The coffeehouse was packed. And by packed, I mean packed. The tables were full. The front window was full of people standing. The side wall the same. Along the counter, there was a line of people waiting to get something to eat and drink, the rest were dialed in to the man on stage. Wearing a black baseball cap pulled way down, hiding his face, a black t-shirt to match, jeans that were old and faded, Foster had the look and feel as though he were playing for twenty thousand people in an arena.

I had never in my life seen him play the way he had been lately. Maybe it was me. Us. Whatever was happening. It wasn’t some instant thing, picking up where things broke off a previous time. But seeing him a few times a week - a few nights a week - for the last month had been a welcomed distraction. A distraction from the stubbornness that was my father as he slowly regained his strength and stamina. Complaining about every piece of food he had to eat that was deemed heart healthy. His argument was that eating burgers had gotten him this far, why change now? So myself and Vivian took turns dealing with him.

Between that and keeping busy at work, Foster had become the most pleasant distraction I could have ever wanted. We didn’t dig into the past. We didn’t push toward the future. It was just us, together, knowing exactly what the other one needed. Far more than friends fooling around, but maybe not quite something more serious.

Then again, it was Foster… everything about him was more serious.

I had a sinking feeling that someone was staring at me. I turned my head slowly and saw Kevin sitting at a table. The jerk took up an entire table for four people. And he didn’t care one bit. He had the tallest coffee cup you could order, and I hoped at the very least, he was drinking Molly’s coffee. At least that way I could say I got something from him. Because he gave nothing to anyone, except dead promises and broken hearts. I couldn’t count how many times he’d shown up and destroyed Foster.

Now, Kevin was on a personal record of almost an entire month of being out of jail and staying out of trouble. He wasn’t living with Foster and he was actually here at the gig, supporting him.

Kevin gave a wave for me to come over.

Foster was finishing up what would be his second to last song. He sang the last chorus over and over. As I walked through the crowd, I noticed something really interesting. People were singing along. People had seen Foster enough times that they knew his music. They knew the words. Words that were often written for me and because of me. It made me proud of him, but also made me uneasy. As though all these people were able to read the most intimate of love letters between Foster and myself.

I got to the table and Kevin swung his right foot, kicking out a chair for me.

I took a seat and he leaned in. “How about my boy up there?”

“Yeah,” I yelled back. “Everyone loves him. You should see more than one show.”

I raised an eyebrow.

Kevin smirked and winked.

See, I wasn’t afraid of him. To me, he was just some burnout who forgot that time moved forward. And instead of putting down the bottle and whatever else, he stayed put in a set time and just kept losing because it was easier to lose than to win. One time Foster mentioned that his mother had broken his father’s heart, but that didn’t justify what Kevin did in life.

Foster strummed the last chord.

The place erupted in applause.

Kevin stuck his fingers into his mouth and whistled.

“Thank you,” Foster said. “I’ve got one more. So, uh, make sure you all get something else to eat and drink. So they’ll keep me coming back.”

Foster took the hat off and tossed it to the stage. I saw his eyes scan the crowd. He stopped at me. Even from a distance, that look was everything. It made me shiver, burn, smile, sweat, and feel things that only Foster could make me feel.

He hit a few notes on the guitar. “Hey, Rose…”

His voice echoed around the room.

He was talking to me… or was he?

He strummed the guitar and started to play the song.

Hey, Rose.

It seemed like every time he sang the song, he would add, remove, change the lyrics. As though the song were playing out in real life. Which it was.

“This is about you, huh?” Kevin asked.

“What gave it away?” I replied without looking at him.

Kevin put his hand to my arm. “You can hate me all you want, Rose. I don’t blame you. But that kid doesn’t hate me. Never has. Never will.”

“I guess that’s his biggest flaw,” I said.

Hey Rose… you don’t have to be afraid anymore… I can take everything that scares you and chase it away for good.

“I heard about your father,” Kevin said. “Damn shame. I hope he gets better.”

I looked at Kevin. “Yeah, right.”

“Hey, we may have had our differences, but I don’t want to see anyone go down. He’s a good man. A good father. I wish I could have been like him.”

“It’s called parenting,” I said. “You should try it once in a while.”

Kevin started to laugh. “I see why he loves you. Why he’s loved you from the day he met you.”

“What?”

“Kingsley,” Kevin said. “I’m sorry… Foster. My kid. My boy. He loves you more than he’s loved anything in his life. You can hate me all you want, Rose, but you and him are the proudest thing I’ve got in my life.”

Kevin stood up and tapped his finger on the table.

