The Plight Before Christmas(63)

“Eli—”

“Please.” His tone is patient, but urgent.

I take a step toward him.

“Shut the door.”

When I hesitate, he lets out a heavy exhale. “I’m waving the white flag, Whitney. Shut the door.”

I do and turn back to him, anticipation swirling around my chest as my pulse kicks up. He towers a foot over me as I reach him, and familiarity surrounds me. Slowly, as if he’s cornered a frightened animal, he lifts the bottle to my line of sight.

“I use this after long exhausting runs.”

“Thanks.” I move to take the bottle, and he shakes his head. “Let me.”

He lifts his free hand and palms my shoulder, and I wince.

“Thought so,” he whispers, “lay down on your stomach.”

Blood begins to gather low with his order as I do as I’m told, laying on the tiny mattress as he adjusts a pillow under my head.

“Good?”

“Yeah.”

Lifting my soaked hair out of the way, he trails his fingers over the back of my neck, and I involuntarily shudder. The click of the cap sounds as he straddles my hips. Then his warm hands are on me, massaging my shoulders as I let out painful grunts.

“Try and relax. I’m going to find the knots first.”

“O-k-kay.”

“I need to lower the towel, okay?”

“Okay.”

He slowly lowers the towel to just above my ass. His exhale hits my neck, sending a shiver up my spine as he starts to work the oil in—the faint smell of mint filling my nostrils. He digs in with the perfect pressure working just beneath my blades while avoiding my bruised shoulder.

“Jesus, you’re knotted everywhere,” he whispers as he presses in diligently to dismantle them. When I feel a few of them breaking apart, I cry out a little.

“Sorry, I have to—”

“It’s fine, i-it’s good,” I reply, my voice chalky. Then he’s everywhere, his skilled hands a balm to my smarting back as my chest begins to fill with an entirely different ache.

“Tell me where it hurts, Whitney.”

I can’t speak, emotions surfacing as I get lost in his touch, in the magic workings of his gentle palms as he gives pain only to take more away.

“Whitney?”

Tears I can’t help glide down my nose as I turn and release a soft sob into my pillow. Eli doesn’t still his hands at my reaction and instead works them harder. Tension begins to fall away as I let go, no longer mindful of the sounds coming from me.

“It’s okay, Whitney,” he assures me softly as I go lax on the bed, sinking into a ball of emotion and release as he gives me the most amazing massage of my life. Drawn in, I fully immerse myself in sensation.

“It’s okay, Whitney, let it go,” he soothes, his own voice pained in concern. It’s then I realize I’m full-on crying, melting completely the fuck down in a puddle at his hands. Dazed in a cloud of relief, somehow, he manages to shift us, gathering me in his lap with his back against the ancient headboard. I sniffle into his soft T-shirt as he runs soothing palms continually down my back. His strokes ease me back into reality, and once I float into myself, I tense in realization.

“Jesus, I’m embarrassed.”

“Don’t—” He stops my retreat by keeping me plastered to him with an iron grip. Too relaxed to be truly mortified, I sink back into his hold and gaze up at him, my cheek against his chest. For several seconds we just stare at each other, breaths mingling.

“Feel better?” He murmurs, his plump lips close, so close.

“Much better,” I sniff. “Thank you.”

His eyes search mine as he uses a knuckle to brush away a stray tear.

“I didn’t realize how badly I needed that. It’s been a long time since…” I shake my head, “You’re really good at that.”

His eyes drop to my lips before lowering and flaring. His entire body tenses beneath me, his expression pained. It’s then I realize that one of my nipples is exposed.

“Whoops, sorry.” Standing, I adjust my towel as he slips from the bed and turns, pausing briefly before retrieving something from my suitcase. When he turns back to me, his UNC hoodie rests folded in his hands.

I pause, staring at the ancient relic that kickstarted our relationship as he speaks up, his voice hoarse.

“I’ve been trying to figure out what to say for hours, and I couldn’t come up with a single fucking thing that feels right in response to what you told me, nor do I want to try to excuse or defend myself. So, I’m not going to.”

Slowly, so slowly, he widens the top of the neck and lowers it over my head as I lift my arms and push them through the sleeves. Eyes locked, he releases the towel, pulling the sweatshirt down my body, the soft fabric grazing my nipples, the bottom hem skimming to rest at the top of my thighs.

“But I want you to know I’ve thought about you a lot over the years, Whitney Collins. A lot.” My lips part as he leans in, his whisper covering me in warmth. “You are pretty fucking unforgettable.” Dipping, he presses a lingering kiss to my tear-stained cheek, his lashes my focal point until he flicks his gaze back to me, stunning me stupid.

“I’ll be a friend, Whitney, if you’ll have me.” Unable to fucking think, to breathe, he breaks our stare off, turning and grabbing a ready water bottle and a few ibuprofens, which he must have brought in with him.