The. Entire. Night. I guess I didn’t make that great of an impression on him. Should’ve listened to the flipping Eight Ball. I’ve pretty much gone through every scenario I can think of to explain his actions, and none of them are good. There are no signs pointing to yes. Maybe last night was all Foster needed to decide it was a mistake. My mind is still reeling from the night. In the past week, he’s given me the two most erotic experiences of my life. But each time he left me craving more and now I feel alone and unwanted. It was clear he wanted last night to be over, so I pretended to go to sleep. But how could that be? How could the best night in my life not affect him? Didn’t he feel what we had? Didn’t he want the same thing? This morning he came into my room to help me with my clothes; the distance between us stretched for miles and the air was thick with tension.
