Page 27 of Catch Yourself a Snowmance
I shoot him a look with my brows raised.
He holds his hands up in surrender. “Okay. Okay. Thank you.”
He grabs the edges of his T-shirt and before I know what’s happening, it’s over his head and he’s sitting next to me, shirtless. Yes. He has a six-pack. And I’m staring.
He wags his eyebrows at me. I’m so busted.
“I’m a single guy with a lot of spare time on my hands. I work out.”
“Uh. Yeah. That’s good. It shows. Um … so. Lie down.”
Carson chuckles.
Then he stands and moves so he’s lying face-down on the couch.
I kneel next to him and reach up to his shoulders. I start to knead the muscles. He’s tight.
“Like rocks,” I murmur.
“You’re good for a guy’s ego,” he says in a sedate voice.
“Not your muscles. I mean that they’re tight. They need to be loosened up. Then you’ll feel better.”
He doesn’t say anything except, “Mmmmm.”
I keep kneading, moving my hands down his back, spending extra time wherever he’s tightest, working the areas around his contracted muscles until I feel them relent and soften.
I don’t know how long we sit like that, me on the floor, rubbing Carson’s back, him softly moaning at times, or gasping when I push too hard, but then breathing through the tension. It’s nearly as soothing to me to give a massage as it is for mostpeople to receive one. I let my mind wander while I focus on working out each tense spot.
“Everything okay?” I check in with Carson.
He doesn’t answer.
“Carson?” I say softly.
No answer.
“Carson?” I jiggle him lightly.
“Hmmm?” he rouses.
“Did you fall asleep?”
“Ummm … yes?” His voice is sleep-saturated and deep.
“You should go to bed.”
“I’ll just sleep here,” he says in a groggy mumble of words.
“No, sir. It’s too cold out here when the fire goes out. You need to get into bed. Come on.” I tug on his arm.
“Okay. Okay.” He says that, but he doesn’t budge.
“I’m going to bed, Carson.”
“I’ll be right there.”
Did he say what I think he just said? He’s half asleep.
