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She closed her eyes and groaned, the sensation soothing, the man providing the soothing somehow aware of what she needed without being asked.
What have I gotten myself into?
“Thank you.” His voice was a soft murmur, and his palm warmed the top of her foot.
She took a deep breath, reveling in the massage. “Shouldn’t I be thanking you? This feels amazing.”
“Oh no. I’m definitely thanking you.” He paused, the silence purposeful. “For not wearing a bra.”
She kicked out a foot and sat bolt upright, that foot connecting with the solid wall of his stomach. He laughed, heartier than before, and grabbed her foot again, his fingertips brushing her sensitive sole.
Laughter and panic twisted her voice. “Please. Don’t.”
“Don’t what?” He ran a finger down her foot’s center. A sharp tingling shot through her body, and she kicked but to no avail. “Is this Sarah Overton’s weakness? She’s ticklish?”
More strokes, which made her wriggle and laugh harder, both of which forced her into a slow slide off the couch. Well, except for the foot Dean held hostage and the arm she outstretched to keep her propped above the floor.
She fought, despite her chuckles. “If you don’t stop, I swear, I’ll pee myself.”
The tickling stopped. She caught his eye.
“Revenge peeing, huh?” His grin held strong and even grew a little, wrinkling the tops of his cheek bones.
She shook her head, and he moved to tickle her again. “No!”
She thrashed even harder than before, uncontrolled, as her free foot slammed into the bowl of popcorn on the coffee table.
The white, salty snack exploded everywhere like a miniature snowstorm. She flailed and swatted at rogue pieces falling about her face, unrestrained laughter billowing out of her.
Another wriggle and she freed her foot from Dean’s hold, an ill-thought-out move as a high-pitched squeal escaped her lungs and her supporting arm buckled, sending her to the floor with an ungraceful thud.
“Well”—Dean chuckled and reached out, helping her back onto the couch—“at least you didn’t pee yourself.”
She gave him a side glare, albeit a half-hearted one, through her laughter.
“Yeah, and I didn’t crack my skull on the floor, either. So today is all about winning for me.” Dean leaned in to pick out popcorn bits from her hair while she spoke. “I’m surprised you’re not the one peeing yourself. I’m sure watching me fall on my ass was hilarious.”
“Only a little hilarious.” He finished removing popcorn and gave her a light kiss on the lips. “I didn’t want to see you fall, though.”
She blinked at him, stunned and silent. The man was so close his breath lapped at her skin while his spicy, warm scent wound its way through her nostrils and spread a sensual heat throughout her body. His lower lip sat fuller than his top, and the outer corners held their natural upward curve, calling for her kiss.
His piercing blue eyes held her too—held her from looking away and prodded an internal battle that had her wanting to run to him and run away, all at once.
“I should probably vacuum this mess.” The weak excuse rasped past the tension in her throat. She tried to move again, but his iron-strong hand wrapped around her waist and rested over her hip, refusing to budge.
“The mess isn’t important.”
She opened her mouth to protest, but even she could see the futility and weakness in that. Dean wasn’t the sort to let anyone weasel out of an honest conversation, so she offered her version of honesty instead. “Whatever’s happening here, it’s going to end in disaster.”
“That’s what you said the first time we met, remember?” He drew in and she didn’t move, allowing him to brush his lips over hers. “And look at us. Still getting along.”
His hand stayed at her hip, his thumb drawing tantalizing circles against her t-shirt’s super thin material. Something within her melted, and heat pooled between her legs. What she wouldn’t give to give in. Not to the sex. Sex with Dean was the easy bit. The other stuff though… the unspoken demand for promises. That required something else entirely.
“I know you’re not sure about any of this.” His gentle, rumbling tone made her heart jolt and squeeze. “But don’t run, okay?”
Her mind blanked, and he lifted his free hand, his fingertips making contact with her collarbone and sweeping a delicate line over her skin. A sharp breath pulled at her lungs. His rapt focus stayed on her, as if each minor reaction fed his need—those reactions betraying her feelings about him. Feelings she wasn’t all that clear on.
“I just… I don’t know what this is.” She pressed her lips together, holding onto her next words just a moment longer. “Are you my rebound guy?”
