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I bite back my smile. I like when she’s feeling up to sparring with me. There’s also no part of me that’s jealous her hands were all over my teammates. This is her job and she’s really fucking good at it.
It’s why I always ask her to work on me, even though I was tempted to refrain today. Her words played on a loop as I laid on the ground, trying to catch some sleep. Physical touch is foreign to her. I didn’t want to force her to have to touch me, but when I thought about it, I’ve never once noticed Kennedy being uncomfortable at her job.
And I notice everything about the girl.
This isn’t the physical contact she’s referring to, and I don’t want to treat her any differently after what she told me. So instead, I bugged her until she agreed to work on me. Just as I typically do.
“It’s the right one,” I instruct her, taking off my shirt. “Under the shoulder blade. It feels like I pinched a nerve.”
She brackets her left hand on my other shoulder, the metal of her ring cool against my skin.
“Right here?” She rubs her palm over my shoulder, warming up my skin.
“Yeah. Towards the top.”
She runs a hand down my arm, confidently situating my upper body where she needs it. With the back of my palm placed against my lower back, my shoulder blade opens, giving her room to dig into the tender muscle.
“Oh, yeah, I can feel it.” Her fingers press into my skin. “This got knotted up from sleeping on the floor last night, didn’t it?”
“No. I was playing with Max the other day, tossing him around. I must have tweaked it and not noticed until today.”
Complete and utter lie. Of course I fucked up my shoulder from sleeping on the rock-hard floor last night, but I’m not going to let her know that. She’d offer to share the bed with me, even though it’s the last thing she wants to do.
Kennedy manipulates my muscles, adding pressure where she needs to break up the tension. Her movements are so practiced, so confident, that I’d have no idea that she was uncomfortable with physical touch if she hadn’t told me.
She was never hugged as a kid.
Who the hell doesn’t hug their kid?
I wanted to hug her right there in the toothbrush aisle of the store when she told me that, but I also didn’t want to overwhelm her.
It made me realize that even though I’ve had a crush on Kennedy for years, there’s so much I don’t know about her, but all her admission did was make me want to know more.
“My family is in town,” she says quietly.
“To watch Dean play?”
“No.” She scoffs. “For some business deal. I’m having dinner with them tonight.”
She continues to rub my sore shoulder as I think about how I wouldn’t mind meeting the woman who never hugged her daughter. Wouldn’t mind saying a few things to her that are on my mind either.
“I just thought you should know. In case someone asks where I am, I mean. It’d be strange if you told them that you didn’t know where your wife was.”
“My wife, huh?”
“Technically speaking.”
“Say it again. I liked it.”
She breathes a laugh as she moves to the front of me. With my legs spread, Kennedy stands between them, continuing to work on my rotator cuff.
I watch her.
So focused on her job that she doesn’t notice me noticing how long her lashes are, or when I start counting the freckles dusted on the bridge of her nose. She doesn’t see me visually trace the slope of her jaw or locate the indent from the dimples she tries to hide with all her scowling at me.
She’s so pretty and sometimes a little mean. It’s a lethal combination for me.
Speaking of, there’s another person I’d like to have a few choice words with. Someone who never viewed her the way I do. It’s what has me asking, “Will your ex be there?”
