Page 72 of Hate You, Maybe
“Face the other way,” he says. “On the bench.”
I lift my chin. “But … why?”
His eyes laser in on mine. “I was thinking I could massage your scalp.”
“Oh.” I take in a deep breath, hold it.
“If you’ll let me.”
After only a brief internal debate, I exhale and spin around, throwing one leg over the bench until I’m straddling the seat with my back to Dexter.
“Good girl.” He turns and mirrors my position on the bench, edging up behind me until I can practically feel his breath in my ear. Then he slides a hand under the curtain of my hair, laying one warm palm against the nape of my neck.
A tremor catapults through me, and he slips his other hand up along my scalp, threading his fingers through the strands. When he reaches the ridge where the hair bumps up from the old ponytail, I let out a little whimper of pleasure.
“Is this all right?” His question comes out rough, but his touch is beyond tender.
I nod. A silent consent.
So Dexter begins to knead the most sensitive spots on my head. Gently at first, then more purposeful, as he increases the pressure. His fingertips probe every inch of my scalp, sending shockwaves of pleasure down my spine. The moves are slow but steady, and a shimmer stirs in my abdomen, traveling up behind my ribs, filling the space around my heart.
I can’t explain what’s happening between us, but there’s a shift. And I surrender to the thrill of being tended to. This man is meeting my needs right now without any thought of reciprocation.
I arch my back, leaning into him without even realizing it. And Dexter accepts the motion, cradling my head with his palms.
“Let me know when to stop,” he says, his breath hot against my face.
“Never,” I whisper. “Ever.”
From around the corner comes the sound of crunching footsteps, then someone gasps, “Oh, no!”
Dexter and I awkwardly clamber up off the bench, leaping apart as soon as we’re free from the table. Bob and Hildy are ten yards away, cowering. Bob holds up a lantern, and Hildy punches his shoulder, glaring at him.
“I told you we shouldn’t go looking for them,” she hisses. “But you justhadto follow them out here to be sure they were okay.”
“They did leave in quite a hurry,” he protests.
She throws her hands up. “And now we’ve interrupted this sweet, private moment.”
“No, no it’s fine,” I blurt. “There are no private moments happening here. Dex and I were just … umm …”
“Collaborating?” Bob offers.
“Talking,” Dexter grunts.
“But notprivately,” I emphasize. “I just needed some fresh air. The inside of the lodge was getting a little stuffy, and Dexter was nice enough to come out here and keep me company.”
“Keeping you company?” Bob grins. “Sothat’swhat the kids are calling it these days.”
“Leave them alone, Bob,” Hildy warns.
“What?” He holds the lantern up so the light beams in her face. “You’re just mad that I’m right.”
“Only because it’s so rare.”
Bob swings his lantern over to us. “I told Hildy right after you two showed up that I sensed some real heat between you.”
“Heat?”Gah!“There really isn’t,” I insist. “Dexter and I are just … friends.”
