Page 100 of More For Me

Everly

“Are we taking a walk?” I ask skeptically as Bodhi parks on the side of the street outside of Echo Park. “Because I really am not wearing the right shoes for that.”

His gaze darts down to my feet—and the silver, sparkly Manolos I wore just because I know he likes them—and his eyes darken before he gives his head a little shake. “I just so happened to bring you different shoes.”

“You brought me shoes?”

He parks the Jeep and points at the glove compartment. “In there.” I open it and pull out a pair of simple black ballet flats.

“I appreciate the gesture, Bodhi, but those aren’t great for walking either.”

“I never said we were walking. Hang on.” Again, he hops out of the car and comes around to my side to open the door. This time, instead of helping me out, he crouches at my side. “Come here.” He places his hands on my knees and twists me so I’m sideways on the seat, my legs dangling out the door. Then he runs his palms down over my shins, leaving a trail of electric heat all the way to my ankles.

“I can take off my own shoes,” I say, mouth dry.

He gives me a mischievous grin as he runs his fingertips up my shins again. “I know. But this is way more fun for me.”

See, it’s that kind of stuff that’s going to kill me. The way he can shift so easily from the goofy, easy-going Bodhi I’ve always known to this smoldering, flirty sex god. A girl can only handle so much.

He slips one heel off before moving to the other foot, where he repeats the same slide of his fingers down my calf. This time, I can’t stop the shiver that goes through me, and he looks up at me with a knowing smile, his eyes dark.

“Still feel weird?”

I shake my head quickly, desperate for him to not stop what he’s doing. He takes a minute to firmly rub the arches of my now-bare feet—can a girl spontaneously combust from a foot massage? Because that feels insanely good. I want to cry when he pulls the simple ballet flats over my feet.

“If we’re going to keep going with this dating thing, I’m going to require foot massages on a regular basis,” I tell him, feeling somewhat shaky as he helps me to my feet on the pavement.

He laughs as he shuts the door behind me. “I’m sorry, have I been hallucinating the last several years and all the many, many times you’ve demanded foot rubs from me?”

I shrug. “Those were different. They were friendly foot rubs.” I point back at the passenger seat. “That was not friendly.”

“If you say so.” He holds out his arm. “Shall we?”

“You still haven’t told me what we’re doing here,” I say as I slip my hand into the crook of his elbow and peer around at the darkened park. I’ve been here a bunch of times, even though it’s not particularly close to the neighborhood where I grew up. My favorite thing about the place, and the reason I was forever trying to convince my cousins to come here was the—

“Bodhi,” I gasp, stopping in my tracks. There’s a pond up ahead of us, the water a dark void stretching into the distance—except for the outlines of light cutting their way across the surface.

“I know your cousins always tease you about wanting to do this,” he says. “But I thought it might be fun.”

I stare, totally overwhelmed. I can’t believe he remembered this.

One of the things Echo Park is famous for is the swan boats. They’re basically just big white pedal boats with wings and a swan head, but I’ve always adored them. My cousins and sisters humored me when we were younger and I would beg to come here, but eventually they put their foot down. The park was too far, too crowded, and way too touristy.

I’d told Bodhi that once, ages ago. I can’t even remember what we were talking about, but I know I mentioned that I thought the Swan boats were incredibly romantic. And that I’d never been on one at night, when they’re all lit up.

“You remembered this?” I whisper.

He squeezes my hand. “Of course I did. Now come on, you have to reserve these things and we’re running a little past our time slot.”

“You reserved us swan boats?”

“I reserved us lighted swan boats, which are clearly a million times more romantic and awesome than—oof.” His words cut off in a low grunt as I grab his face and press my lips against his.

“I’ve always, always wanted to do the lighted swan boats at night,” I say against his mouth. I have to swallow hard to work past the sudden lump in my throat.

“I know,” he says. “You said you never did it because you were saving it for someone you were really into.”

It had been a little joke with me and Alex and Rose—any time I dated a guy for more than a few weeks they asked me if he was swan boat material. I had let a guy take me here during the day once, but I’d never dated anyone worthy of this particular romantic fantasy.