Page 12 of The Rebound
“Yeah, well, comes with the territory of being a mom-to-be. Here, let me make room for you,” I mumble, trying to swing my feet off the couch, but Saint beats me to it, lifting them gently and placing them on his lap as he sits down.
I hold my breath. I don’t care if he is a new friend—if I’m about to get a free foot massage from a handsome guy, I’m not about to say no.
“May I?” Saint asks, thumbs at the ready and poised against the soles of my feet.
I giggle a little and nod, words escaping me.
Wow, this guy is unreal. I’m half expecting to wake up from this wild dream—you know, the one where a magical stranger fulfills all my needs? But he digs his thumbs into my sore feet, and I don’t wake up. Instead, I shudder in pleasure, stifling the moan that’s begging to climb out of my throat.
This is intimate. Maybe too intimate. But I don’t want it to stop.
“You have any siblings?” I ask, my mind blank.
What is this, speed dating?
“Only child,” he says. “People tell me I give off only-child energy.”
“Not at all.” Genuinely surprised, I smile at him. “I would have guessed you were an older sibling with all of these caretaker instincts.”
Saint laughs, and I notice—not for the first time—how broad his shoulders are. How deep his dimples are in his cheeks, and how defined his jawline is. I can’t help but watch those muscular arms move, tapering down into thick, masculine hands. It’s hard to ignore how devastatingly handsome my new friend is. And sweet, and attentive—
Okay, seriously ... stop, Kinley. He’s not interested in a chick who’s seven months pregnant, and you’re certainly not in the market for a new man.
“You have any siblings?” he asks, interrupting my inappropriate thoughts.
“One older brother. He actually lives—”
Saint hits a particularly ticklish spot, and I gasp.
“Sorry.” He chuckles. “You good?”
The smirk on his lips sends a shiver of pleasure up my legs and into my core, coiling between my hips.
Okay, I’m turned on, I’ll admit it, but there’s no way in hell I’d let him know that. This man has been nothing but good to me, and I’m not about to make it weird by coming on to him. I’m pregnant, for Pete’s sake. It’s probably just hormones. And I certainly wouldn’t want to risk the only friendship I’ve made here in Boston by being completely inappropriate with him.
“I’m good. Thank you.” As I gently pull my feet back, I immediately miss the feel of his warm, strong hands soothing me. “I should probably go back to my place and unwind for the night. This was honestly such a nice day. Thank you.”
“I had a good time too.”
Why does this feel like the kind of conversation you have after a really great first date?
Almost as if he can read my mind, Saint asks, “Can I give you my number?”
“Um. Sure.”
“Just in case you need anything before we hit up the farmers’ market.”
“Right. Just in case.” I can’t help the grin on my face.
I’m so out of practice that I don’t even know if the man is flirting with me or just being considerate to a new neighbor. It’s probably the latter. I could imagine Saint doing the same thing if an eighty-year old woman had moved in down the hall, carrying her groceries and boxes of books.
We exchange phone numbers quietly, and I try to ignore how my body is humming with excitement. I manage to convince him to let me walk back to my condo by myself, which is silly since I’m only down the hall.
“I’ll see you later,” I say. “Thanks again for today.”
Saint leans against the door frame, his long and lean body on full display. It takes everything in me not to check him out.
“Thanks for dinner. Good night, Kinley.”
