Page 85 of Lyrics of Her

And it does sound perfect. I don’t know when I got so old, but spending a night in on the couch with a pretty girl beside me, popcorn in my lap and a good show on television suddenly sounds like the perfect date.

Wait.Is that what this is?

I have no idea what any of this is anymore.

It’s confusing, and yet comforting, it’s wrong, and yet somehow it feels so right.

I lean back on the couch, yawning and stretching my arms up over my head. My shoulder is still really sore from sleeping all scrunched up on her couch last week. I went to a chiropractor a couple of days ago to get him to work on it, but so far nothing seems to be helping. He gave me a prescription for some muscle relaxants, but I haven’t had time to get the prescription filled yet and it’s really been giving me grief.

Brinley walks back into the room a few minutes later with a steaming bowl of popcorn in her hands and catches me rubbing my shoulder.

Flopping down beside me, she pulls a blanket up over her bare legs and the twinge in my shoulder is nothing now compared to the massive twinge of disappointment I suddenly feel in my chest. She has really nice legs.

“You alright?” she asks, glancing at me.

“Yeah, fine.”

Flicking through the channels, I crack my neck from side to side trying to get more comfortable, but my shoulder is really killing me now. I took a couple of ibuprofen before I left my place, but they aren’t doing shit right now to ease the pain, and I know I’ll have to get on top of it before we go on the road.

“Is your shoulder still hurting?” she asks.

“It’s nothing.”

“You should go to a doctor.”

“I haven’t had a lot of spare time lately.”

“I know.” She nods, offering me some popcorn. “But you can’t just ignore it.”

“I’m not ignoring it,” I tell her, a little frown forming between my eyes.

Brinley nods and turns her attention to the television.

I don’t know why I do it, but I toss my arm over her shoulder and pull her in close to me. Of course, the instant I do, I wince from the sharp jolt that shoots straight down my arm.

It must be a pinched nerve or something.

“Oh my god, you’re in real pain.” She puts the bowl of popcorn down on the coffee table, tossing the blanket aside. “You must have strained it pretty bad.”

“Nah, I’m okay.”

“I could massage it for you,” she says.

Before I can tell her yes or no, she’s climbing onto the couch, her feet digging into the cushions, gesturing for me to shuffle forward. She scoots in behind me, wedging herself between my back and the scratchy fabric, and holy motherfucker if it doesn’t take everything inside me not to moan with the pleasure it causes me, the feel of her warm legs pressed against my sides, sitting between her parted thighs the way I am.

The last time I had my hands on her I didn’t really get a very good look at things, not with the way we were positioned and the fact that her pajama shorts never came all the way off. It was all about feelings and sensations that night, but knowing where my hands have been on her body, is causing me a whole lot more than just feelings and sensations right now.

“Okay, thanks.”

Leaning forward, I rest my elbows on my knees and my eyes roll back inside my head when Brinley’s soft hands slide beneath the bottom of my sweater, pushing it higher up my back.

“Take your sweater off,” she says quietly.

I do as she asks, slipping it over my head, and tossing it onto the couch beside me. My breath falters when her hands skate over my muscles and it feels like fucking heaven. Her fingers press firmly into my shoulder, making small circles that lull me into some kind of trance and I can hardly tell which way is up anymore with the instant relief it brings me.

Her hands move determinedly over my body, yet the depth in which she massages my shoulder is in stark contrast to the warm and soothing way it feels to have her thighs wrapped around my waist and her soft breath in my ear.

“Tink?”

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