I looked up at him as he grabbed his giant cup. He stood there and stared at the stage, a smile creeping along his face. I could never figure it out. I was sure Kevin loved his son. But the things he did… it just didn’t make sense. Why show up and lie? Why show up, only to leave? Why keep walking the road that sent you to jail over and over?

Kevin turned his head and leaned toward me a little. “Rose, tell him I was here. Tell him I’m proud. Tell him I’m sorry I couldn’t stay.”

Before I could respond, Kevin turned and went into the crowd.

“Hey, Rose, just know that I love you,” Foster’s rough voice sang.

I looked to the stage and I looked back and Kevin was gone.

I hated that guy so much. In some ways, I couldn’t wait for him to fuck up again and go back to jail. In other ways, I knew how much it would hurt Foster. In fact, every time his father messed up, Foster would disappear from me.

Two people came over and pointed to the table. I gave a nod and they took the seats. I walked away from the table and watched Foster finish the song and the set.

My heart raced because of how good he looked on stage. My stomach had butterflies because he was singing to me. My entire body tingled because I watched the way his hands moved on the guitar and knew what those hands felt like.

But my heart also ached a little for him.

We may have been in love… from day one… but that love came with a lot of twists, turns, and pain.

* * *

I slid my hands down his thick shoulders as he sat there at the table, his thumb peeling at the label on the beer bottle. He put his head back against my chest and smiled.

“You’re sitting here for too long, thinking about too much,” I whispered.

“I know, Slug.”

“You’re thinking about your father, Kingsley.”

He laughed. “My name sounds weird at this point in my life.”

“Well, it is your name. And if you call me that stupid Slug thing, I’m calling you Kingsley.”

“Playing tough now?”

“Always,” I whispered. My nails eased along the skin of his arms down to his wrists. I gently reversed the motion and felt him finally relax a little.

“That feels good,” he said.

“Good,” I whispered, putting my lips to his ear. “You need to let everything go, Foster. Think about what you did tonight. All those people there.”

“I think that was my biggest gig. Maybe ever.”

“That’s good.”

“I should have Carl come watch a show. Let him tell me what songs are the best.”

“You know what song is the best.”

Foster had his eyes shut and smiled. “You know I’m never going to sell that song, Rose. That’s your song.”

“But it should be heard by everyone.”

Foster opened his eyes. Those dark eyes were the brightest thing in my life. If you didn’t know Foster, you’d think the look on his face was almost mean. Evil. Ready to attack. That whole bad boy image that played itself out now that he was a man.

Foster didn’t respond to what I’d said. So I kept gently scratching his arms. Feeling muscle. His thick forearms. The round edges of his relaxed biceps, still freaking huge though. When he made fists on the table, I saw how big his hands were. His knuckles looking almost swollen. Probably that way from fighting. He’d lived such a different life as a kid than I did. Yet our worlds kept smashing together like some kind of cosmic fate.

Now we were in control of our worlds and they once again collided.

I took a deep breath and exhaled on his neck. I smelled him. That sting of sweat and man was more than enough to make my toes curl.

“He fucking left, didn’t he?” Foster whispered.

“Yeah,” I whispered. “He said to say he’s proud of you and all that shit.”

Foster nodded. “Yeah. Shit. That’s exactly what it is.”

“I’m so sorry, Foster. I wish I could say or do something.”

Foster shook his head. “Nah. I just need to get rid of Kingsley.”

“Huh?”

Foster stood up and pushed the chair back, pushing me back too. He turned and towered over me, his hands quickly going for my waist. My hands held onto his hands, squeezing as he squeezed me. I’d never been with a man who could move in such stealth like silence and make my heart throb so hard that I thought it was going to explode from my chest. Because I never knew what Foster was going to do next. He was a loose cannon but always found aim at my heart.

He spun me around and put me on the table. His legs hit the table and his hands moved to the small of my back and pulled me forward, our bodies touching.

“Simple, Rose,” he whispered. “Kingsley is the kid waiting for his father to show up. He’s the kid with a bag packed and a cartoon sleeping bag rolled up because he was supposed to go camping with his father. Only his father went to the woods without him. Got high, drunk, and didn’t come home for a week. Kingsley is the kid watching those stupid fucking shows on Friday night about families going through shit, always laughing, always being together. Watching that shit while I was in someone else’s house, holding a pillow, smiling, telling myself that someday that would be me. That I’d have a real house with a real family. Kingsley is the kid who went to bed at night hoping that one morning his father would come back and stay for good.”

I swallowed hard, trying not to cry.

Foster was a hardened man. His stare honest and vulnerable, trusting me with the broken edges of his heart.

