Her eyes go hooded and heavy, her tongue snaking out to wet her lips. “Mac and cheese all day long, please and thank you. How about you? What’s your favorite?”
‘I’d like to drop to my knees and taste nothing but you,’is what he longs to say. “I’m easy. Gimme pizza and I’m happy. Mushrooms and pepperoni. The best.”
“I didn’t peg you for a mushrooms type of guy. I respect that.”
“Why ‘cause they’re healthy? I think that stops being true the moment you put ’em on an oily pizza.”
“Fair enough. I guess I assumed you had more refined tastes. Caviar or clams or something nasty like that.”
He lets a fond smile lift his lips. “She thinks caviar is nasty.”
“It’s fish eggs! Why would I eat that? People only do because it’s expensive.”
He offers her a slight nod. “Refined means small bite-sized plates, and I have a hearty appetite. But you’re not entirely wrong about caviar. If it were two dollars a pound, no one would care.”
“I knew it.”
Her legs open a fraction wider, and he presses forward just enough to feel the contact of her thighs on his hips. They’re playing a dangerous game that’s about to have him embarrassing himself soon if he’s not careful.
“Cats or dogs,” he chokes out.
“Both,” she says, seriously.
“Yeah. Both for sure.”
That must have been the right answer, and she gazes at him as if imagining a litter of puppies tackling him to the ground. “Favorite feeling? Not…that one. It can’t be sex related.”
He stumbles for a reply before shrugging in defeat. She must think him pathetic when he can’t even conjure up one good feeling from his whole sorry life.
“Those head tingles. Those are my favorite,” she says, wistfully. “You know the ones you get when someone’s touching you all soft. Like…having your hair cut, or someone’s nails running along the back of your neck?”
“Nope. I got nothing. Never felt that. Tingles like a shiver?”
He’s curious, but it shouldn’t be a secret that no one’s been touching him like that in a long, long time. Perhaps not ever.
Nora watches him a moment before apparently coming to the conclusion that he’s not bullshitting her in the slightest. “I’ll do my best to demonstrate.”
“You don’t have to.” He balks, biting his lip while his face heats up, and that’s crazy after he was five seconds from grinding against her in the kitchen like they were prepping to star in a soft-core porn.Nowsuddenly he’s shy.
“Follow me, we don’t have a massage table, so we need carpet for this. The bed is too low. It won’t take long, these will still be warm.” She moves past him to slide the pancakes onto waiting plates before turning off the heat and leading him into the bedroom, then pointing to the ground. “Get on the floor.”
He blinks in surprised confusion. “Why?”
“Because I’m about to give you that massage you keep asking for. You’ve never felt the head tingles, and that’s criminal.”
“I have to lay on the floor for this?”
“Yep. Flat on your back. You can use one pillow. Chop chop or I’m rescinding the offer.”
“Yeah. Yes. Okay. Let’s do this.” He gathers his courage and follows instructions to lie down in the middle of the room.
He has a standing biweekly massage appointment to work the kinks out of his sore shoulder, so it’s not like he’s completely unfamiliar with the process, but he’s never had whatever she’s about to do. For some reason, the fact that she would be massaging his scalp never quite clicked for him until she joined him on the floor so her knees point at the top of his head.
“Maybe this isn’t a good idea,” he says quickly, surprising himself with how anxious he’s become at the idea of anyone touching him there for more than a brief moment.
“Are you sure?”
“No.” He’s not sure. He wants this massage and especiallywants it from her. The sticking point is accepting prolonged contact in an area that’s given him so much pain over the years. It’s too vulnerable a thing to relax into enough to experience any sort of benefit.
