Page 98 of The ABCs of You & Me

Formal.

The last time I wore formal wear was our first “date,” and Sophie nearly killed me by wearing that dress. I can’t imagine she’ll be in something like that dress again.

I have the chance to speak with Pete’s mom on Friday after school. While Pete is in the hall waiting, she lets me know she’s been under a lot of stress at work and that Pete, who she calls the best thing in her life, has been nonstop lately.

“He’s got ten-year-old energy in a body that doesn’t allow him to expel it efficiently. I’m… I’m so tired,” she admits as she runs her hands over her face. “My entire life is working and then being a mom, and I love my kids but I feel…” she trails off, shaking her head. “Never mind. It’s just a lot, and when he came home a couple nights ago and told me what you’d said, I nearly cried.”

“Is that a good thing?”

“I don’t want you to feel like you have to do this, Mr. Walsh. He’s my kid, and I should be the one doing this marathon thing with him. I, well…” She shrugs and looks toward the door. “The thought of seeing him fail is almost too much. I’m scared of what the reality will be like.”

“He won’t fail,” I say confidently. “Some way, somehow, we’ll get him across whatever line there is to cross.”

By the time they leave, we’ve agreed that I’ll come over tomorrow morning so we can start and we’ll plan from there. I race through the door at home, barely sparing a moment to scratch Gary behind the ears as I strip and jump into the shower.

I’ve just pulled my shirt on when there’s a knock at the door.

FORTY-TWO

SOPHIE

I’ve got my fist up to knock when I start second-guessing everything. The dress, the hair, the whole look, a repeat from the gala. I remember Foster’s expression when he saw me in this dress. How his eye color changed in front of my eyes. The way he bit his lip as he took me in. I don’t think he even realized what he was doing. I’d never felt so sexy in my life, and I don’t even think it had anything to do with how I was dressed but rather the impact I was having on him.

I pull off my coat, draping it over my arm. I want to see his face when he sees what formal wear I chose. “Get it over with,” I whisper before my knuckles finally connect with his door.

It swings open, and he’s standing there in his suit pants, his feet bare, and his shirt wide open, revealing black ink across his chest. Dumbstruck, that is what I am. I don’t even notice his expression.

“Hey,” he breathes out, backing up so I can step inside. Except I don’t. My feet seem to be glued to the floor. “Soph?” I hear him say, but it sounds like he’s far away. His hand wraps around my wrist and gives a little tug. That does it. My feet unstick, and I practically fall over the threshold.

And then somehow our lips are meeting. I don’t know which one of us moved first, but I think it was me. Judging by how hard I’m gripping his head, my hands tangled in his hair, holding him to me, this has the markings of something I put into motion. Something I’ve been thinking about, manifesting.

His hands slide around my waist before one travels up my bare back to my neck. With a gentle squeeze he manages to pull my head back, and the split second of disappointment evaporates when his lips connect with my throat. Hot needy kisses map every inch of my exposed skin.

Imagine those lips somewhere else.My knees practically give out at the thought. He’s undoing my carefully constructed tapestry, and I’m letting him.

I desperately want to wrap my legs around him, pull him into me, but this damn dress doesn’t allow for that. And then as if he can hear my thoughts, his hands are grabbing the fabric against my thighs and he’s bunching it up, exposing inch after inch of my legs until the bottom is clenched in his fists. Relief spreads through me when I’m able to hook my thigh around his hip.

Foster seems to realize that he can let go of the dress without impeding my movement, and his strong hands grip my thighs, lifting me so both wrap around him. My back hits the wall as he uses it for leverage, managing to get even closer to me, his length pressing where I want it most as he pushes his hips harder against me.

We haven’t said a thing. Not a word has been exchanged since our lips met, and for two people who talk a lot it’s remarkably quiet, save for our pants and barely audible sounds of pleasure as we grind into one another.

He stumbles away from the wall with me still wrapped around him, and we land heavily in one of his dining chairs. His lips return to my neck while his right hand grips my thigh so hard I may have an artist trace the outline, have it tattooed on my body so I can point to it and say,this, this is where he claimed me.

I can’t even remember why I’m here. Surely there was a reason for putting this dress on other than to have him take it off. If I’m being honest with myself, that’s the reason I got the dress in the first place. The thought of him ripping it off me was the selling feature.

When I jog my hips against him, my name slips between his lips. I don’t know if it’s a warning or praise, but I want to hear it over and over again.

He unlatches his hand from my thigh and moves both to my ass, pulling me flush against him, his shocked eyes meeting mine for the first time since the first kiss.

“You’re not wearing…” I shake my head. “You weren’t wearing any then, either?” I shake my head again, pulling my lower lip between my teeth as my eyes drop to his mouth. I want it back on me, desperately, but he stays where he is, still holding me against him, appearing to collect himself. He’s about to be a gentleman. He’s about to say this wasn’t part of the deal, that I’d said I didn’t want sex. We got carried away and that’s all this is.

But that’s not what happens. Instead, his right hand slides lower, his eyes glued to mine, taking in my every tiny breath and twitch. Studying my reactions, plotting his journey. And when he reaches his destination, that mouth of his tilts up in a cocky grin I haven’t seen before.

“Is this for me, sunshine?”

I cannot believe that came out of his mouth. All I can do is nod as his fingers slide into me. A hissedyesleaves my mouth when he starts a slow rhythm.

“I hate to break it to you, Soph,” he begins, “but I don’t think we’re going to make it to the opera tonight.”

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