“Exactly the wording I would have used,” I say dryly. “Are you sure he’s not your daddy, Chase?”

He winks and straightens, his white backdrop ending up a wall. An open doorway appears behind him after he walks through, and then the video washes out from him turning on a light. It rebalances as he switches modes, and a muscular back appears. Tan skin and tattoos and a white sheet draped low on his hip, the band of his boxer briefs visible. Foster’s asleep in his bed with a pillow over his head and a bicep on top, pinning it in place.

“He woke up long enough to blame me for his hangover and curse at the rain that’s been falling since we got in this morning.”

And send me a picture of the damn rain.

My eyes trace the lines of his body from a new angle until Chase returns my view to him. “I take it you’re not mad at him anymore if you went out together?”

He screws up his face as he sits on the mattress, the pillow and arm visible behind him. “I haven’t been mad at Foster a day in my life.” His mouth hitches, despite him sounding all business. Then his head jerks over his shoulder when the arm shifts. “Our time together might be over, Tour Remi.”

A deep groan transforms into a, “Dude. What the fuck?”

I cover my mouth to silence a laugh as Chase jumps up, spinning around to get away from Foster.

“For the record, she called me.” He winces through a smile and appears to duck. “That only hurt the pillow.”

“Give me the phone,” Foster demands, deep and growly from sleep. He sounds almost as hot as when he issues commands to me in a very different scenario.

“We haven’t even gotten to the discussion of how she’s going to provide for you.” Chase ducks again, and a pillow hits the wall behind him. “Fine. Ruin all the fun.” He looks ready to relinquish me and the phone, but then he lowers his gaze to the screen, and a devious smirk curves his lips. “But first, can I see your face?”

I expect to say no, but the conspiratorial look from Chase causes me to reconsider. “Why?”

“Obviously to hold it over Foster’s head,” he says, moving quickly, and then he’s slamming a door to another room and leaning back against it.

“You’re the fucking worst.” Foster’s muffled voice sounds mostly annoyed but holds a bit of amusement.

“What’s in it for me?” I ask.

Chase answers without thought, “I’ll pledge my lifelong allegiance to Team Fomi and send you a hundred bucks.”

I mull it over for a second. “Deal.”

He chuckles, and a quiet, “Fuck,” comes through the wood. I switch modes and am face-to-face with Chase through the screen.