Page 74 of The Love Playbook

“You okay?” he asks, concern lacing his voice. “Too much?”

“No, no.” I shake my head and immediately regret it. “No, it’s fine. Just shocking. I’m fine.”

He grunts in disagreement as he begins to massage my sore muscles. “You’re notfine, Autumn. That’s the whole point here. Let me know if I’m pressing too hard.”

I moan as his fingers smooth out a particularly sore place, making it hurt so good. “It feels amazing.”

He’s silent for several moments as he continues to massage my neck and shoulders and the base of my head. His thumbs dip beneath the collar of my shirt, firmly pressing on the muscles surrounding my shoulder blades as well.

“Are you going to tell me what happened?” he asks quietly after a moment.

“I swear, it really wasn’t that bad,” I say quietly, repeating the statement I’ve made what feels like a thousand times since it happened. But people hear “car accident” and lose their shit no matter what. Though I have to admit, the back of my car does look pretty thrashed. Poor little car. “Just a fender bender. I’ll be fine in a day or two.”

CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX

Jackson

Autumn fills me in on the story of how she got rear-ended this afternoon, her sentences punctuated by soft moans and groans as I continue to massage her.

I’m trying my best to listen to her words more than her sighs and sounds of pleasure, but it’s hard.

Hard. Ha. Like my dick.

Because those are the same sounds she’d make when I licked her pussy or slid my fingers inside her or fucked her ass. I miss hearing those sounds. I thought I never would again. Yet here I am, giving her a neck massage and listening to her tell me about her accident.

My dick twitches at those thoughts, and I try my best to focus on soothing her injured muscles. I’m not sure how well this oil will work compared to an actual medication designed for this purpose, but I’m not going to turn down the opportunity to have my hands on her again, especially if it helps her.

I keep my breathing measured and slow so I don’t react to her laughing off what could’ve been something serious. She said she didn’t think the guy who ran into her even hit the brakes. What if her wheel had been turned and he’d shoved her into the oncoming traffic she was waiting to clear? What if he’d hit her going even faster? What if …?

I swallow down the bile that rises in my throat at the thought of her broken and bleeding, needing far more than a neck massage and an ice pack.

Her hands on mine causes me to still, and I realize I’ve drifted off in my own head. She pulls my hands away, scooting over and turning to face me, her face serious, her wince less than the last time she moved.

“Jackson,” she begins, her voice serious. “I appreciate you coming to check on me, I really do. But …” Her eyes meet mine, dark and solemn as she draws in a deep breath. “What are you doing here?”

I should’ve known this question was coming. I really should’ve. But it still hits me like a slap. And I’m torn between my desire to stay and make sure she’s really okay and the urge to leave when I’m clearly not wanted.

But her roommates are gone, and I’m not going to abandon her before they get back.

Swallowing, I withdraw my hands from her grasp and settle back into the corner of the couch. “I was worried about you.” I have no reason not to be truthful at this point. I already know she doesn’t return my feelings—or won’t admit to returning them. Either way, the end result is the same. We’re not together. She doesn’t actually want my help. I paid her back for her help by organizing her room. Our deal is finished. There’s literally no other reason for me to be here except, “I care about you, and when Dani said you were in a car accident I needed to see for myself that you’re okay.”

She gives me a slight smile and drops her face, examining her fingers. Then she closes her eyes and leans her head to one side, obviously stretching her neck.

“Are you sure you don’t want me to continue with the massage?” I offer quietly.

Her eyes open slowly, and there’s that tiny smile again as she leans her head the other direction. “Thank you, but no.” Her mouth opens again, and she sucks in a breath, but then she presses her lips together as though to hold in whatever words she’d been about to say.

“What?” I ask. “What was that thought?”

“You pay too close attention.” It’s almost an accusation, but tempered with that smile again.

I raise an eyebrow. “I seem to remember you complimenting me on that rather than complaining.”

A low, husky laugh comes out of her as she adjusts her position so she can rest her head on the couch.

“Do you want your spot back?” I offer, feeling like an ass. She’d obviously been comfortable here. “What would be even better is if you went to bed to lie down.”

Her eyes fall closed, but she doesn’t move again. “Not yet. And yes, in the right circumstances your skills of observation are fantastic. But sometimes they’re damn inconvenient.”

---