Page 128 of The ABCs of You & Me

“Zombies,” I say, sitting on the couch, turning on the TV and watching as her jaw drops.

FIFTY-SIX

SOPHIE

“Zombies?” I repeat. “Like…” I groan, staggering toward where he’s sitting on the couch.

“God, I love you.” He reaches for my hand and pulls me down next to him and then kisses me in a way that doesn’t leave me doubting his words.

I love living without doubt. I didn’t realize how prevalent it had been in my life until recently and how freeing it has been to not have it seep in through every crack that appears in my confidence. Foster has been like an emotional caulk. Sealing every place that pesky doubt was able to get in before. Keeping my foundation strong.

“Isn’t this that show you and Davis were talking about?” I ask when I seeThe Last of Usappear on the screen.

“It is.”

“Didn’t you make a point of saying this show was not about zombies?”

“You don’t miss anything, do you?” He sits back, shock all over his face.

“I miss plenty. Half the time I’m in my own head, but when you’re talking I’m dialed in.”

“They aren’t zombies in the traditional sense, but they may as well be.”

“It’s a fungus, right? That’s why they’re not zombie zombies?” He nods and something clicks. “Did you pick that pasta because it was called little ears and…” I gasp. “All the mushrooms. Fungus!” I practically shout, bouncing on the couch to face him. “You made a zombie fungus pasta for dinner? Why is that so damn amazing and gross and delicious, all at the same time?”

He shrugs. “The theme is strong tonight, if not a little off-putting.”

“No,” I insist. “This is amazing. You planned something low-key and intimate, made the perfect dinner to go along with it, and you’re sharing something with me that you love. This is the best way to end the alphabet.” I curl into his side, relaxing as his arm wraps around me and he rests his lips on the top of my head before hitting play.

At the end of the third episode, when I’m an absolute mess from probably the best hour of TV I’ve ever seen, Foster gets up to prepare dessert. When I say I’ll help, he tells me to stay put. Gary crawls into my lap and I give him some much-needed attention.

“Strawberry cheesecake,” Foster says, setting two slices of cake on the coffee table.

“Okay, well, this is a less disturbing ingredient.” I reach for the dessert. “Did you make this?”

“I did,” he says, sitting back down beside me.

“Is there anything you can’t make?” I ask in wonder.

“Caramel,” he states bluntly. “I’ve ruined several pots trying to make that stuff.”

“Oh well, at least that’s not something that you have to make daily.”

Foster watches intently as I take my first bite, those sharp amber eyes not missing a thing as the creamy cake coats my tongue. I do my best to not moan. I do my best to keep my eyes from rolling back into my head. I fail at both and hear a soft stuttered breath from Foster.

“I’m going to let you finish that, sunshine, but when you’re done, I’m afraid we’ll have to continue watching the show later.”

“Oh? Why?” I ask innocently, licking my lips so I can watch him squirm a little more.

He lets me finish every bite. Lets me dab up every crumb and every speck of strawberry. But the minute I set my plate down on the table again, his hands are on me, dragging my body onto his. When his lips meet mine, it’s like a sigh of relief involving my entire body. This is all I want to be doing. I’m convinced at this point that his kisses could sustain me. They are toe curling, spine tingling, thirst quenching, and overwhelming. They are all the things I’ve read about but never experienced until Foster.

Everything with Foster feels like more, and I feel greedy for not being able to get enough.

“Tell me what you want, Soph,” he pleads, his voice already breathless as he strains beneath me.

I’m still trying to get used to someone caring about what I want. And not just caring—no, he wants to know; hedemandsto know. It’s enough to make me cry.

“Oh, god, what?” He pulls back, horror shining back through those beautiful eyes. “What did I do?”

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