Page 74 of Sincerely, Your Enemy

The smile he gives me feels like a warm blanket squeezing my body. “You carry it so fucking well, but it’s still heavy. You’re allowed to say it.”

My throat feels constricted.

“There’s no point in saying it. It’s not going to change anything.”

“I disagree. I think if people knew how much being a single parent is weighing on you, they’d want to help.” His hand comes to rest on my cheek, the affectionate gesture catching me off guard. “Yes, you have to work, but that doesn’t mean the people who love you can’t give you a hand in dealing with your other responsibilities.”

He has a point. Working a lot is only half the problem. The real issue is how little time I have to recover because when I’m not working, I’m running around trying to meal prep for the week, cleaning up Sierra and Oli’s mess, on top of trying to keep up with school.

“You’re right.” I nod, the realization liberating me from the burden crushing my shoulders. “I’m allowed to ask for help.”

“That’s fucking right you are.” He nods, his eyes gleaming with understanding as he removes the hand cupping my face. “Now, lay down.”

Well, that took a turn.

“W-What?”

“I’m going to give you a massage.”

I could argue, but I’m so tired there isn’t a drop of resistance left in my system. I oblige, shifting our math textbooks out of the way before lying flat on my stomach.

Next thing I know, TJ’s straddling me, his legs flanking my body as he sits near the small of my back.

The feel of his hands grazing my skin startles me, eliciting a gasp from my mouth.

“Are my hands cold?” he asks but keeps his fingers there. Ironically enough, warmth spreads through my entire body.

“No, it’s not…” I let out a nervous chuckle. “You just surprised me.”

Truth is, histouchis doing that to me. His hands could be freezing and still be sending jolts of electricity throughout my entire body.

“Yeah, that’s not going to work,” he comments and drives his hands along my spine. His fingertips slide underneath my T-shirt, and he starts to fidget with the fabric. “Can I?”

“Oh, hm, sure.”

He bunches up my shirt above my shoulder blades, moving it out of the way and getting to work. I’m wearing a bralette still, and he asks me if he can undo the back clasp, a request I grant him.

A whimper leaves me when his thumb finds the sore muscles along my spine and he starts working out the knots. I had no idea I was this tense. How do I even function with this much muscle strain?

“It’ll hurt at first, but it’ll help, I promise,” he says to ease my worries.

He goes on to apply more pressure, giving the sore muscles on the top half of my back his undivided attention before moving over to the lower half and repeating the process.

It hurts for the better part of the first five minutes until his precise strokes begin to melt away all the stress and pain my body’s been carrying for months.

“How’s that?” he checks in a moment later, and my mouth refuses to expel the thoughts forming in my head.

“It’s…” I can’t help a moan from slipping out of me when his thumb draws a strong circle near the bottom of my spine. “It feels amazing. Have you done this before?”

“My mom used to come home crying from her back pain. I did whatever I could to help.”

This is incredibly sweet of him, which just goes to show that there’s a side of him I don’t know. Hell, I’m not even sure I knowanyside of him. He barely talks about his life outside of Duke.

Is his mom still around? I remember him saying his mom went away for work a while back, and I never pushed him for specifics, but I’m starting to wonder if he’s purposefully keeping the details to himself.

His friends don’t seem to know a lot more than I do.

“Is she better now?”

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