Page 18 of Spring Tide

“Tensor fascia latae,” she clarifies, kneading her thumbs into the thick tissue.

“OhGod.” A deep, involuntary groan rolls out from the back of my throat. “Why does it feel like that?”

“You’ve been overcompensating, using the other muscles in your thighs to pull tension from your knee.” Her thumbs continue to press deep into the muscle belly, and it’s so fucking incredible I could cry. “Basically, your entire back and lower extremities are wound up tight. Seems like you’re desperately in need of release, in more ways than one.”

My brows shoot up, fists clenching at my sides. “Harper,” I warn.

“Oh, not ... notthatkind of release.” She’s avoiding my gaze, cheeks flushing the lightest shade of peach. “Although, that might not hurt, either. Just maybe don’t top anyone for a while. Could be bad for your recovery.”

“Harper, stop,” I finally manage to grit out.

“Oh, sorry,” she murmurs, continuing her assault on my upper thigh muscles. “I didn’t ... are you uncomfortable talking about this?”

“With you?” I barely suppress another groan. “Yes.”

“It’s okay, Luca.” Her voice takes on a matter-of-fact tone. “It’s actually part of my job to advise my patients about safe positions and post-injury intimacy.”

“I’m good.” My body is both stiff and relaxed. Conflicted and subdued. I want to melt into this fucking bed, but Harper’s line of questioning is seriously rocketing my heart rate. “We don’t need to ... let’s just not go there.”

“Okay, sure. Just know the conversation is always on the table, though, in case you have any questions later.”

“Great,” I mutter.

Her hands gently slide across my thighs, slowly caressing and pressing against the overworked muscles. I can’t help the small, satisfied groans that slip from my lips as she massages away the pain. And I certainly can’t help when my eyelids flutter shut, Harper’s gentle hands lulling me to sleep on this perfect, flowery bed of mismatched pillows.

7

HARPER

The soundof Luca’s moaning and groaning isn’t altogether unpleasant. In fact, it’s kind of a nice soundtrack for my impromptu study session.

He’s still in my bed now, two hours after he fell asleep during our massage. The MIKE linebacker, D1 athlete, and full-time overachiever seems to be at peace resting amongst an ocean of floral pillows. He’s still fairly restless when he sleeps—shifting and drifting from one side to the next—but his eyelids are gently fluttering, so I think he may just be lost in an endless dream.

Something soothing, I hope.

My fingers tap against my thigh, drumming carefully as I sketch the tendons of a human hand. Anatomy is a difficult subject; the hand alone is filled with over thirty muscles and one hundred ligaments or tendons. Drawing them out is meticulous, but the sequence—the steady loops and twirls of my pencil on paper—helps with the organization inside my head.

It’s nearly ten o’clock when I hear the front door of my apartment click open. I set my sketchpad on my desk, carefully tiptoeing out of my bedroom and down the hallway.

“Blue Fairy,” Stella exclaims, face lighting up as I approach. She’s removing her apron now, wadding it up to toss onto the kitchen counter. “How’s my girl?”

“Shh.” I drop my voice to a whisper. “I’ve got a sleeping boy in my room.”

Her brows shoot up, cheeks tightening with an eager smile. “What sleeping boy? Did we finally bag Nate?”

“No, it’s not Nate.” My voice dips low. “It’s Luca, actually.”

“Luca Reynolds?”

“Mhm,” I mumble, palms dampening with a thin sheen of sweat.

“No shit?” Her eyes are filled with a mixture of pride and confusion. “The infamous Reynolds is asleep in our apartment?”

“Yes.” My heart patters wildly in my chest. It’s officially lie time, folks. “So, let’s keep our inside voices on, please.”

She plants both hands on her hips. “Baby girl, did you seriously bone Reynolds tonight?”

“We didn’tbone, Stell. He just fell asleep while I was giving him a massage,” I tell her, the words tumbling out before I can manage to properly filter them. “I mean, while I was rubbing his back or whatever.”

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