“I could give you a massage.” I sputtered a laugh, my heart racing at even the thought of his hands roaming over me. “Oh, no. No, it’s fine—I’m fine. I haven’t shaved my legs in a few days.” It was his turn to laugh, apparently not mortified like I was. I wished the sky would fall and obliterate me and my hairy legs, especially when Brooks snagged the bottle of lotion off my desk. “If you think I’m scared of a little hair,” he said as he rolled the cuffs of my pajama bottoms up, oblivious to how I gaped at him, “then you must’ve forgotten about when you vomited on me. Twice.”
