He hums. “You’ve been clumsy a lot lately.”
“It’s the island. It’s trying to humble me.”
Another hum. Not convinced, I can tell.
But there’s no way in hell I’m telling him the truth about those bruises. They’ll fade.
He shifts his stance and presses again, working the tight knot loose.
Then he softens, easing the pressure, and I melt beneath his hand. There’s warmth in his touch. Care.
“You’re amazing, you know that?”
“I hear that often.” A faint smile in his voice. “Try to relax. You’re tightening everything up.”
“I’m trying. It just feels like every part of me’s pissed off.”
“I Can imagine. You were swinging that crowbar like you were possessed. Trying to impress me?”
“No,” I say immediately, “I don’t need to impress you. I just wanted to make you happy.”
The pressure eases, his hands going still on my back. A soft swallow follows, barely audible. Then he starts again, hands working faster this time.
Long strokes slide beneath my shoulder blades, coaxing more air, and one humiliating groan after another out of me. My muscles finally start to unclench, one by one.
“How about you?” I ask, my eyes half-closed now. “Feel anything after yesterday?”
“Sore in my arms this morning, but the swim helped. It always does.”
“Maybe I should try that. Trade demolition for exercise that doesn’t try to kill me.”
“Not a bad idea. You would sleep better, plus your muscles wouldn’t hate you after a day like yesterday.”
“That’s no fun.”
“A bit of movement wouldn’t hurt you, McKenna.”
“Is this your way of telling me I’m out of shape?”
“Your body’s telling me that. Don’t shoot the messenger.”
I huff a laugh, a little broken when he presses down on me.
“You’ve got a lot stored up here,” he says more intensely now. “Not just soreness... Tension.”
His hands slow down, feeling his weight on my back as he moves close behind my ear.
“I know how to treat that,” he whispers softly, the faintest touch of his lips on my skin.
Oh... my... god. Did he? Did he just do that?
He’s trying to beat me at my own game. The prick has probably been plotting this all weekend.
I try to get up but he pushes me right back into the table.
“We’re not done yet.”
He reaches for more oil, continuing to work over the sore spots, all the way down to my lower back. I clench my teeth.
