Page 10 of Before Now

He starts moving, and the shot drifts to another piece of artwork. It’s of a dog and a picnic, sunny sky and green, green grass, but the image shifts within seconds, showing me a new angle of myself. This time, he’s behind me. I close my eyes, my heart threatening to rip out of my chest.

I wander away from him, to the hallway and the painting of the little girl. After a minute, the frames he passes on screen look familiar. He’s following me. My limbs tingle as I climb the grand stairway to the second floor.

The slight crowd from downstairs thins the deeper into the building I go. When I glance down, I see the carved wooden banister stretching to the second level, a flash of his shoe, and then another shot of me by a sculpture of the female form.

I slowly make my way into a large, empty hall with nothing but baroque-style art. Foster’s entering the room as I pass the directory signs against the far wall. I check over my shoulder, making sure he’s watching and no one else is around before I turn down a narrow corridor. Then, I slip through the door halfway down, letting it swing shut behind me.

My heart threatens to beat out of my rib cage as I watch him follow, down the hallway, pausing by the sign on the door. It creaks open, and my eyes lift to the row of mirrors in front of me where they hang above the sinks. I catch a quick peek of myself, cheeks flushed, eyes wide when the switch clicks, the room around me and the screen in my hand going dark.

A strip of safety lights kicks on along the baseboards, barely enough to see by and casting the space in a cool hue of blue. Barely enough to see him walk around the corner behind me. I swallow, my fist clenching tight around my phone, and when he steps behind me, my eyes close.

“Hi,” I say, weakly.

And I didn’t realize how desperate I’ve been for his voice until he answers, “Hey.”

It sounds the same and yet so different, deep and gravelly.

I feel the heat of him first, then a brush of his chest against my back. My body screams for him to touch me, like he promised he would if this moment ever happened.

The first sweep of his hand might as well be an electric current, every part of me settling in the line of contact he draws up my arm. I can’t think—only fall into this moment, his skin warming mine. He presses closer behind me, his fingers wrapping over my hip, and I feel his breath against the side of my face, then the light scrape of stubble against my bare shoulder.

I open my eyes to watch him through the mirror. He’s taken off the hat and sunglasses, but all I can make out are the lines of his nose, the curves of his cheekbones, the edges of his jaw, with the details just out of reach.

“Foster…” I trail off when his other hand skims up my arm to my neck. The tips of his fingers graze up my jawline before his thumb stops on my pounding pulse.

“Remi.”

The tension breaks the second my name leaves his lips. He tightens his grip on my neck and pulls me around, already backing me across the room by the time I face him. He dips down, his mouth grazing my collarbone and moving to my neck as my back hits the bluish-green tile beside the paper towel dispenser. My hands creep up his hard chest and then around to the back of his neck. I still have my phone clutched in one when my fingers push into his hair, and he groans, pinning me to the wall with his hips.

None of this can be real. The wandering boy I wasn’t supposed to fall for was long gone. No one I would ever hear from again, no one I’d ever touch.

“Foster.”

His name falls out, like my mouth has been waiting to say it again.

“Remi.” He nips at my neck, wrapping his hand around the back of my thigh. “Fuck,” he whispers, grinding his erection into me.

I keep breathing in more than breathing out—as if my body were more concerned with memorizing the scent of him than using the air. Cedar and leather.

“Foster.” It’s on an exhale, my lips grazing the side of his face.

He hasn’t even kissed me yet when his mouth works its way over my skin to my jaw, and I’m about to wrap my legs around him for more contact when his tongue glides over my skin, and he hums out a satisfied sound.

“Remi Sinner.”

I still—all of me in a free fall that feels even less real than everything else.

Foster stops moving too, bringing his face to hover in front of mine. “What’s wrong?” Even in the mostly dark room, I can see his mouth hitch up on one side. “That’s your name, right? Yourrealone?”

My lips part on a shaky breath, my fingers still in his hair. The lines of his face begin to come into focus, the features piecing together.

“She’s a sinner, pretending to be a saint.” His voice is still his, but now it also sounds like someone else’s, repeating Of Men and Wolves’ lyrics.

No, it can’t be.

I would have known it was him.

The last time I talked to him flashes through my mind. It leaves me even more chilled inside, my heart twisting as I remember sending him my picture. He texted back like he promised he would—only I never opened the message to see his.

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