Page 42 of Feels Like Love
He ran a hand over his head. “Apart from hanging out with the guys on Friday night? No.”
“So…no dates?”
He chuckled. “No. Why do you ask?”
I shrugged. “Just curious.”
“What about you? Any dates coming up?”
“Yeah, actually.” I tucked my hair behind my ear. “I have one tomorrow. Which is what I need your help with.”
“Okay. What’s up?”
“Well…what are the expectations for a date at a coffee shop?”
“What do you mean?” he asked.
“I don’t know. It just seems more like somewhere you’d go to meet a friend. Or to do an interview.”
“Aren’t most dates like interviews? You’re gathering information about the other person and deciding if you’re a good fit.”
When he put it that way, it sounded so…clinical. So boring.
“What’s that face about?”
I shook my head. “Nothing.”
“Where are you meeting? Pore Over?”
I scoffed. “Don’t be ridiculous. There’s no way I’m going on a date where everyone in town could see me and report back to my brother. Speaking of—don’t you dare tell him I’m going on a date.”
He held up his hands. “I’m not telling anyone anything, especially not about the coaching.”
“Good,” I said. “I mean it. Because he always seems to sabotage me. And I do enough of that myself—I don’t need his help.”
“Wren.” He took my hand in his. “You’re going to be fine.”
He turned my hand over in his, our fingers dancing, exploring. It felt so nice, to be touched. And then he started massaging, loosening the muscles of my hand.
“All you need to do,” he said, working my palm with his thumbs.Where did he learn to do that?“Is relax.”
I could feel my body melting beneath his touch. I closed my eyes and let out a sound that was unintelligible. But I didn’t care, as long as he kept doing that to me.
He continued working my muscles, and I completely lost track of time. We could’ve been sitting there minutes or days for all I knew. But I was so focused on the warmth of his skin, the expert way he applied just the right amount of pressure. And when he finally, gently, placed my hand on my lap, I pouted.
“Don’t worry.” He tweaked my nose with a grin. “I’m not done.”
“I feel like I’m the one who should be giving you a massage,” I said, melting into the cushions as he resumed his ministrations on my other hand. “You said you had a long day. And that emergency this weekend. Is the dog okay?”
“Yes.” He sighed. “Thankfully. But I’d rather talk about you.”
I frowned. Maybe Bennett needed to relax even more than I did. I sometimes forgot how difficult his job could be. And I could see the sadness written in his features. Had he lost a patient? I was too scared to ask.
“Get on the floor,” I said, wanting to comfort him.
He jerked his head back and paused his massaging. “Excuse me?”
“Here.” I scooted so my back was to the couch and spread my legs. “Sit between my legs. I’ll make you feel better.”
