I do love that funky floral sofa though.
And, like I knew he cooked. And that his cooking was good.
But the man made my favorite food out of the blue. At home. Without needing to go to the store.
And dinner was delicious.
I want more nights like this.
I want him.
The shower turned off a minute ago and I’m simply standing in his kitchen with my hands folded on the cold marble countertop.
But tell that to my heart rate.
The organ is pounding in my chest like I am in the middle of the swim leg of a race.
I probably shouldn't have invited myself to stay over. Presumptuous much?
But he also could have told me no. He’s an adult. He knows "no" is a full sentence.
Then again, so is "yes".
I get the feeling I'll need to push him to where I want him to go. He's too cautious, too controlled.
"Ready?" Miguel asks and I turn to him.
Fuck. Me.
He's in just a pair of short black gym shorts and nothing else. His hair is still wet from the shower. He didn't shave so the shadow of a beard hangs across his face. My lion friend peeks out from the hem of his shorts and the line of ink staining on his ribs has a hypnotic effect as I stare.
"What?" I chirp, coming back to attention because I don't remember what I'm supposed to be ready for.
"Foam rolling." He says with a maniacal smile and I chuckle.
"Oh right, no pain no gain."
"That is absolutely true when it comes to foam rolling. Ladies, first."
I cross over to him and settle in on the yoga mat he laid out on the floor. I position the roller at my calves and lift up to roll across them.
"Oh gods," I groan because the foam meets the first inch of muscle at the base of my calf and immediatelysave yourself from this torturemessages burn through my nervous system. My right foot twitches in response to the pain.
"Find the spot?" Miguel laughs.
"It's not funny, count!" I demand urgently because the sooner he gets to thirty, the sooner I can move and release the acute pressure on my tight muscles.
"Done," He says after an agonizingly long count to thirty. "Hamstrings."
"Yeah, yeah," I mumble as I roll higher up my leg.
I move through my butt, back, and then endure the acute torment of rolling out my IT bands before lying with a leg open in a half frog position to get my inner thighs.
When I finish, I roll to my back on the mat. Miguel is sitting next to me on the floor with his arms propped up on his knees.
"How do you feel?" He asks.
"Honestly, a little nauseous."
