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Reluctantly, I sat on the couch, feeling like a useless blob.
A minute later, Trace brought me a glass of ice water. He observed my stiff posture and chuckled. “It doesn’t look like you’re relaxing.”
“I feel like I should be doing something,” I mumbled. I hated being unproductive.
“Nuh huh,” he shook his head and sat the glass of water on the makeshift crate coffee table. “No helping, only relaxing. Unless you want to get naked?” He suggested. “I wouldn’t mind that.”
“I’m not getting naked,” I rolled my eyes.
“Too bad,” he shrugged with a grin. His eyes were a light playful green.
I squealed when he picked up my legs and lifted them onto the couch. He yanked my heels off and dropped them on the floor. He grabbed a flannel blanket off the back of the couch, and draped it over my body. A pillow was already cushioned under my head.
He gazed down at me, appraising his handy work. “This is relaxing,” he smiled. “Now stay, Fido,” he chortled as he turned to head back into the kitchen.
“Ha, ha, ha,” I faked. “You’re so funny.”
“I am funny,” he turned back around and grinned cockily, “and smart, and handy, and insanely good looking,” he winked.
“Conceited much?” I joked with a raised brow.
“No, baby, just confident,” he chuckled and stepped into the kitchen. “I’ll be right back,” he called, opening the door. “The grill’s downstairs by the garage. Sometimes, the guys grill hotdogs for lunch.”
“Alright,” I sighed. “I’ll be here,” I pointed to the couch, “relaxing.”
“That’s my girl,” his laugh carried inside the apartment as the door closed behind him.
A few minutes later, he returned, a gust of cold air blowing into the apartment behind him.
He rubbed his hands together. “It’s fucking cold out there,” he shivered. “I swear, the temperature is dropping by the second.”
I appraised his lightweight shirt with the sleeves rolled up to his forearms. “Maybe, like a normal person, you should wear a coat,” I suggested with a smirk.
“It wasn’t that cold earlier!” He defended.
“It’s February, Trace,” I rolled my eyes, “it’s cold.”
“I can’t wait for spring,” he grumbled, making his way to the couch. He lifted my legs and sat down, placing them in his lap. “It’ll be at least thirty minutes on the steaks.”
“Ah, yes, spring. Rainstorms and allergies galore, that’s so much better than the cold,” I laughed.
He picked up my right foot and began to massage the inner sole. My eyes fluttered closed, and a long, drawn out moan, escaped my lips.
“That feels so good,” I murmured, “but it’s going to make me sleepy.”
“Then go to sleep,” he replied softly. “I’ll let you nap. Those dark circles under your eyes tell me you haven’t been sleeping.”
“Too much homework,” I grumbled, “and not enough hours in the day.”
“You shouldn’t stay up all night to get your work done,” his thumb pressed into a tender spot on my foot.
“I don’t stay up all night,” I mumbled. Only until one or two…okay, sometimes, three, in the morning.
Trace snorted, not buying it, but didn’t say anything.
He continued to massage my feet, and somewhere along the way, I fell asleep.
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