Page 158 of Hat Trick
“I’m going to defer to you. Is there anything in particular you want to work on?”
“Is napping an option?” He tosses me a rogue grin I feel in the center of my chest, and I have to tuck my chin to avoid him seeing my blush. “If not, anything that will require you putting your hands on me.”
“This is a professional environment, Mitchy. Keep your dick in your pants.”
“Says the girl who can’t even look at me.”
I roll my eyes and lift my gaze to meet his. “Better?”
“Much. I mean this in the least creepy way possible, but how about a massage then some time on the treadmill in the weight room? The strength and conditioning coaches have been working on building my speed back up, and I want to see how fast I can go today.”
“I thought you hated running.” I finish off the doughnut and wash my hands in the corner of the room. “How times have changed.”
“I think it’s because it was taken away from me. I’ve missed it. I can’t run in this prosthetic because it’s too heavy, and I’ve been thinking about asking my doctor for a blade I can try. It’s not hockey, but it’s something.”
“Really? That’s awesome, Riley. It would be exciting to try something new.”
“Yeah.” He nods and pushes the button on his socket, waiting for the air to release. When he pops it off, he hands it to me, and I set it against the wall. “We’ll see.”
“Where do you want me to massage?”
“My left leg then my right one. If, ah, that doesn’t gross you out.”
“Why would it gross me out?”
“Because it’s scarred and fucked up. The last time you, um, touched me like that was in a dark room.” His throat bobs around a swallow. “You can see everything under these lights. Every mark. Every spot on my body from where they sewed me together. There’s, uh, less places for me to hide in here, and I don’t want you to feel uncomfortable with what I’m showing you.”
“First of all, nothing about you is fucked up,” I say, hoping he can hear the conviction behind my words. “And I don’t care how bright it is in here. Would you prefer if I dimmed the lights? It could recreate the mood.”
“No. I’m fine with it. I see my limb every day. I want to make sure you’re okay with it,” he says.
“I’m more than okay with it.”
“Glad to hear it.” He flips on his stomach and rests his arms at his side, blowing out a long breath. I grab a hot towel from the warmer and drape it over the back of his residual limb, smiling at his low groan. “That feels so fucking good.”
“I haven’t given anyone a massage in a while, so no making fun of how out of practice I am.” I start on his left leg, working on the tendons in his hamstrings then down to his calves. “How was your night?”
We had plans to meet up yesterday, but he texted me an hour before I was supposed to head to his place and asked to cancel. He was in a bad mood, overwhelmed after a frustrating day with his body and another adjustment at his prosthetist’s office, and I agreed without a second thought.
I’m so glad I get to see him today.
I didn’t realize how much I would miss him until I tried falling asleep last night. I kept getting distracted by the scent of his shampoo on the pillow he likes to sleep on. I cradled it to my chest and woke up this morning smelling like him, a fact I like way more than I should.
“I turned off my phone, did some painting, and started a new book. It was fine, but I probably would’ve been in a better mood if you had come over.”
“Yeah, right. I’m sure I would’ve annoyed you.”
“You never annoy me.” He pauses when I move up the hem of his shorts, thumbs pressing along the lines of his muscles. “I missed you.”
“I missed you too,” I admit quietly, and it’s scary to put that out into the universe. I never miss anyone besides my girlfriends, but when Riley’s not around, his absence is noticeable. An ache in my chest carves itself out when we say goodbye after spending time together, and no matter what I do, I can’t soothe the sting when he leaves. “A lot.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah.”
Riley turns his hand right-side up, an invitation there. I hesitate for only a fraction of a second before I slide my palm against his and lace our fingers together. He relaxes the second our touches meet, and so do I.
He’s warm and comforting, the swipe of his thumb over the curve of my knuckles a welcome display of affection.
