“Yes. She thinks that the good thing I thought I’d learned from my childhood—self-reliance—is a weakness.”
“I wouldn’t take her thoughts too seriously. She doesn’t even know that we’re strangers.”
I smiled in his direction. “We’re not strangers. Our bet should’ve just been one session. That was the only time we were actually strangers. After that, it became muddy.”
“We’re muddy?” he asked with a teasing smirk.
There was a bench under a tree along the path, and he pointed to it. I thought he just wanted to sit down, but when I did, he moved behind me.
“What are you doing?” I looked up and the top of my head met his stomach.
His hands went to my shoulders, his thumbs immediately kneading at the knots there. “Helping.”
“You don’t have to do that,” I said, but I was already putting my head down and closing my eyes, my actions not matching my words.
He let out a soft, deep laugh. “I want to.”
I drew in a breath as his hands continued to move along my shoulders and neck. His touch was firm and sure. His thumbs traced lines on either side of my spine, then worked along each knot. Images of the shower that morning flooded my brain, and a tiny moan escaped before I could suppress it. My cheeks went warm again. I was glad he was standing behind me.
“Feel good?” he asked.
“Yeah,” I said, trying to downplay just how good.
His touch lightened and his spread fingers ran a path from the base of my neck up into my hair. A jolt of pleasure rushed through me, settling between my legs. It really had been too long since I’d been touched, and my reaction was embarrassing.
“What time is it?” I asked, grabbing for my phone. “Has it been an hour?”
“No,” he said.
I shifted, turning toward him, and his hands fell to his sides. He must’ve sensed that meant I was done because he walked around the bench and took a seat next to me. He stretched his legs out in front of him, crossing them at the ankles and staring out at the pond with its ducks and spouting water feature.
“So will you?” he asked.
“Will I what?”
“Come to the party with me this weekend?”
“I can’t leave my mom alone for too long,” I started. “But if the fact that I might have to leave at a moment’s notice isn’t an issue for you, then sure.”
“It’s not an issue. I understand,” he said, scratching at the back of his neck.
“Your parents will be fine with me crashing the party?”
“It’s open house style. There will be a lot of people. They won’t mind at all.”
“Okay.” I tapped his knee with my closed fist, a weird impulsive move on my part. I’d just felt the need to touch him, and that was the best way I could think of.
He tapped my knee back, teasing me, I could tell. “Okay.”
But instead of a short tap, like I had done, his closed fist stayed on my knee. I stared at it, innocently existing there, like it belonged. Then slowly, I reached out, and as I was about to place my hand on top of it, he flipped his hand, palm up, fingers splayed, waiting for me. My heart picked up speed as I rested my hand on his and he threaded our fingers together.
I wasn’t sure why that single action made my eyes sting. I looked away, down the path we’d been walking, trying to regain my composure. I squeezed his hand, feeling it in mine. Soaking in the connection to another human.
“You okay?” he asked.
“I’m fine,” I said, still not looking at him.
“It’s okay if you’re not,” he said. “Your life is kind of overwhelming right now.”
