He shrugs. “It’ll dry.”
I set my book aside, accepting that study time is over. “What do you want, Kade?”
“Just checking on my student. Been thinking about our next lesson.”
My stomach tightens at the memory of our first lesson—the way his voice dropped, the unexpected flutter in my chest when he got too close.
“I figured you’d forgotten about our deal.”
“Forgotten? Nah.” Kade drapes one arm across the back of the couch. “Just been planning. Today’s a perfect opportunity.”
“I’m studying,” I say flatly.
“Yeah, I can see that’s going well for you.” He nods toward my book, which I’ve been stuck on the same page ever since he walked in. “Besides, we had a deal.”
I sigh, setting my notebook aside. “Fine. What’s today’s lesson?”
“Touch.”
The single word sends an electric current down my spine. “Touch?”
“Yep.” He shifts to face me fully, his knee bumping against mine. “Words are important, sure, but physical contact is where the real magic happens.”
I lean away from him. “I know how to touch a girl, Kade.”
“Do you, though?” His eyes rake over me. “Because your verbal game was pretty weak, and I’m guessing your physical game isn’t much better.”
The challenge in his voice triggers something competitive in me. “What are you suggesting?”
“Nothing weird,” he says, raising his palms in mock surrender. “Just some basics. Hand-holding, arm touching, that kind of thing.”
I eye him skeptically. “And how are we supposed to practice that?”
“Give me your hand,” he says, extending his own.
“You’re kidding.”
“Dead serious.” He wiggles his fingers. “Come on, Golden Boy. Don’t chicken out now.”
My body tenses at the taunt. I hesitate, then extend my right hand. Kade’s hand hovers over mine for a moment before his fingers close around it. His palm is warm, slightly calloused where it presses against mine.
“See, this is mistake number one,” he says, his voice taking on that instructional tone from our first lesson. “You’re just letting your hand lie there like a dead fish. You need to engage.”
“Engage how?”
“Like this.” He adjusts his grip, interlocking our fingers. “Feel the difference? It’s more intimate.”
I do feel the difference. The pressure of his fingers between mine sends a shiver through me.
“Now, the secret is applying just the right amount of pressure.” His thumb begins to move, tracing small circles on the side of my hand. “Too limp, and you seem disinterested. Too tight, and you come off as desperate or controlling.”
My mouth goes dry as his thumb continues its methodical motion against my skin. The sensation is oddly hypnotic.
“Subtle movements are key. Little touches with your thumb, like this. It creates a constant connection, a silent conversation beneath whatever you’re saying out loud.”
I try to focus on his words, on the technical aspects of what he’s teaching, but all I can feel is the warmth spreading from our connected hands up my arm.
“Your turn,” Kade says, loosening his grip. “Show me what you’d do.”
