Page 20 of Sem
“Good. Wonderful. Glad we are on the same page.”
Sem throws his arms across the back of the couch and turns that blue gaze on me.
“What are the other ground rules?”
I think about it and then shrug. “That’s the only one.”
“Hm. Got it. You have fun today?”
“Yep.”
He grins widely, and I have to look away because he looks so sexy when he does that, and Ido notneed to be lusting after him. Especially because I have Colin’s number now, and we’ve been texting a little. It’s kind of, sort of, flirtatious.
“How do you afford this place?” Sem asks, watching as I move to the fridge and grab a bottle of wine. I open it and pour a heaping cup full of it into a mug.
“Want a drink?” I ask him, and Sem shakes his head.
“Water’s fine,” he replies.
I hand him a bottle and then explain, “August’s uncle owns this complex. Gave me a sweet deal on this place. Just for the year. And then I have to move out.”
“Where will you go?”
“Dunno. Hopefully, I can get a job around here, but I’m not opposed to moving farther away for work.”
Sem taps his fingers on the couch and says, “You got sunburned.”
“Just a little,” I reply with a shrug and then sit down on the couch facing Sem. Probably should change out of my swimsuit, but I’m tired from the sun and the beach. And I just want to sit for a minute and drink my wine before doing anything else.
“Should put something on that,” Sem says, his eyes moving across my exposed skin.
“I’ll be fine,” I reply, letting my eyes drift over Sem’s giant arms. I take a large mouthful of wine and swallow. “You got tan.”
“Yep. I’m lucky, I guess. Never really burn.”
I swallow some more wine and then nudge his thigh with my toes.
“Want to play a game?” I ask, feeling a little tipsy. Should have probably eaten something before I gulped down almost an entire mug of wine in ten seconds flat.
“What game?” he asks.
I begin to pull my foot away from him, but Sem grabs onto it and pulls it onto his lap. “You have purple toenails.”
I wiggle them. “You secretly love them. Want me to paint yours?”
Sem doesn’t respond, just digs his fingers into the sole of my foot and begins to give me a massage.
He’s massaging my feet.
“Nah. You have pretty feet. It suits you.”
I blush because I drank too much, and apparently, I haven’t been complimented in ages. Why don’t men get complimented more? It’s a pandemic, really. We all secretly suffer from epically low self-esteem.
“Thank you. You have strong hands,” I tell him, feeling the need to return the compliment.
“I know.”
I roll my eyes as he continues to massage my foot. I tell myself that I need to remove it from his lap, to end this madness, but I end up just finishing off my wine like a lush and biting back the urge to moan. It’s criminal how good he is at this.
