He started with the antibiotic, dabbing at the worst of my scrapes. He dropped light kisses on the few spots that were neither bruised nor broken and I broke out in goose bumps everywhere he touched.
“If you’d asked me yesterday, I would’ve said there’s nothing sexy about ointment.” I ran my fingers through his hair. “But your work here is flawless.”
He moved on to the body lotion, warming it between his palms before spreading it over my legs. “You make it easy on me.”
“I don’t see how that’s even close to the truth. I look like the unlikely survivor in a dystopian movie.”
“Stop it,” he chided, leaving a kiss on my waist. “You’re a very likely survivor. You can summon Satan, after all.”
“Oh, that’s right. It’s how I got you.” I leaned into him as he rubbed the lotion over my back and shoulders. “You’re welcome to bring this bottle into the bedroom with you. I’m open to all forms of massage. I’m open to a lot of things, actually. Help me get to my bookshelf and I’ll provide examples.”
“Read all you want, but the only thing you’re going to get from me for the next few days is a fond pat on the ass,” he said, laughing.
I rested my head on his chest. I was naked, my hair wet and dripping all over his fancy shirt. My arm was still in the condom. The faint scent of vanilla lingered between us and I exhaled like I’d just remembered how. “Will you stay? Will you read with me?”
“I’m not going anywhere, storm cloud,” he said.
chaptertwenty-five
Beckett
Today’s Special:
Soufflé of Native Cherry Sympathy
Lance:Are we going to talk about this?
Beckett:Should I give you a call?
Lance:No, because I’ll say things I’m going to regret if I don’t have a chance to delete them before sending.
Beckett:Awesome. Glad we’re playing on that level today.
Lance:Well? Go ahead. Explain.
Beckett:What do you want me to explain?
Lance:Are you FUCKING kidding me right now?
Beckett:…I don’t think so, no.
Lance:I thought you were my friend.
Beckett:I am. That hasn’t changed.
Lance:You’re my friend. That means you don’t go after my sister.
Beckett:Okay, but I think you’re wrong about that. You have to take a minute to remember that I’m not some misogynistic prick. Then you have to ask yourself why I’m good enough to be your friend but not good enough for your sister.
Lance:Because she’s a kid!
Beckett:Dude, she’s 28. She wins commercial real estate in poker games. She owns her own business. She’s very much an adult. Arguably more than you.
Lance:I’m sorry but I can’t process this. It really messes with my head to think about you and my sister together.
Beckett:Listen, I know you prefer things in clean, black and white boxes. I know this isn’t that. But nothing has to change between us.
Lance:You should’ve told me then.
