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“Good. Wonderful. Glad we are on the same page.”
Sem throws his arms across the back of the couch and turns that blue gaze on me.
“What are the other ground rules?”
I think about it and then shrug. “That’s the only one.”
“Hm. Got it. You have fun today?”
“Yep.”
He grins widely, and I have to look away because he looks so sexy when he does that, and Ido notneed to be lusting after him. Especially because I have Colin’s number now, and we’ve been texting a little. It’s kind of, sort of, flirtatious.
“How do you afford this place?” Sem asks, watching as I move to the fridge and grab a bottle of wine. I open it and pour a heaping cup full of it into a mug.
“Want a drink?” I ask him, and Sem shakes his head.
“Water’s fine,” he replies.
I hand him a bottle and then explain, “August’s uncle owns this complex. Gave me a sweet deal on this place. Just for the year. And then I have to move out.”
“Where will you go?”
“Dunno. Hopefully, I can get a job around here, but I’m not opposed to moving farther away for work.”
Sem taps his fingers on the couch and says, “You got sunburned.”
“Just a little,” I reply with a shrug and then sit down on the couch facing Sem. Probably should change out of my swimsuit, but I’m tired from the sun and the beach. And I just want to sit for a minute and drink my wine before doing anything else.
“Should put something on that,” Sem says, his eyes moving across my exposed skin.
“I’ll be fine,” I reply, letting my eyes drift over Sem’s giant arms. I take a large mouthful of wine and swallow. “You got tan.”
“Yep. I’m lucky, I guess. Never really burn.”
I swallow some more wine and then nudge his thigh with my toes.
“Want to play a game?” I ask, feeling a little tipsy. Should have probably eaten something before I gulped down almost an entire mug of wine in ten seconds flat.
“What game?” he asks.
I begin to pull my foot away from him, but Sem grabs onto it and pulls it onto his lap. “You have purple toenails.”
I wiggle them. “You secretly love them. Want me to paint yours?”
Sem doesn’t respond, just digs his fingers into the sole of my foot and begins to give me a massage.
He’s massaging my feet.
“Nah. You have pretty feet. It suits you.”
I blush because I drank too much, and apparently, I haven’t been complimented in ages. Why don’t men get complimented more? It’s a pandemic, really. We all secretly suffer from epically low self-esteem.
“Thank you. You have strong hands,” I tell him, feeling the need to return the compliment.
“I know.”
I roll my eyes as he continues to massage my foot. I tell myself that I need to remove it from his lap, to end this madness, but I end up just finishing off my wine like a lush and biting back the urge to moan. It’s criminal how good he is at this.
