Page 12 of Unraveling with You

“It looks like it. Is it tight enough?”

I bite my lip. “I think? Can you– Can you check?” My heart spikes into my throat. This belt sits right over my mark, and I haven’t let anyone touch my lower back since I was a kid. Why do I want Remington to? Should I take it back?

But Remington says, “Sure.”

Stifling my anticipation, I hold as still as I can. Remington slips two fingers into the belt around my back, probably thinking it’s the least offensive place to touch me. Really, it’s the most sensitive place on me. The introduction of his thick fingers zaps my spine with a hot flash of nerves, expanding my ribs as I stretch myself taller.

Remington pulls away quickly, but I’m too flustered to check his expression. Why did that feel so nice? I’m left with a ghost of his touch tingling my back. Is it because I haven’t been touched there in so long, or because it’s Remington who touched me?

“Tighten it just a bit more, and you’re all set.” He circles back in front of me, nodding as I tighten my belt’s velcro latch. “That’ll help brace your back and hopefully take some pressure off.”

My back does feel straighter. But I hum. “Normally, the handles reach my shoulders, so getting it off the stove is even more awkward.”

“Okay, then let’s try something–” Remington hoists the weight higher, facing me like he’s holding a metal platter at my shoulder height. “How about this?”

I’m nervous I’ll embarrass myself by doing something terribly wrong. Remington’s encouraging, firm nod convinces me to try anyway. Placing my feet at my shoulder width, I reach for the weight as if I’m grabbing the handles.

Remington smiles. “Okay, good news! I can definitely give you some ideas on how to lift easier when something is above your waist.”

My heart soars. Remington demonstrates a way to place one foot in front of the other, rocking my weight from the front foot to the back to lift the heavy pot off the stove. The second I try it out with his advice, I hoist the weight from his arms with far greater ease.

“Holy shit, you’ve got powerful legs!” Remington announces to the gym. I peek behind us, and Remington covers his mouth. “Sorry. I got excited for you. But I don’t think you’re weak at all, Lily. You’ve got that in the fucking bag. Keep going - let’s see how you carry it after.”

His words boost my muscles, giving me the strength to carry the weight to the workout bench.

But Remington’s expression shifts into stark seriousness. “Oh, Lilibeth— That’s not painful for you?”

I drop the weight with an echoingthudthrough the gym. “I’m used to it.”

His eyebrows furrow. “You must have a powerhouse back if you don’t have regular injuries and can carry things like that all week.”

I duck my head. “N-no. I feel really weak.”

“You might feel that way, but listen— I swear it’s not you, okay? Actually, have you even looked at the muscles that must be forming on your back from this? Look in the mirror.” The second Remington sees me tense from his suggestion, he waves off my worries with his hand. “You don’t need to take your jacket off; just bunch it up in the front so the fabric is tight against your back.”

Gathering my jacket in my fists, I look behind myself at Remington. Thank God my ass looks good in these yoga pants. If Remington checked me out, I didn’t catch it in time: he’s too busy gaping at my back.

I check a third time, making sure the mark on my back is covered. “W-what? Is it weird?”

“Dude,” Remington rasps. “You’re fuckingripped.”

I sputter out a laugh. “I-I’m not!”

He gives me one quick, sharp laugh again. “Yes, you are! Look at you! Shit, what did I say, you’re a badass. You carried so much soup that your back is stronger than mine.”

My laughter bubbles out of me without warning, louder and higher-pitched than I’d normally allow in public. Remington laughs with me, and my heart soars. We attract a few stares, but it feels fitting; every second with Remington feels special. I meet his eyes, and more butterflies fill my chest than I’ve experienced with anyone else.

He pulls his eyes off me, hoisting the weight between his legs. Mimicking my awkward soup-carrying stance, he widens his knees and arches his back to hobble across the gym with the weight swinging wildly between his legs. “I better train up to match you.”

“Don’t!” I chase after him to grip his arm, stopping him as laughter steals the rest of my breath.

Remington takes one look at my hot red cheeks and rumbles out heavy, sharp laughter in quicker succession. It’s such a sweet, goofy sound that my cheeks kill from how hard I’m smiling.

Refocusing ourselves, Remington gives me a sly grin.

“Just so you think I’m not saying anything creepy, I’ll show you how to carry heavy things down low just by shoving your ass out behind you.”

I burst into heavy laughter as Remington over-exaggerates the arching and flattening of his back, activating his legs just as he explained - by thrusting his ass out behind him. When I try it myself, I’m amazed.

---