"Okay," she says. Her fingers dig into the knot near my shoulder blade. "How's this pressure?"
I'm built like a nuclear fallout shelter. Obscenely tall, beefy, low body fat percentage. There's no room for pretty architecture on my frame. And what she's currently doing to my back makes me want to close my eyes and whimper. I can't have that happen, so I lie.
"Feels okay," I grunt.
Scout sighs, though her hands never leave my shoulders. "I'm over here wasting my time on a grumpy man who acts like I'm torturing him."
I wince as she hits an especially tender spot. "You might be."
"Oh, Silas. God forbid someone tries to help you," she mutters. Her thumbs press harder, finding the exact spot that makes white heat explode down my arm. "Ice cold one minute, needy the next. Make up your mind."
They call me Ice Man. The nickname stuck years ago when I didn't react to a dirty hit that should've started a line brawl. Everyone thinks I'm emotionless. Unaffected. A machine. But right now, with her hands on me, I'm anything but cold. I'm burning up from the inside out, desperate for more contact, more touch, more of her.
My jaw clenches so hard I think my teeth might crack. Iwant to shove her off. Or maybe I should pull her closer. I find myself wanting things I have no business wanting.
"I'm not your project," I manage.
"No," she snaps, pressing deeper into the knot. "You're impossible."
Her curls brush the back of my neck when she leans in for better leverage. I swear under my breath. That shampoo she uses taunts me, lavender and eucalyptus folding into my lungs with every breath. It's like being in a field of flowers. I want to lie on my back, legs and arms spread wide, and be engulfed in that scent.
The sound rips out of me before I can stop it. A guttural moan, rough and low and completely involuntary. Shame floods through me hot and immediate. My cock stirs against my sweatpants, traitorous and obvious and humiliating.
Her hands pause. Just for a beat. Then they resume, polite and careful, like nothing happened.
I haven't been touched like this in so long. Years of keeping people at arm's length, of refusing physical therapy that required hands on my body, of jerking off alone in the dark because letting anyone close felt too dangerous. My skin's starving for this. Every nerve ending screams for her to press harder, touch more, never stop. The contact rewires something in my brain, short-circuits my carefully built defenses. I want to beg her to keep going. I want to grab her hands and put them everywhere.
Fuck me. What she's doing feels so good. Somehow, it makes everything worse.
"Stop," I grind out, shifting forward to hide the evidence of my body's betrayal. "That's enough."
Her hands still immediately. I can hear the worry in her voice when she says, "Did I hurt you?"
The shame swirls inside my chest, rising higher.
"You couldn't hurt me. I just hit my limit."
"Fine." She steps back. Her tone is clipped and professional. "I get it."
“You did… fine. Good.” I’m fucking this up even more, somehow. “My shoulder just needs to rest.”
Scout’s eyebrows rise, but thank fuck she doesn’t press the matter. "I'm going to my room. Let me know if you need anything."
She disappears down the hallway without another word. My head droops forward. I sit alone in the living room, shoulder still throbbing, cock still hard, shame coating everything like oil.
Fuck me. I'm letting my old crush on my pretty neighbor resurface, and it's only growing, getting worse. How am I supposed to keep Scout at a distance when she's in the next bedroom?
I spend the rest of the night reviewing film highlights of my upcoming opposing team. But when I'm done, I realize I might have just kicked back and zoned out. I can't remember a single stat or think of how best to defend against them.
Before bed, I head through my ironclad routine because routines are safe. Predictable. Shower, stretch, Sudoku. I step out of the steam with a towel slung low on my hips, my chin-length hair still dripping water down my shoulders.
Scout rounds the corner from the kitchen. She blinks when she sees me. Her eyes go wide for half a second before she catches herself.
"Wow," she says. There's something in her voice I can't identify. "You brought the steam with you."
Something hot flashes between us. The air goes thick and charged. Her eyes drop to my chest. I watch them track down the muscle, following water droplets. Then they snap back up to my face, cheeks flushing pink.
I should say something normal. Anything that defuses this moment before it gets more awkward.
