“Well clearly, words of affirmation are not your love language.”
I turn around to face her, continuing to walk backwards to my bedroom. “None of this has to do with love.”
“Ryan Shay cares about me!” Hands on her hips, she circles them, continuing to dance in my kitchen.
“How much caffeine did you have tonight? Jesus.”
“None. I’m high on life, baby!”
“You’re not paying rent anymore, by the way. So that should solve the whole driving random strangers home from the bars thing.”
Her dance moves halt. “Ryan!”
I roll my eyes. “I was saving it for you anyway. So just…put it towards whatever you’re saving for.”
“You don’t have to do that.”
“I know I don’t.” I lean back on my bedroom door, not quite going inside yet. “Knowing you’re not out there alone driving drunk dudes home at two AM is worth far more to me than five hundred dollars a month. Besides, you should probably start coming to my games when you’re in town. You are the point guard’s girlfriend after all.”
“I’m not going to cry over this.”
“Congratulations.” I motion to Britney Spears on my twenty-seven-year-old roommate’s chest. “Cute shirt by the way.”
“You know it’d be a whole lot cheaper to just tell me you care about me.”
“Good night, you weirdo. Oh, and by the way, the dinner with the Morgans tomorrow night is an hour outside of town and we’re spending the night. So, pack something to sleep in.”
“Do footy pajamas work?”
“Yes, please. I want nothing more than to share a room with you while you’re wearing fucking footy pajamas.”
I go to close my door, but she stops me, putting her hand out and blocking me.
“What happened?” She nods towards my shoulder.
The ice has long melted, but I’ve yet to unwrap the pack from my sore muscles.
“Nothing. I’m just banged up from the game.”
“Can I see?”
Hesitating, unsure of what she’s looking for, I cautiously unwrap the ice from my shoulder and put the pack in the sink. Reaching up, Indy’s dainty fingers run the length of my shoulder blade, her thumb following behind and digging in.
I wince, pulling away slightly.
“Ryan, you’re really tight.”
“I’m fine.”
Indy’s hand glides down my bare bicep and forearm until it slides into mine. She begins pulling me to the couch. “Take a seat on the floor. Let me rub this out.”
Let me rub this out.
Jesus. Inhaling a deep breath, I pray away the erection. Ever since the banquet, I can’t stop remembering how good she felt to touch, how natural it felt to have her with me. The fantasies have been on overdrive, and I’ve done everything in my power to will them away, but how the fuck am I supposed to do that with her soft hands rubbing my skin?
Taking a seat on the ground in front of the couch, Indy sinks into the sofa behind me, sitting on top of her crossed legs. Her hands find my shoulders, kneading and manipulating my sore muscles into relaxation. Instantly, I close my eyes from the sensation.
“This is your shooting arm?”
She takes her time on my right shoulder, thumbs pressing into the sore flesh. I can feel my face contort with pain, but it’s equaled out with pleasure.
“Yeah.”
“How’d it get so bad?”
“Repetition, I’d assume. I’m shooting a few hundred shots a day between scheduled practice and my own time on the court. That, and, sometimes I’m not given the same respect as other guys with protective calls, so I can get thrown around in games.”
“Why not?”
“I don’t have a championship or an MVP yet and I’m one of the smaller guys in the league. It’s all politics.”
“You’re 6’3”,” she laughs. “And it’s only a matter of time for the other things to come your way.”
I don’t respond, but also don’t miss the blind confidence she has in me.
Her latest read sits on the coffee table in front of me. As usual, it displays a shirtless man right there on the cover.
“What’s this one about?” I ask, holding it up.
“The female main character hooks up with her ex-boyfriend’s dad.”
“What the fuck?”
“Trust me. The little shit deserved it.”
I’m glad she’s behind me and can’t see the smile pulling at my lips. She’s fucking ridiculous sometimes and I kind of love it.
Her warm hands work into my skin, loosening my muscles. Her fingertips move over the tendons of my neck, creating slow circles before the edges of her nails lightly scratch against my hairline.
My head falls forward with a low moan.
“Does this feel good?”
“So good.”
So fucking good. Yes, my muscles feel loosened, but being touched by her feels borderline euphoric.
Indy’s voice is soft and a bit hoarse when she asks, “Do you want to come up here with me so I can get a better angle?”
It’s a bad idea. It’s a terrible fucking idea. It’s three in the morning, I’m half naked with a half-hard dick, and my stunning roommate is asking me to get on the couch with her.
“Yeah,” I rasp.
Standing, I stretch my neck, already feeling some of the tension dissolving. I know of another way to dissolve some tension that involves a soft, flat surface like this sofa, and a lot less clothes on us both. My body is too aware of the option and the awareness only heightens when I sit on the couch and Indy sandwiches her body behind mine.
Her long legs open around me and fuck if that doesn’t send an image straight to my lusting brain.
Digging the heels of her palms into my back, she whispers, soft and low, “Does this hurt?”
Moaning, I shake my head. “No. It feels so good, Blue.”
I can feel her breath on my neck, her scent on my skin. She’s almost holding me in this position, her chest to my back, her legs wrapped around me.
I haven’t been held in years.
“Did you do this for Alex?”
She pauses her movements.
I don’t know why I asked. Maybe because I wanted to hear that I’m special. Maybe I wanted to hear that she treats me differently than she did him.
Or maybe I need to hear that her attentive doting is nothing out of the ordinary.
“No. He got plenty of attention from other people. He didn’t need mine.”
With her legs slung around my hips, I find one of her thighs, pulling her leg into my lap, and slowly running my palm from her ankle to her knee.
Even down to her toes, this girl is pretty. Slender bones and soft skin.
Indy’s touch is no longer a massage but wandering caresses up and over the slopes of my shoulders. They’re careful and exploratory, roaming my body.
The apartment is dark. It’s the middle of the night. Her mouth is inches from mine.
“Do you think you’ll ever be able to love someone the way you loved him?”
“I don’t know,” she says with honesty for no one else to hear but her and me. “Right now, it feels like he took everything. Like I don’t have anything left to give someone else.”