Dean thinks for a second. “Like…sickly sweet, over-the-top cutesy shit on fucking steroids. We don't do that.”
“Is that a condition of dating you?” I ask.
“Yup, you're my boyfriend now, and I don’t accept takebacks. Ever.”
As he chuckles and slings an arm over my shoulder, I dwell on his last word. It's one I hope sticks.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
DEAN
Deciding on the best boyfriend perk is hard.
Is it being able to kiss him shamelessly whenever I want, or not tensing up when he falls asleep on my shoulder? Or having another key on my keychain to serve as a constant reminder that we’re together?
Nope. It’s having him to massage my sore legs after too many hours in a cramped plane, not counting our first flight to Beijing or the drive from the airport in Boston. We’d coordinated flights with Claire and Oscar again, but their connecting flight from Tokyo was delayed, and I only slept for three hours last night, andoh my god, Nick’s fingers are fucking magical.
“How are you not screaming in pain?” Nick asks, lightening his touch, which I protest with a groan. “It’s like I’m tenderizing meat here.”
“Youaretenderizing meat. Keep going.” I bury my jet-lagged face into the pillow as my amazing boyfriend puts his whole body weight onto my thighs, making me moan like a moose in heat. Sitting in the exit row only lets me stretch out enough to prevent outright agony, and the dull pain I get instead is always something I’ve had to deal with on my own.
Nick smacks my ass, and I don’t care. “Holy crap, babe. I’m touching your legs, not sucking you off.”
“I need this more than sex. Don’t fucking stop.”
He snickers and digs into my hamstrings deliciously. I’m so lucky he’s a Kinesiology student and knows his way around a guy’s body. In this way and other ways, although I’m sure the sexy stuffhe knows didn’t come from the classroom. Some of that’s been from trial and error.
But it’s a lot closer to trial and resounding success with how this man puts me in a damn trance whenever he gets his hands on me.
I relieve Nick of his masseur duties after a while, shuffling over and patting his head. “Thanks,” I offer. “You’ve been a good boy.”
“Fuck you,” he scoffs, smacking my bare ass before I can put pants back on. “Just because I let you sleep on me doesn’t mean I bend to your every will.”
I rotate my head to face him and wiggle my eyebrows. “But you bend for my something else.”
He slaps my ass again, snickering, and I roll over to thwart any further attacks.
“You know whatwouldmake you a good boy is if you move home with me,” I half-joke. “I’ll buy us a penthouse if it’ll sweeten the deal.”
“Do they have any baseball over there?”
I shake my head. “Not really, no.”
My phone buzzes, saving me from having to backpedal out of this inconvenient conversation. It’s a notification from my job’s background check service, and with how quickly I press the icon to open the message, I’m surprised I don’t sprain a finger.
Your background check has been placed on hold as your selected document type does not match your selected nationality.
I roll my eyes. One thing I’m not looking forward to after moving home is this kind of meaningless bureaucracy. I read the rest of the message.
To continue with the identity verification and background check procedures, please perform the following actions:
Enter your Resident Identity Card Number
Upload an image of each side of your Resident Identity Card
Upload a photo of yourself, alongside the photo side of your Resident Identity Card
Complete the digital facial verification procedures
