Page 44 of Santa of the Creek
“That would be you,” Dean allows. “But you don’t need your ankle to massage my feet. And when you’ve taken care of me, I’ll take care of any part you want massaged.” Another eyebrow waggle, letting me know what he’s thinking of isn’t as innocent as touching my feet.
I think about it for a moment. “I can deal with that.”
Dean turns me around, tugs me against him again, and kisses me for a long while. “You taste of coffee and candy canes.”
We’d used the Christmas candy in our props. There were all sorts of things you could do with candy canes, not all of them suitable for a children’s show.
“Do we have any left?” I ask.
“I think so. One or two. I had to rescue them from Joel’s youngest. He would have eaten them all.”
I hum. Not now, but later. Oh Santa, we’re going to have so much fun.
At least he’s quit moaning about his feet being tired.
Okay, if I’d known massaging Dean’s feet reduced him to this boneless mass who lay grinning up at the ceiling, barely able to form a coherent sentence, I might have offered to do this before, just so he’d quit complaining. In fairness, he didn’t know because this was the first time he’d let anyone near his feet.
I chuckle at the satiated heap of man sprawled on the other side of the couch, his bare legs over my lap. “Feeling better, honey?”
“Good,” he assures me, although good sounds more like gah.
I stroke down his shins and calves, feeling the hair tickle my palm. “You feel so good.”
Dean flushes at my praise. “I’m just average.”
“You’re more than average, sweetheart.”
He makes a self-deprecating noise, and I roll my eyes.
“I’m going to work on your self-esteem if it takes me a lifetime.”
“Good luck with that one. Even my therapist thinks it’s a lost cause.”
I frown. Maybe he needs a new therapist.
I run my hand down the length of his leg. “One of the many things I love about men is the visceral feel of them. I love running my hands over muscled thighs, tugging on hair under the armpits, cupping their balls. It’s all about touch and smell and taste.”
Dean nodded. “That’s how I knew I was attracted to boys. People always go on about sweaty teenage boy stink, but when I was a teenager, I loved that smell. Girls always smell of floral perfume. I don’t like that.”
I grin at the idea of teen Dean sniffing boy stink. Even I wasn’t that enamored, and I knew I was into boys. “You love locker rooms?”
He wrinkles his nose. “I did then. Now I’m more discerning, but I was a teen boy.”
“I don’t mind new sweat. Not so keen on BO.” I chuckle. “Have you been to line dancing night at Randy’s? It can get a little ripe in the summer.”
“Occasionally. That’s where I first saw you.” Dean sighs. “I didn’t know who the hot new bartender was that all the guys were drooling over.”
I’d been aware of the attention, but I was too busy learning my new job to pay much interest. By the time I came up for air, their attention was elsewhere.
I caress his cheek. “I remember you. You came with the sheriff and Deputy Ben.”
“They made me a pet project.” His expression is not impressed.
“Matchmaking?”
Dean snorts. “Think baby steps. You heard of Gilligan’s?”
“You mentioned it before. I spend enough time in bars. I prefer a meal out somewhere.”
