“Has to hurt before it feels better.”
He grunts.
He knows.
Far more than me at this point, I’m sure.
He rubs my calf with his thumb while he keeps the pressure on my shin. Not hard. MoreI’m here. I’ve got you.
And I breathe until the pain fades to a dull ache. My jaw unclenches. My eyelids relax. My shoulders settle back on the floor.
He taps my other knee. “Balance it.”
“Bossy.”
“Prefer this side of the trainer’s table.”
I smile, eyes still closed while he helps me straighten my aching left side and moves on to stretching my right leg too.
He keeps one hand on my left thigh the whole time.
No pressure.
It’s all presence.Still here if you need me.
He helps me through three more stretches—two I’m familiar with, one that he says his trainers make him do every day—and when we’re done, there’s still a dull ache in my left hip, but it’s bearable.
No shooting pain down my leg. No feeling of flaming metal spikes crushing my hip.
Merely a vague reminder that weather’s coming.
While we’ve ended up lying next to each other on the floor, our faces inches from each other again. “Thank you,” I whisper.
He brushes a thumb over my cheek, eyes searching mine like I’m a bigger mystery than my hummingbird.
I wish he’d say something.
Anything.
Because the way he’s staring at me is making my belly flutter and my nipples tingle and my clit ache.
But sleeping with him again would be a bad idea.
Once is once.
Period.
Twice is an implication that there will be a third time, and a fourth, andI’m leaving.
Yes, yes, we could say we’re having a temporary friends-with-benefits arrangement, but the problem is?—
I think I like him.
No, IknowI like him.
If we’d met two years from now, after my time in the UK and touring the US, I’d consider dating him.
Not that I have any idea if he’d consider dating me. If he dates at all. What he wants in relationships.
