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Um, what?
Me: Flight was fine and I’m back no problem. You miss my shirt?
Ransom: I miss your panties more.
Sweet baby gherkin, was he flirting?
Me: You know, if you keep that up, you’ll set my panties on fire.
Ransom: I’m counting on it.
My inner muscles clenched painfully. Leaning back on my sofa, I let my mind drift back to the hours after we came home from the big Thanksgiving feast at the rink.
“Why did you let me eat that last piece of pie?” Ransom groaned.
I snickered. “Let you?”
He unbuttoned his pants. “You’ve slapped things out of my hand before.”
Flopping down on the sofa next to him, I pinched at his non-existent fat rolls. “Pretty sure you’ll turn that pie into more of this. Pure muscle, mister.”
He settled back into the sofa, resting his head and closing his eyes. “Can’t keep your hands off me, can you? It’s okay. I don’t mind.”
I lifted an eyebrow playfully. “You don’t?”
He leaned forward enough to pull his shirt up and off his head before I could say anything. Then there was this whole buffet of Ransom on display in front of me. I felt some drool at the corners of my mouth before I wiped it away.
“Come here,” he prompted, pulling me to lay on his bare chest.
It’s not like we didn’t do this all the time. But this time it felt different. Like it meant more. Like he might even want me to touch him.
With a tentative stroke, I let my finger trace his chiseled abdominal muscles. They tensed a bit under my fingertips, but that wasn’t too unusual. It probably tickled.
With a low gravelly voice, Ransom pulled me into him tighter. “What are you thinking?”
I swallowed. “You’ve been training. Hard.”
He nodded into my hair. “Just for now.”
I kept my finger moving along the lines of his muscles. “Probably forever.”
He grumbled. “It’s for my job, but one day I won’t have these abs anymore. It’ll just be a layer of padding. Will you still want to lay on it then?”
My head popped up. “Of course!”
His eyes twinkled. “You won’t think there’s anything wrong with me when it’s soft there?”
I scoffed. “No! I love you for who you are, not because of what you look like!”
He leaned in closer, bunching the muscles in front of me. “That’s right. We care about who we are to each other, just as we are, not how we look, right?”
My eyes bugged wide. “What?”
He flopped back to the sofa. “It doesn’t matter how we look. We just care about each other.”
I sighed and lowered my head back to his chest. “You tricked me.”
He squeezed me to his chest. “I helped you see all by yourself. Doesn’t count as tricking when it’s helpful.”
