“Good,” he said distractedly as he lifted his hand even with my temple.
Just before he touched me, I said, “. . . last month,” giving him a sinister grin. “But don’t worry, the lice are friendly.”
I was pleased to see my teasing had made a crack in his detached demeanor. He twisted his lips to the side—like he was fighting his own smile—and dropped his hand on my face.
And when I say he dropped his hand on my face, I mean he dropped it, like it was dead weight. Right on my face. With determinedly ungraceful movements, he shoved his fingers into my hair and straightened his arm, like he was trying to flick my hair from my scalp.
It didn’t hurt, but it didn’t feel good either. And he looked ridiculous. When I caught his expression, which was equal parts smug and silly, I started to laugh.
Matt’s laughter soon followed and he mimicked his earlier hair flick, making it even more ludicrous by twisting my hair and throwing it in my face.
“Like this?” he asked, unable to keep the laughter from his voice.
Jared huffed. “No, Matthew. Don’t put her hair in her face.”
“I think she likes it,” Matt said, making me laugh harder.
Jared made another sound of disapproval and peripherally I saw he’d caught Matt’s wrist. With Jared holding one hand captive and the other trapped under my head, I took the opportunity to poke Matt in the ribs, making him jump and squirm.
“Hey!” Matt protested.
“Okay, wait.” Jared’s tone firmed. “Tickling is allowed, but you have to obtain the consent of the other person first.”
While Jared spoke, Matt wrenched his hand free and moved it to my side, tickling me in earnest. “Let’s see how you like a taste of your own medicine.”
“I don’t need any medicine!” I tried to retaliate, but I couldn’t, because I am and always have been remarkably ticklish.
“Circle, circle, dot, dot . . . ” he said, laughing. Not maniacal laughter, more like he was really enjoying himself and was lost to the moment.
“Oh my God.” I laughed, twisting, trying to block access to my stomach.
He moved his attentions to my side, but his fingers weren’t painful or harsh. They were adroit, applying just the right pressure to make me squirm.
Matt rolled me on my back, freeing his other hand and pushing my legs down as I tried to bring my knees to my chest.
“Sorry, Marie. Can’t have your pointy knees near the yarn bag,” he said, not sounding sorry. His use of the phrase yarn bag made me laugh harder.
Soon he was straddling my hips, his hands deftly finding new spots at my neck, under my arms, and our laughter was the only sound I could hear.
“Okay! Okay! Truce, truce!” I bowed forward, tucking my arms close to my sides, my hair now wild around my shoulders.
Matt’s movements stilled, one hand at my neck, the other behind him, wrapped around my thigh at my knee as though poised to tickle the back of my leg.
I glared up at him, smiling. He glared down at me, smiling. Both of us were breathing hard.
“Truce?” he asked, his chest rising and falling, his gaze dipping to my mouth.
“Yeah.” For some reason, my eyes also dropped to his mouth, and I had an incredibly odd thought at that moment.
I wonder what his lips taste like.
Whoa!
Just stop right there.
It must’ve been our proximity, how we were touching each other as though we were familiar. Perhaps my body was confusing proximity with actual intimacy because I’d never touched someone like this without it.
“So. As I was saying,” Jared said, effectively pulling me from my meditations on Matt’s lips and to our instructor’s frustrated visage, “tickling is allowed, but must be approved ahead of the session first. Matthew, remove yourself from Marie, please.”
My attention cut back to Matt, who was still straddling me. His eyes were on his hand where it wrapped around the side of my neck, his thumb pressing against the indent at the top of my sternum.
“Sorry,” he mumbled, swallowing stiffly, and shifted his weight to one side to climb off my middle.
“Thank you,” came Jared’s curt reply. “Let’s try a traditional spooning position, with Matt being the big spoon, and Marie the smaller one. Okay, on your sides.”
I released a quiet breath. I still felt a little disoriented by the decidedly un-platonic turn of my thoughts, and lay on the mattress, facing away from Matt. For some reason, every sound seemed louder, especially if he caused it. How the springs of the bed squeaked when he moved into position, his soft breaths, the friction of his jeans against the sheets.
“Try to get as close as you can, Matt. There should be no space between you. That’s right, put your leg between hers,” Jared instructed.
Soon his front was plastered against my back, the hard muscles of his upper thighs cradling my bottom, his firm stomach at my lower back, his chest against my shoulder blades. One arm draped over me, his hand limp, not touching my body. But I could feel him still moving behind me, as though trying to get comfortable.
“What do I do with this arm?” I heard him ask, his voice gruff, edged with impatience. “It’s superfluous.”
“Good question.” Jared leaned over us and I sensed he’d taken Matt’s wrist again. “I wouldn’t recommend trying to fit it between you, that creates distance and is generally uncomfortable for the small spoon. Instead, you can bend your elbow—like this—and Marie can use your arm as a pillow. Or, you can use it as a pillow yourself. Or, you can straighten it and place it under Marie’s neck, like this.”
Jared encouraged me to tilt my head so Matt could slide his arm beneath me. This idea didn’t quite work, as Matt’s upper arm was a little too big to fit in the space left by the curve of my neck.
“Hey, wait.” I grabbed Matt’s arm and positioned it so I was using his bicep as a pillow.
“Oh, good. Then maybe put your hand like this, Matt.” Jared took over and bent Matt’s elbow again, leading his hand to my upper arm, so I was wrapped in his embrace. “And your other hand can rest on her thigh, like this.” Once more, Jared moved Matt until the hand that had been draped limply was flat on my upper thigh.
Jared stepped back, tilting his head to the side as he considered us. “Maybe bend your leg, Marie. Yes, that’s it. Is that comfortable?”
I nodded, because it was comfortable. I felt like I was tucked in the cozy embrace of a big, muscular bear. Matt’s warmth surrounded me on all sides.
“I like this,” I heard and felt Matt mutter, the rumble of his chest reverberating through my back where we were pressed together. The words were bemused.
“Why do you sound surprised?” I whispered.
“Like I said, I’m a cuddle virgin.”
Before I could remark on his statement, Jared interrupted. “Okay, Matt. Feel free to nuzzle her back and neck. Or you can stroke her leg or arm, maybe? Is that okay, Marie?”