Do You Take This Man (39)

She swiped the cool goo across my back, gently working it over my skin. With my back to her, it was easy to ignore the emotions rising in my chest at the idea of being a nice guy. “Not that nice-guys-finish-last BS, is it? That’s tired.”

I ignored her question and she gave a little hum, and I savored how her fingers gently glided over the same areas, making sure my skin was covered.

“Can you lay on your stomach to let this sit a little?”

“You don’t have to take care of me.” I slid onto the bed, the towel still wrapped around my waist, the air-conditioning blowing across the aloe, the combination making me want to sink into the bed.

“I know.”

I turned my head, resting it on my forearm.

She stood by the bed, staring at my body, but not in the way she normally did. She was inspecting and assessing, and she wiped her hands with a tissue.

“I’m fine, RJ. I’m sure you want to get going if we’re not going to hook up.”

She lowered to the bed next to me, stretching out on her back. Her shirt was tucked back in and she looked like she had at the rehearsal, but everything about her lying there, the scent of her perfume and the aloe all around me, felt right. “Soon.” She kicked off her heels and settled her hand behind her head before glancing at me. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

“Like what?”

“Like I just did something altruistic. This is completely selfish.” She stroked a finger down my arm, careful to avoid the burned skin. “I prefer my benefits to come from human men and not grilled lobster. I want you back in fighting shape next time.”

“Maybe you’re just nice, too.”

“I’m not.” She looked at the ceiling, her finger still moving over my skin.

We lay in the house’s silence for a few minutes, her fingers not leaving the stretch of unmarred skin. “I grabbed Tylenol, too, when you want it.” She said it quietly, like I was asleep or she just didn’t want anyone else to see this glimpse into a softer RJ.

I could have fallen asleep—her touch and the give of the mattress and the long day in the sun painting before the rehearsal were hitting me. I was exhausted and I wanted to pull her close and kiss her in a way that really conveyed what it meant to lie next to her and not talk. I couldn’t really move, so I just said, “Thank you.”





Chapter 21


    RJ



LEANING AGAINST MY car, I reread my email to Gretchen, making sure no wayward typos made it into my answer to her question regarding the latest challenge with the Mayfield case.

I hit send, and a notification flashed across the screen a moment later.


Lear: Stop working.

RJ: I never stop working.

RJ: How did you know I was working?



“You get this crease between your eyebrows when you’re focused on the job.” Lear strode toward me, hands in the pockets of his jeans, looking handsome in a blue T-shirt that stretched over his chest, the sleeves accentuating his toned biceps.

“I do not,” I said, tucking my phone into my pocket. Seeing him out in the world, in the middle of the day, was unsettling except for the way his forearms flexed, reminding me of how he’d relaxed under my touch the weekend before when I smeared aloe on his skin.

He laughed and placed the tip of his finger between my brows. “Right here.”

“Whatever.” I nudged his arm away, but the warmth of his skin briefly made my palm tingle. “Why are you watching me, anyway?”

“I wasn’t watching you. I saw you when I walked out of the pharmacy.” He leaned one arm against my car. “You think I’d spend my only day off following you around?”

As soon as my eyebrow went up, he laughed again, the slight breeze blowing his hair across his forehead. “I’m just running errands. How about you? Besides working in the parking lot.”

“I’m on my way to get a manicure and pedicure, if you must know.”

“That’s good—your feet were looking a little rough last time I saw them.” He jumped out of the way before my hand could make contact with his abs, his smile easy.

I fought my grin and swatted his stomach. “Like you’ve got room to talk.”

“Maybe I should go with you.”

“You get pedicures?”

He crossed his arms across his chest. “Are you calling me unevolved?”

I matched his posture, giving him what Britta called my lawyer eyebrow.

“Fine. I don’t normally drop money on it, but I’ll get one if it will make your sexual experience better.”

I rolled my eyes and strode toward the nail salon. “I guess if you won’t stop talking during sex, smooth feet are a consolation prize.”

The nail salon wasn’t crowded, and I inhaled the clean, slightly perfumed scent as I greeted the staff member at the desk. “Hi, Tom. I have an appointment.”

The man at the front smiled and made a note on his computer before looking over my shoulder. “And you?”

“Any chance you have an opening?”

“Pick a color,” he said, pointing to the wall of nail polish behind us and returning to his screen.

“Decisions, decisions . . .” Lear rubbed his chin and I nudged him with my hip.