“Where does it hurt? Here?” His hands slip under and past the neck of my shirt to squeeze the bare skin of my shoulders.

“You don’t have to do that,” I say, in no way wanting him to stop but also feeling somehow guilty.

“Will you relax? This is my fault. The least I can do is rub your shoulders.”

I decide not to argue. It’s just a shoulder rub. No need to fight it. I stare straight ahead at the row of books in front of me, thinking I’ll rank them in descending order, but the titles all seem blurry.

Ryan shifts the top of my shirt over to one side, pulling it down to expose my left shoulder even more and rubbing the sensitive knot. It’s starting to take more concentration to regulate my breathing.

After that, I don’t know if I move backwards or he moves forward, but his chest brushes up against my spine and I can feel the firmness of his muscles through the fabric of our clothes. We’re pushed up against each other now, so much so that I almost brace myself against the bookcase in front of me.

His hands slip down my arms and back up again, leaving a trail of sensitive heat everywhere he skims. He follows the same quiet rhythm and repeats it several times before his hands stop moving by my wrists. I look down as our fingers intertwine. I can feel his breath against the back of my neck, giving me goose bumps and making my shirt feel impossibly tight. I’m nervous and curious and hungry to feel more and all of a sudden, Maggie’s seduction list comes barreling into my mind.

If I were the shy, cautious version of myself, I’d thank Ryan for the massage and walk away. If I were the romance-novel version of myself, I would turn and face him. One of the actions on the list was to create physical contact. If I’m ever going to check that item off, the time is now.

My breath is shaky as I shift around to meet Ryan’s gaze. It’s as heated as mine and none of this seems real, like I’m living inside some nostalgically sexy fever dream. His fingers untangle from mine and his hands slide to the small of my back, scrunching the material of my shirt together in his tight grip as he pulls me closer. Being surrounded by him feels incredible. My hands skate up his arms and shoulders, barely brushing the surface until my fingers push into the hair at the nape of his neck. His eyes almost close as his forehead rests against mine.

“I’ve missed this,” he says, his tone lulling and deep. “You have no idea how much.”

No cynical inner voice whispers insults into my ear. No pangs of doubt or embarrassment scratch under my skin. My mind goes quiet. Blissfully quiet.