The bluish light of the flat screen glows in the dark room. We’re sitting a respectable distance apart on the couch, watching Comedy Central, when the baby stirs. Kat leaps off the couch before I can stop her, and when she returns ten minutes later, I motion toward the hall. “I’ll get her the next time she wakes.”
She gives me a big smile and agrees.
It’s nice sitting with her like this. If I’m being honest, I think I like not being alone the most. The fact that it’s Kat next to me is just a bonus.
That’s probably a shitty reason to enjoy someone’s company, but everywhere I look, I see my brother and how I failed him.
Were my parents really that much worse off when Cal didn’t return home? I was so pissed to be inconvenienced that I never stopped to wonder if maybe things would’ve been the same if he had returned to Boston. Maybe I still would’ve needed to quit my job at the tattoo parlor to help Mom and Dad.
The bottle of tequila tempts me from the coffee table, but I know I can’t take that route again. It would be too easy to keep reaching for it. But as I sit here in the dark watching TV, I can’t quell the despair that settles in my bones. Because the thought of spending the next several weeks here dismantling everything my brother loved ravages my conscience.
Absentmindedly, I stretch my arms, and everything tightens and pulls. Holy shit. I let out a groan.
“Are you okay?” Kat asks as she curls up on the couch.
“Yeah, just a little sore from chopping up that tree.” I had hoped that hot shower I took when I got home would help, but I’m still sore as fuck.
“Aww.” She motions in front of her. “Come here, Paul Bunyan. I’ll give you a massage.”
I look at her warily. She’s changed out of her jeans and t-shirt into a pair of dark pajama bottoms and a cranberry-colored Henley that buttons up the front and swells around her full breasts. Her black-framed glasses sit perched on that cute little nose.
Katherine. Sweet, sexy Katherine.
Don’t do this.
Internally, I war with myself. Because when I look at her, all of the darkness from the last week seems to ebb away.
She pats the couch in front of her and gives me a look, questioning whether I’m really going to turn down a massage.
Ignoring the voice in my head that’s calling me a dumbass, I get up and sit in front of her. She spreads her legs, and I lean back between them until I’m resting up against the couch. “Be gentle.”
She snickers and starts kneading my shoulders.
“Damn, that feels good.” I let my head hang down as her grip tightens. She’s a strong little thing.
Up and down my neck and across my shoulders she goes in a rhythmic motion that would put me to sleep if I weren’t so fucking aware of how close she is right now. The insides of her warm thighs press against my arms, and all I can think about is how much I’d rather be facing the other way.
Every once in a while, her breath fans my neck, making all the nerve endings in my body stand at attention, especially when her fingers dip beneath the thin fabric of my t-shirt.
After about ten minutes, she stops, and my eyes crack open. “That was awesome.” I haul my ass up onto the couch and spread my legs. “Your turn.” Because, hell yes, I want to touch her.
She bites her lower lip, and I pat the couch in front of me. I can see the wheels turning in her head, and internally, I’m agreeing with her. Yes, this is a terrible idea. No, I can’t help it either.
After a moment, she takes off her glasses and lowers herself to the floor. Scooting back, she nestles between my legs.
I can do this without getting turned on. I can.
I’m ready to be an upstanding guy when she whips her hair up into one of her crazy buns and I stare down at her bare neck. It’s sexy the way her shirt drifts off her shoulder, giving me a hint of her black bra.
Yeah, I’m officially a dumbass. She’s this tempting dessert I’m not supposed to eat, but I really fucking want to. You know, maybe lick the frosting off the top.
The moment my hands touch her small shoulders, goose bumps break out on her skin.
“Are you cold?” My voice comes out rougher than I expect.
She shakes her head as I smooth my hands over her back. I wish I could whip off her shirt and do this properly. A back massage with clothes is a waste of friction.
She’s tight, and I actually have to dig into her shoulders for a while until the tension starts to dissipate.
See, I can do this.
But then she lets out a breathy moan. “God, so good.”
My mind instantly pictures her moaning these words as I pound into her, which puts my cock on full alert.
I pause, like I’ve stepped on some kind of landmine, not sure which motion will set off the bomb.
I’m already in trouble because her head dips back into my lap. Her eyes are closed, and I’m altogether enchanted by her slender neck and shoulders. By her thick hair that smells so good, I can’t think straight. By her mouth that screams to be kissed. And by the neckline in her t-shirt that pulls low, displaying the crests of her breasts.
Without thinking, I tangle my fingers in her hair and massage her scalp.