Page 62 of Spring Tide

“What?” I ask, a breathless sound.

“I know you’re not a very touchy-feely person.” There’s a crease in her brow, a sheepish half-smile pulling at her lips. “I keep forcing you into hugs tonight.”

“I don’t mind hugs from you.”

“You don’t? I just figured, I mean, sometimes I’ve seen you flinch when people touch you.”

“It’s not so much the touching itself but who’s doing it and in what way.”

Her head tilts. “What do you mean?”

“It’s different when it’s someone I want touching me. Uh, I mean, if I’m close with the person, then I don’t mind it. I just like to know it’s coming, and it has to be the right type of pressure.”

“Pressure?”

“Yeah, just a firm touch.” I press two unsteady palms against my lap, praying that the perspiration doesn’t leave a mark. “Nothing too light or unexpected—that’s when I feel like crawling out of my own skin.”

“So it’s a sensory thing?”

“It is.”

“I think I know what you mean, then.” She offers a reassuring smile. “I used to get that same yucky feeling from stepping on sand. It’s like my feet were on fire.”

“But you practically live on the sand.”

“I guess my body adapted to it somehow.”

“Right. That’s good.”

She shifts course, pushing herself up from the bed. “So hugs from me are okay?”

“Yes.” I join her with a slight wince, the pressure and swelling from tonight’s game finally catching up with me.

“Good to know.” Her gaze cuts to my knee. “How are you feeling now? Are you tired, sore, strung out?”

“I think a little bit of everything.”

“Would you like a massage or just sleep?”

Although the former sounds most appealing, I might not be able to handle her hands on my body right now—pushing, prodding, kneading at my weaknesses. “Sleep might be best.”

She agrees, lifting the covers to slide herself into bed. I cross to the other side and shuffle in beside her, careful to keep a neat foot of distance between us. My left leg is propped up on the stack of pillows she created.

It’s all a bit awkward, but I try not to dwell on it.

Following an exchange of whispered good-nights, we simultaneously dim our bedside lamps. At first, the silence feels so loud. My breathing is erratic, my chest is heavy, and every tiny shift of her body sends a shock wave through my spine.

Five grueling minutes pass. Then, there’s a bright flash of lightning, followed by the crack of heavy thunder. Our window illuminates, the sound of steady rain returns, and my body starts to settle.

“Luca?”

“Yes?”

“I’m glad you stayed tonight.”

My voice sounds foreign to my ears, hoarse and unpracticed as I sputter a response. “Me too.”

“You played a great game. It was fun to watch you in your element.”

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