He takes a deep breath and wipes below his bottom lip with his thumb. I can see him struggling with being logical and being turned on at the same time.
The breath he takes comes out in a slow hiss as he trails his fingers from the front of his hair to the back. "Let's uh, just…"
I've confused him and I feel bad for not being honest with him, but I can't tell him my dad caused them.
He climbs off the bed and roughly pushes through the lights. First, he returns to the picture of the triathlon winner. Then he gazes out the glass of the balcony door. I know he's debating pressing me about lying.
I scoot back on the bed and lean back against the headboard. I pull my knees up and wrap my arms around them.
"If someone hurt you…" His voice is quiet and restrained, but the swaying fairy lights betray the tension in the air.
I want to tell him the truth. I want him to comfort me, but I can't. "I swear it was the coffee table."
"And pulling your hair?"
"I have a sensitive scalp. Always have."
He nods but his back is stiff and he's not looking at me. He's processing this and deciding how to handle it. I need to change the subject so I start rambling.
"It's pretty lame to have a picture of someone else winning a triathlon. Isn't it?"
"What?" He pushes the lights out of the way and starts walking back toward the bed.
"I mean who does that?"
"You've never entered a triathlon? Even a short one?" He looks so good in his torn jeans and black tee, it's hard to concentrate.
"Nope."
"Where do you bike?"
"Um, at the gym."
"You don't ride a real bike?"
"No."
"Let me guess. Run on the treadmill? Swim in an indoor pool?"
Uh oh. He's figuring out all my secrets. "Weather and stuff."
He laughs and sits next to my hip on the edge of my bed. The strain has left his voice and body. He's found something to tease me about and he's narrowing in on it.
"Triathlon is a road bike and ocean swim," he says.
"I know."
He reaches out and takes my hand from around my knee. He holds it gently in both of his and it warms my cold fingers. "You show up tomorrow at Callihan's Beach. I'll have a bike for you and we'll run on the sand."
I have to gulp down the massive lump in my throat. Is he asking me on a date? "You want to run and bike tomorrow?"
He tilts his head and shrugs. "Sure. If you're any good."
"I think I'm decent."
"We'll see if you can keep up with me." He laughs. I'm glad I got his mind off the bruises.
"What about swimming in the ocean?" I ask him. The third part of a triathlon is an ocean swim.
He lets my hand fall away and looks back at the balcony door. "You're on your own there."
Oh, this is interesting. I cross my legs indian style and lean closer to him. "Can you swim?" I whisper.
"Not with confidence." He quirks one side of his lip up and it's adorable. The Unstoppable Foster can't swim?
"I'm actually a pretty good swimmer. I can teach you."
"No."
"C'mon it's easy. It's natural. I'll show you."
"No."
"If you're taking me biking on a road and running on a street, I'll take you swimming in the ocean."
"Not comparable at all," he says while shaking his head. He's not going to budge on this one. Maybe if we run and bike for a long time, I'll be able to get him in the water. What a fun challenge.
"Milana?" My father calls me from the bottom of the stairs.
Foster's head turns to look at my closed bedroom door.
"He's coming. Go!" I push on his back but he doesn't budge.
He leans in to give me a brief kiss. "Meet me at the playground at Callihan's Beach at one tomorrow. Say yes."
"Okay. Just go! Go!" I push on his shoulders and scream-whisper at him. He finally stands and he's smiling as he slides out to the balcony.
My dad pounds on my bedroom door. "Milana?"
I run and open it.
"Did I hear someone in here?" He pokes his head in and examines my room.
My chest is heaving and it's hard to hide my excitement over all that just happened. "I was talking to a friend on the phone. You must have heard me."
He stares up at the hooks on the ceiling. "Take those down before we leave for Manhattan. The renters will hate that."
"Yes, Dad."
He kisses my forehead. "Goodnight."
"Night."
I close the door and check the balcony again. It looks like he made it out undetected. I'd hate to think what would happen if my dad or Donnie saw him. They'd never let me, or him, stop paying.
It takes me thirty minutes and some time alone with the shower head to calm down after kissing Foster in my bed. I definitely should not go to the beach and work out with Foster tomorrow. But I won't even consider not going.
I'm not sure what will happen with Foster, but one thing I know for sure; I'm not crying anymore.
Chapter 7 Challenge
Foster
There she is. She came. Excellent. Waiting for me next to her Jetta like a good girl. She's wearing black spandex workout pants and a halter tank top. Her hair is pulled back in a ponytail with a curl hanging down over her shoulder. The slung-low baseball cap and oversized shades are meant to hide her face. She has to go incognito when she hangs out with the lowlifes.
She's biting her nails as I pull into the lot and park. When I get out and walk around to her, she takes off her glasses and her eyes widen at first then she offers me a gleaming white smile. "Hi."
"Glad you showed up."
She looks down and blushes. Cute.
Dropping the lift on the back of Henry's truck, I climb up and start working on releasing the bikes. She quietly walks over and peers inside. As I'm lowering her bike to the ground, she says, "You bought that new?"
Shit. How did she know?
Oh, she's looking at a sticker on the bar I forgot to remove. Darn. Well, at least it wasn't the price. I got her a high-end bike thinking she's used to nice things.
I'm not gonna lie to her. "You need a good bike to train for a triathlon."
"I'm probably not going to…"
"You are. Today is your first day of training. I'll take it easy on you."
"No. Don't please."
"You sure?" She has no idea what my version of hard is.
She nods as I adjust the seat for her height, but before she climbs on she stops and holds up one finger. "We should stretch."
"After. Let's go." I drop my older bike down to the pavement and grab two helmets for us.
She squats with one knee bent and her hands pointing up over her head in a yoga warrior pose. "It's important. Prevent injury."
While she looks gorgeous doing that, it's not necessary. "That kind of stretching isn't right before a ride. We should do some dynamic stretching."
"What's that?"
She sure has a long way to go if she wants to be a sports therapist. How can I show her?