June POV:
He didn't say anything at first.
Just slid closer—his fingers slipping under the hem of my sweatpants, palms warm and steady. I stiffened for a second, because Justin, with his unpredictable moods and hands that could both soothe and destroy, was now massaging my thighs like it was the most normal thing in the world.
God help me, it felt divine.
His thumbs pressed deep into the muscles, working over every knot, every tensioned inch of me, like he could smooth away the anxiety lodged inside my bones.
"You're tense," he murmured, eyes on my legs like he was studying something holy. "Let me take care of it."
I scoffed, but it came out breathy. "Did real dating always involve thigh massages?"
He gave me a crooked grin. "If it doesn't, we're doing it wrong."
