Page 72 of Pucked Up

“Why? Because he’s hot? Because he makes you make animal noises when he touches you in special places?”

“Oh my God, stop talking. Never say those words together like that ever again.”

Ford grinned, but it didn’t reach his eyes. With a sigh, he reached out and took one of my hands, pressing his thumbs into my palm. My curled fingers spasmed hard, but the more he worked at my tight muscles, the more they started to relax.

“I usually have to pay for this,” I told him.

He snorted. “Just call me your…masseuse?” I shook my head. “Mas…oise?”

“Stop.”

“Whatever. Call me your massage guy for the night. I’m here to service everything but your dick. I don’t do happy endings. Well, for the right price, but I’ve seen your bank account, sir, and you cannot afford me.”

“I don’t like you.”

“Yeah, but you love me.” Ford smiled and leaned forward, smudging a kiss over my jaw. “And I love you too. You’re my favorite person, tied in first with Tucker.”

That made me feel a little better. If people like Ford and Tucker could find something in me worthy of being their favorite, maybe I wasn’t so bad.

“So,” Ford asked, switching to my other hand. “What do you want to do?”

I looked at him with a deep frown. “What do you mean?”

“About Hugo.”

“Oh, God…”

“I mean, you kicked him out, and it must have sucked because I saw his face and?—”

“Wait. When?”

“In the hallway. He almost knocked me on my ass coming out of the elevator. He wasn’t crying yet, but he was definitely going to.”

My heart felt like it shattered into a thousand pieces. “I’m such a prick.”

“You’re allowed to not want someone in your life,Bodie. Even if you both like each other. You’re allowed to have reasons to not be together.”

Bile rose into my throat. “They’re shit reasons.”

“So tell him you changed your mind.”

I stared at him, eyes wide. “After all that? After he confessed that he’s a fucking widower and that I’m the first person he’d fallen for since his dead husband?” Okay, he might not have said that, but it was implied.

Ford let out a heavy breath. “Even after all that. I’m the last person who’s an expert on love. I haven’t dated pretty much ever, and every time I try, it’s a disaster. But I’ve seen it when it’s good. And I’ve seen it when it’s real. He looks at you like it’s real, babe. But don’t try if you’re not at least a little bit sure.”

“I don’t know what I am,” I whispered. He cupped my cheek, then booped my nose. “Are you fucking serious with that?”

“Yep.” He did it again. “Boop. Now, bedtime, babe.”

“Uh…what?”

“Tomorrow is going to suck. You need sleep. Come on, get in the bed with me. I’ll put on some ASMR visual shit for you and rub your back until you pass out.”

I wanted to fight him. I still didn’t feel like I deserved it, but the promise of a long night of comfort was too good to pass up. And whatever else happened, I knew I would always have this.

And that was the only thing keeping me sane.

In spite of having Ford’s heavy, warm, snoring weight against me all night, I slept like shit. I was comfortable, and with the massage he gave me as my newly appointed “massoise”—he was not giving that word up—and the muscle relaxer I choked down with room-temperature, flat Sprite, but I couldn’t seem to get any real rest.