Page 95 of Keepsakes and Kismet

“Sleepover.” I nod solemnly.

“What should we do tomorrow, then? What’s your normal routine?” she asks.

“I usually go to Carter’s gym every day. I head there a little later on weekends, so there’ll be other people—men—at the gym,” I say cautiously. “But there’s a group fitness room with some weights. We can work out in there together, if you want to go with me.”

She gives my bicep a squeeze. “That sounds perfect.”

“Really?”

“Yeah, I’ll cheer you on while you lift or something. Influence you to go harder. I can be very persuasive.”

“You don’t have to tell me. I’ve seen what you can do with a smoothie firsthand.”

She smirks. “The sex tonight was almost as life-changing as the Nutty Nana.”

I groan. “Please don’t bring up the Nutty Nana while I’m inside you.”

“Why? Are you afraid you’ll develop a Pavlovian reaction? Get your organically grown nuts turned on by Kevin’s organically grown nuts the next time you drink one?”

“That’s it, I’m pulling out.” I give her a peck on the cheek. “It’s been great.”

Peyton scoots up, releasing me. “I need to get cleaned up anyway.”

I caress her cheek. “Let me.”

She shakes her hair out of her face. “Yeah?”

“Yeah. Rest. I’ll be back in a minute.”

I walk into her bathroom and grab a washcloth. After running it under warm water, I ball it up in my hand to retain the heat, grab a bottle of lotion, and bring everything to Peyton.

She’s laying on her back, the comforter pulled up to her shoulders.

I gesture toward the duvet. “Can I pull it down?”

Peyton nods, almost shyly, but there’s something in her eyes that gives me pause.

“Do you want me to talk it out?” I ask.

“No,” she says quietly. Turning to the side, she grabs another pillow and adds it beneath her head, propping herself up. “I just want to watch.”

“Watch what?”

“Watch you take care of me like this. It’s never happened before.”

Fuck. My heart aches for her past, for what she’s been through. The fact that she just wants to see someone tend to her, like the mere concept is something spectacular and not a given, rips my soul straight out of my chest.

I swallow down the lump in my throat and give her a tight smile. “Okay, Pey. Watch me take care of you the way you deserve.”

I slowly pull down the comforter, exposing her body, and goosebumps prick at her skin. Gently pushing on the inside of her knee, I unclench the washcloth in my hand, and she lets her legs fall open.

I hear her sigh when I run the warm washcloth along her inner thighs. This is a different realm of intimacy. It’s comfort, tenderness, and so much fucking vulnerability. When I glance up, she’s watching intently. I turn the washcloth over and pass it over her center.

“You’re so sweet, huh?”

“Yeah,” she breathes. “Sweet just for you.”

Tossing the washcloth in her laundry basket, I kiss the top of her trimmed hair and stand again. After pumping some lotion into my hand, I massage it over her lower stomach, where I pressed her down earlier. When I’m done soothing that spot, I rub lotion across her rib cage, on her sides, on her breasts. I lift her hand and give her palm a kiss.