“Goddamn.” His head shakes, grin wide. “A pleasure to meet you, Tour Remi.”

“You too, Chase.”

“Treat my boy right, yeah?” He straightens as I lower my phone, then the video darkens, the sound of the door. “Brother, you. Are. Screwed.”

“So much for not fucking the boat.” Foster sighs, and the picture flashes before I’m staring at a familiar chest. “I can’t believe you’d break my heart like that.”

“What can I say? I like him better.”

Foster’s jaw comes into view, a hand running over the stubble. “Liar.” The view fades, and when it returns, I have his ocean-blue eye and part of a white pillow. “Now I’ll balance with a truth. I decided some stuff last night.”

“Before or after getting drunk?”

“Before. Then I really decided while drunk.”

I maneuver the shot to focus on my eye and cheekbone. “What about?”

“Us.”

God, I am not anticipating the full-body reaction to two letters. A flutter in my stomach, a stumble of my heart, every inch of skin growing hot at the delivery.

“And what did you decide?” I ask, raspy and quiet.

“There is one.”

My mouth turns up. “I might like an us.”

A smile enters his eye. “Good. Because I also decided I’m coming for you.”

I want him to, so much it terrifies me.

“I’m making you mine,” he tells me, my pulse thundering. “I’m going to make you fall in love with me.”

“Yeah?” I say, but it sounds more like promise?

“Yeah, baby.” He seems as lost in me as I feel in him. “I am.”

The chimes dismissing classes sound, and I glance away before I decide to stay. “I have a class. Maybe we can wander later?” I look back as he nods. I’m about to end the call, but I stop. “Foster?”

“Hmm?”

“I think I might like all the other stuff you decided, too.”

But it’s another lie. There’s no thinking anymore when it involves Foster West. I want him, and I need him to be real, and I could already love him. All of those, and I’ve never really met him. Not in the smell him, touch him, breathe the same air sense. I haven’t even seen him all at once.

The other day, he said you can never truly see something until it’s right in front of you. He was referring to art and everything he’s shown me—at the time, the Žižkov Television Tower with giant crawling baby sculptures on it. But it applies here, too.

I haven’t truly seen him, and he hasn’t truly seen me.

Foster just told me he plans to remedy the truly part. Maybe we don’t wait until then for the rest.

* * *

I play with the idea of showing Foster my face over and over again for the next week. But I always change my mind at the last second.