Torn (The Fosters of New York 3)

"What did you think?"

She wipes her hands on the linen napkin she's had on her lap since she started eating. "I think I like it."

"You think you like it?" I parrot back with a grin. "Is that a polite way of saying you don't like it? I'm a big boy. I can take the truth."

I almost stop myself when I realize the irony in those words. I can't take the truth. If I could, I would have called my dad right after I opened the envelope that held all his secrets. Instead, I worked on a new song and then inexplicably felt the urge to call Falon even though I knew I'd likely wake her up. How fucked up is that? I'm sitting in an almost empty restaurant with a woman I've known less than a day instead of dealing with my life changing discovery.

"I'm serious." She eyes the last two bites of her burger. "It's great. I confess I listened to it a few times. The lyrics really spoke to me."

I wrote that song exactly a year to the day after I got sober. I finally felt that I had a handle on my life and the song embodies everything I hope for; love, family, and acceptance. I've released a few songs since Precious Beats, but none of them have carried the same meaning as that one.

"Spoke to you? How?"

"I spent most of my life feeling like I didn't know myself very well." She gives in to the temptation and takes a small bite of what's left of her meal. She chews quickly. "It's hard to find your own identity when you grow up in a four bedroom house with twelve siblings."

"You felt neglected?" I ask, even though that's not the message in the lyrics. It is the obvious presumption though. Two parents and thirteen children. I'm not a math genius but to me that equals not enough time for those parents to give each kid what they need.

"I never felt that," she answers quickly. "My parents always tried to make me feel special."

"What then?" I push.

She turns away. I watch her swallow as three fingers on her left hand rub the front of her neck. "A few of my siblings work for my mom and dad. They work at the bakery."

I take a bite of my own burger even though my appetite isn't what I thought it was. You can't chase down your parents' lies with a handful of fries and a medium rare cheeseburger.

"I worked there too when I was growing up but I knew I wanted more."

I chew and swallow quickly, washing the food down with another swig of water. I'd been tempted to order a beer but that wasn't because I needed it to quench my thirst. It had been the stepping stone the last time I broke my sobriety. A beer one night, weed the next, and then a call to the dealer who always had exactly what I wanted. That's my pattern. I'm not falling back into that.

"You wanted to be a photographer? How long have you known that?"

"How long have you known that you wanted to be a musician?" she counters, expertly diverting the question.

"Forever." My lips curve into a smile. "It's always been my passion."

"It's getting really late." She pauses. "I need to head home. I have a shoot tomorrow. Sleep would be good."

Sleep would be good for me too. Sleeping next to her would be even better. Being inside of her would fix everything. At least it would for a few hours and right now that's about as far into the future as I can think about.

CHAPTER 9

Falon

When he asked me to join him for dinner I was convinced that at some point he'd bring up that comment I made about his dick. He hasn't yet. Normally, I'm not that snippy with clients. I don't know what possessed me to say that to him other than the fact that his cock was literally about to fall right out of his jeans.

I've taken photographs of nude men before. The majority of that happened when I was in college when my boyfriend and I would mess around with the camera. Some of it was for school when I had to take a few tasteful nudes for my portfolio.

I approached a quiet guy who I often saw studying in the library. When I asked if he'd pose for me without any clothes, he agreed immediately. His body was beautiful. We never slept together. I wanted to but I had a boyfriend who said that he loved me. He did, I guess, until he loved someone else.

I don't mourn the loss of that relationship anymore. I might have for a couple of beats of my heart, but I was more in love with photography than any one person. It's my life now. It's everything to me and if I keep on track, I'll be able to fulfill my dream of moving to London and opening a studio there one day.

Making comments about a client's cock isn't going to get me there. I messed up earlier when I did that. I'm just grateful Asher seems to have forgotten about it. I know I'd get a lecture from Noah Foster if he knew I treated any client that way, especially his cousin, regardless of how much dick was on display.

"What are you thinking about?" His hand brushes against mine as we stand facing one another on the almost deserted sidewalk outside the restaurant. "You're totally somewhere else right now."

"No, I'm here." I turn away from him and towards the street. I should get an Uber. We'd have to walk at least a block over to hail a cab. "I'm going to get an Uber."

He leans forward to look at the screen of my smartphone. "Where's your place?"