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“No.” I shake my head. “But I’d like to give you one.”
“You would?”
I nod as I glance around the parking lot, looking for my brother’s truck. “You think Knox is here?”
“No. He’s still with Joanna.”
“Then sneak me into your bedroom and I’ll rub your shoulders,” I offer.
He stares at me for a long moment, his gaze roaming over my face. “Why are you so good to me?”
“Because someone needs to be. You beat yourself up far too much.” I smile at him.
He smiles in return.
And in that moment, I know that everything is going to be all right.
* * *
We’rein his bedroom less than five minutes later, Cam shutting and locking the door behind him, while I go into the connected bathroom. I stare at myself in the mirror while I wash my hands, drying them quickly, once I turn off the water, then run my fingers through my hair.
I’m not dressed to impress. Not really. He didn’t even notice that I’m wearing his shirt, but that’s okay. It was my secret gesture to show that I’m rooting for him. Not like I can wear his jersey or paint his number on my face. That would bring up too many questions I don’t want to answer.
But I wanted to show support in any way I could and this was my only way.
I go through his cabinets, feeling like a creeper when I’m just looking for lotion. I find a travel-sized bottle of Vaseline Intensive Care and don’t want to know what he uses it for, but I’m using it to rub his back. I’m sure he’s got some tense knots in his shoulders and a good rubdown will help him. Relax him.
Maybe even put him to sleep.
I’ve let go of all thoughts of having sex with him tonight. I don’t think he’s in the mood. And he’s still a little drunk, though he’s sobered up somewhat. Not enough to make much sense, the poor, rambling man.
Tucking my hair behind my ears, I grab the lotion and exit the bathroom to find Cam sprawled out across his bed on his back, covering nearly the entire space. He has no shirt on. The jeans are gone too. He’s just in his boxer briefs—they’re red—and his arms are curved up, over his head, his face turned to the side, so all I can see is his profile. His eyes are closed and his feet are dangling over the edge of the mattress and lord help me, this man is so fine.
Even when he’s hurting.
Only when I press my knee onto the mattress does he open his eyes, watching me as I climb onto the bed. “Roll over,” I tell him, surprised when he does what I say without arguing.
“What are you doing?” His deep voice is muffled against the comforter and I smile at him.
“I’m going to give you that massage.”
He turns his head, pressing his face into the mattress. “Now I’ll owe you two.”
“And I’ll collect.” I crawl over him until I’m straddling his back, my butt resting on his. I pop open the cap on the lotion and pour some into my palm, rubbing my hands together before I apply them to his back. The moment I start digging my fingers in, he’s groaning.
“What are you using?”
“I found some lotion in your bathroom.” I rub and knead his tense muscles, working on one particular spot at the base of his neck. “You’re tense.”
“No shit.” He hesitates. “I use that lotion to jerk off sometimes.”
That was my exact thought when I found it. “No shit?”
He chuckles and the sound is warm. Hopeful. The first laugh I’ve heard out of him all night. “Yeah. Sometimes I even jerk off to thoughts of you.”
My entire body flushes hot and I drift my hands down his back, along his spine, my touch light. “Dirty thoughts?”
“You don’t even want to know.”
