Foreman wasn't interested in defending Marty, but he couldn't defend himself without telling House--again--that he'd gone out to dinner with a friend. It stuck in his throat to call Marty that now, and Foreman shook his head. "What the hell do you want?" he said. "I'd love to convince you, House, but you don't seem to get it. When I say I'm not interested, that's what I mean. When I say I am--" Foreman stopped and glared at him pointedly, stepping forward, not quite into House's space, not yet enough to stop him from leaving, or moving, or throwing Foreman's words in his face again, but close enough to threaten it. To make it clear that he could. "I mean that too."
Christ, he was an idiot. House kept blowing him off and he was so fucking slow that he wasn't picking up on the message. Foreman let out a disgusted sound. House had pushed him away when Foreman kissed him before, and there was no sign he wouldn't do the same again right now. If Foreman couldn't show him that he was serious, and if nothing he said meant anything to House, then he might as well give up. Foreman brushed past House and bent over the garbage can, scooping the trash aside and pulling his phone out. He dropped it on the counter again, staring down at it, pausing instead of walking away. He'd meant to go back to his office, let House do whatever the hell he wanted in Foreman's apartment since he'd only break in again if Foreman kicked him out. Instead, he rested his hands on the counter, wondering what the hell he was missing. House wanted reassurance. House wanted to know Foreman wasn't leaving. If House didn't want him, then where the hell was this coming from? Just his general, selfish possessiveness? Foreman wouldn't be surprised.
The bitch of it was, Foreman didn't want to get back together with Nathan. Not if the man himself showed up and got down on one knee--or both. They'd broken up for a reason. Actually, far more than one. Nathan lived in Los Angeles; that wasn't where Foreman's life was now. He lived here, he worked here. He was happy here, and he'd been starting to get used to the idea it wasn't in spite of House. The chances of House being able to do much even if he knew anything about Nathan were miniscule. Foreman shook his head, letting out a short, humourless laugh. "His name is Nathan Bell," he said. "He's a civil rights lawyer with the Bononi Group in L.A., or he was when I moved here." Foreman raised his head to level a stare at House. "Why don't you go break into his life and let me know when you're ready to trust me."
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Christ, he was an idiot. House kept blowing him off and he was so fucking slow that he wasn't picking up on the message. Foreman let out a disgusted sound. House had pushed him away when Foreman kissed him before, and there was no sign he wouldn't do the same again right now. If Foreman couldn't show him that he was serious, and if nothing he said meant anything to House, then he might as well give up. Foreman brushed past House and bent over the garbage can, scooping the trash aside and pulling his phone out. He dropped it on the counter again, staring down at it, pausing instead of walking away. He'd meant to go back to his office, let House do whatever the hell he wanted in Foreman's apartment since he'd only break in again if Foreman kicked him out. Instead, he rested his hands on the counter, wondering what the hell he was missing. House wanted reassurance. House wanted to know Foreman wasn't leaving. If House didn't want him, then where the hell was this coming from? Just his general, selfish possessiveness? Foreman wouldn't be surprised.
The bitch of it was, Foreman didn't want to get back together with Nathan. Not if the man himself showed up and got down on one knee--or both. They'd broken up for a reason. Actually, far more than one. Nathan lived in Los Angeles; that wasn't where Foreman's life was now. He lived here, he worked here. He was happy here, and he'd been starting to get used to the idea it wasn't in spite of House. The chances of House being able to do much even if he knew anything about Nathan were miniscule. Foreman shook his head, letting out a short, humourless laugh. "His name is Nathan Bell," he said. "He's a civil rights lawyer with the Bononi Group in L.A., or he was when I moved here." Foreman raised his head to level a stare at House. "Why don't you go break into his life and let me know when you're ready to trust me."