“That’s why Kingsley doesn’t exist anymore, Rose. And he never will. So I take what I can.”

“Meaning what, Foster?”

He curled his lip. “Right now, Rose… I’m taking you.”

* * *

Foster was wrong.

I put my hands to his chest and shoved him away from me. I was the one with the vixen grin on my face. I wanted him to feel how I felt about him.

I sat on the edge of the table as I grabbed the bottom of his shirt. I lifted slowly and waited for him to take over, which he did. I loved the way he just threw the shirt over his shoulder. It landed over the faucet in the sink.

My hands didn’t even bother touching his beautiful tattooed and chiseled body. I instead slipped my fingers to the top of his jeans. With just one tug, I knew what I wanted. I had tasted his kiss. His breath. The rough sweetness of the skin of his neck. But now I wanted more. I was hungry… so fucking hungry…

I slid off the table and down to my knees before him. Forever his, but he was also forever mine. Almost instantly, Foster put a hand to the back of my head. His fingers dug into my hair as he looked down at me. I propped myself up a little more and came forward, kissing just above his jeans. I felt his stomach shake just a little.

God, it was so fucking hot that my lips could get a reaction like that out of him.

And speaking of reaction…

I moved my right hand down and felt the thickening bulge trying to hide in his jeans. But there was no hiding this thing.

I kissed a small trail with four kisses and then moved right back down.

That was as slow as anything would go.

My hands went to his jeans and tore them open. I pulled them down to his knees and saw the wide and perfect outline of him pressing against his navy blue boxers. I came forward again and kissed his lower stomach as my hands grabbed the bottom of his boxers and inched them down. My lips began to follow, going down. My lips brushed against hair and then it was the smooth and thick root of his cock. Bringing my right hand up as his eased free from his boxers, I gripped him from under his full shaft, sliding my hand up to his tip. I gently squeezed, my thumb flicking against the defined ridge on his tip, feeling him thrust as I did. Groaning as I did so.

“Fuck, Rose,” he whispered, his grip on my hair getting tighter.

My lips slid along his hard shaft, moving fast, racing all the way up. My hand slid back down to the bottom of his thickness as my mouth came over him.

I took him into my mouth, tip first, stopping, feeling him as my body began to race with a wild sense of need. I put both of my hands to his legs, moving up to his stomach, feeling him breathing as I gently sucked, moving back and forth right where he began.

“Fuck,” he groaned again.

His hand pressed at me…

Now it was my turn to groan.

I took him deeper, inch by hard inch, allowing Foster to test me. When I reached my limit, I slid back. It had been so long since I had tasted him like this. My lips tingled with the memories of before and the reality of now.

My left hand moved up his body, clawing at the bumps of muscle that made up his stomach as my right hand came down and gripped him as tight as my hand could manage. It was a losing battle for me though. My size compared to his…

Damn.

I tasted him again, this time with more speed. I groaned each time I pulled back, feeling Foster press himself at me. My hand stroked the length I wasn’t able to reach. Working together, hand and mouth, showing Foster my love for him. My groans the only sounds I could offer. I couldn’t write music, lyrics, and sing. But I could do this to him…

He moved his hand from my hair. His fingertips touched my shoulders, moving me back and forth the way he wanted me. His knees slightly bent and he began to move faster, forever thrusting with that extra little bit to keep testing me. Leaving my toes curled tight and a tingling feeling racing from head to toe.

I stayed with him, my mouth loving him.

Soon I felt a swell that was my only warning before he climaxed. I groaned as he grunted, pressed forward and paused. His entire body paralyzed for a brief second, harder than stone, a hiss slipping from between his lips.

He came and I stopped, almost shocked at the reward I was given. My body shuddered. His body quivered, flexed, his noises matching the throbbing in my mouth. I began to move again, slowly, tasting all that Foster had to offer. I refused to waste anything as I came down one last time, as far as I could go. I eased myself back and away from him, gasping for a breath as I sat back on my heels. My hands shook as I playfully teased my fingers up and down his stomach as he tried to catch his breath.

That’s when Foster curled his lip with a look of anger that made my skin shiver tight.

He reached for me and helped me to my feet. My legs were tingling from being in the position I had been. I licked my lips, still tasting him.

He inched closer to me, his forehead resting against mine. My hands then fell to my sides. He didn’t speak a word. Remember what I said about the look in his eyes? You could never tell what he was thinking. What he was feeling.

I swallowed hard, my body starting to shake.

“Foster…”

He brushed his lips along my cheek, down to my neck, and finally up to my ear. He kissed once and whispered two words.

“My turn.”