Deep (Stage Dive, #4)(42)

I nodded sadly, finally understanding. Ben was a man living his dream. As if anyone could compete with that. Maybe he’d liked the idea of me. Reality was, however, there’d never been room for me in his life.

“When the guys are busy, I can hop on a plane and go mix things up with another band,” he continued. “Fill in or be a guest on their album. Even jamming with strangers in some shitty little bar where no one knows my name. That’s my life, every day. I get to make something new, learn something. And it’s f*cking amazing. There’s nothing like it.”

“Sounds great.”

“It is,” he said. “And that’s why I never thought about kids. Even a girlfriend seemed too much of a distraction. Don’t get me wrong, I like women. But it was always easier to find someone for the night than to commit to something that stops me from being who I am, doing what I love.”

I nodded. What was there to say? To go into a relationship expecting the other person to change was stupid. Ben and I had been over before we began, I just hadn’t known it, understood, until now. No doubt he liked me just fine, but not enough.

“Doesn’t mean I’m not going to be there for you and our kid. You said we could be friends,” he said. “That offer still available?”

Friends was the right thing to do. I pushed aside my disappointment and put a smile on my face. “Absolutely.”

“I’d like that.”

It was me and Bean, and Bean and me. Come what may, I’d have my baby girl’s back. Her daddy could do what he would. And the truth was, if he kept massaging my feet this way, I’d be his best damn friend, despite the break in my heart.

He kept his face down, his concentration on the task complete. Generally my feet were not that fascinating. Maybe he did have a foot fetish after all. Fingers drew soothing circles over my crappy ankle before digging in once more to the arch of my foot. Total and complete bliss. I could pretty much feel my crazy baby hormones rolling over and offering up their soft underbelly to him, preening and calling him Daddy, the dirty things. What this man’s hands could do to me. Every part of me felt floaty and wonderful. Shivery good even.

Wait up. Crap, I was seriously turned on.

A wounded heart was apparently no competition for an overeager vagina. The urge for sperm made no sense. I already had a baby on board. My tarty, attention-seeking nipples stood out loud and proud beneath my top, just begging for his lips. The situation between my legs wasn’t any better. Since when had my feet become such hard-core, triple X–rated erogenous zones? His able hands made sweet pornographic love to my toes, and my muscles turned to jelly. My legs just fell open in invitation. Beyond my control, I swear. It all just felt so impossibly damn good.

Holy god damn hell. No one had warned me pregnancy could send you into heat.

Despite the ecstasy, I couldn’t help but notice there was only like three … four inches between the pad of my foot and the bulge behind the fly of his jeans. It wouldn’t take much to touch. Why, little more than a flex would be more than sufficient. I could just brush my toes against the poor man’s crotch and then gasp, pretending it was all some silly (wonderful) accident. Oops, clumsy me, fondling the innocent, unsuspecting man’s genitals with my foot. How embarrassing—though really it could happen to anyone.

Not.

And really this is partly why, in my experience, friends don’t rub friends’ feet unless there’s more going on. I got easily enough confused about the man, no need to make it worse.

A small moan slipped my lips, echoing in the tiled room.

“You okay?” he asked.

“Fine.”

“You made a noise.”

“No, I didn’t.”

A little line appeared above his nose. “Okay.”

“That’s great,” I said, drawing my now slutty limbs back to the safe side of the tub. “Thanks. Very kind of you. I think we’ll make great friends.”

He gave me a long look. “Any time. If you need something, I want you to tell me. That’s the only way this is going to work.”

“Okay.” I needed his naked body at my disposal. Now.

“I want total honesty from you, okay?”

“Total honesty.” So help me, I’d ride him all the way home and back again.

“From now on, we talk,” he said. “All the f*cking time. Yap, yap, yap. That’s us.”

“Got it.”

“Great.” The way his tongue and lips played with that simple little word, it meant much, much more than it was ever meant to. And it might have been my imagination, but I’m pretty damn sure his pupils were about twice their normal size. They were like twin pools of black rock ’n’ roll sexiness and desire just inviting me to jump on in and get all wet and wild and wanton. All of a sudden, breathing seemed to be an issue for me. Same with thinking, clearly. I don’t know what it was about the man that made me attempt to get poetic. But it really needed to stop.

“I better go,” I said.

“Fucking crazy…” he muttered.

“What?”

“You.”

I groaned in embarrassment. “Come on, give me a break. I explained about the dog food ad. And hey, I told you that in confidence too. Don’t you dare repeat it.”

“Not talking about that,” he said, the hint of a curve in the corner of his mouth doing dreadful things to me.