It would be weird to say no, since he’s supposed to be my boyfriend. So, I bite my lips together to stop myself from laughing and, with a quick nod, I bury my face back into my forearms to hide my own flaming cheeks.
“Uh, sure…” Brookes says, and I hear him rise from the sofa.
“Rub some oil between your palms and stand here, like this,” Riya instructs, and all I can think of is Brookes currently standing over me while I’m lying here in nothing but a thong, my oiled, swollen body on full display in the worst kind of way. Death might actually be less painful than this.
“Now place your thumb here and fingers here, and then stretch the skin, like this.”
Even with my face buried, the moment Brookes’ fingers touch my skin, I feel it everywhere, like an electric current that soars through every last part of me.
“Like this?” Brookes’ low voice asks.
“Yes, that’s it. And now you want to lower your wrist down and pump in an upwards motion. Not hard, but firm, like this.” Riya shows him how to do it on my left leg.
“Is this okay?” Brookes asks, and I groan at the feel of his hand as it works up the back of my right leg. “Oh, shit. Sorry.” He quickly pulls his hand away.
“No, it’s good,” I say, my voice muffled by my arm. “Don’t stop.”
“Oh…” Brookes’ hand returns and he does it again, continuing up higher and higher, finding his rhythm until I feel him pause at the curve of my ass cheek.
“Um, what do we do… here?” he asks, his voice tentative and laced with awkwardness while his hand hovers just over my heated skin.
Riya giggles. “Well, this is where we keep going. We need to massageallthe way up.”
“Oh… kay…” Brookes hesitates again, and I almost expect him to stop, but then after a few seconds, I feel his hand trail up over the curve of my ass cheek.
“You good,baby?” he asks, and I know what he’s really asking. He’s checking if it’s okay that he touches my ass—if I’mokaywith him touching my ass.
I turn my head so that I can see him, our eyes meeting as something passes between us, and with a small smile, I nod. “I’m okay.”
And that’s the truth. I am okay. And it’s almost confronting, because at this very moment, I can’t remember a time I’ve ever felt more okay with a man’s hands on my body, and for someone who has been through all that I have, this is a huge deal.
The hotel pool is closed for the night. But, of course, Brookes being Brookes, he made some special arrangement with the night manager to bend the rules. While Riya was teaching him all he needed to know to be able to help me for if or when I’m ever that swollen again, she also told him a few quick-relief home remedies, one of them being swimming. Now, here we are, past midnight, the two of us doggy paddling from one end of the indoor pool, to the other.
“Shouldn’t you be in bed?” I say after a few silent laps.
“Who are you, my mother?” Brookes retorts.
I deadpan. “You’re literally in the middle of a golf tournament.” I don’t add that tomorrow is the cut, because I really don’t think he needs the reminder, especially not after today’s final score.
He scoffs. “I won the Championship after teeing off less than two hours after leaving the clubs, Pops. Trust me. I’m fine.”
I roll my eyes and, in return, he flashes me that cocky, arrogant smirk he wears so well, but there’s something there in his eyes, something that makes me not sure if I believe him, so I try for a different approach.
“Truth or dare?”
Brookes arches a brow. “Seriously?”
“You know the rules,” is all I say in return, grinning mischievously.
“Truth,” he says on a bored sigh.
“Are you scared?”
“Nope,” he says a little too quickly in my opinion, smugly popping the p.
I meet his eyes again, searching his gaze.
After a few seconds, he relents like I knew he would, and, with another sigh, he says, “Okay, fine. Yes. I am scared. I’m terrified, in fact.”
