” He slinks his hand to my plate, stealing a fry.

“You have a whole plate!” I laugh.

I set half the burger down, desperately wanting to devour the entire thing, but I’ve already gone well past my allotted seven-hundred calories for the day. I’m so hungry though... I look at the plate once more and take a fry, pushing the plate away so I don’t take anymore.

Foster looks up, rolling his eyes. “Finish your plate.” He orders me as he scraps down his food.

I shrug, “But I’m full.”

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