I hope you're not expecting genius here. Take the Leyna. Take it.

Standard disclaimer, it's all Rick Riordan's.

Leo looked up in surprise from his seat on the couch as Reyna flopped down beside him and very pointedly dropped her right foot onto his stomach. "I ran farther than usual this morning," she said. "My calves have been cramping all day."

He eyed her leg, wary. He'd been tricked before. "And my responsibility for that is …?"

"Rub my leg, Hot Hands," she said with a sigh, having figured out weeks ago that his higher-than-normal body temperature made him a stellar masseur. She gestured to the upper end of her right calf: "Right here."

Leo had a healthy sense of self-preservation, but he also had a healthy sense of Holy Hephaestus my girlfriend is gorgeous, so he didn't argue it. She began to unravel her braid; he grinned sideways at her and took her lower leg in both hands, working at the tight muscle. She rolled her ankle and made an affirmative "hmm." Good, he was unlikely to be murdered tonight.

He worked his way down toward her ankle, but when the heel of his hand brushed her heel, she jerked away. "Not my foot," she warned him, her toes curling instinctively. It was hard to take her seriously, even though he'd found out about her ticklish spots the hard way. All the other demigods saw a serious, hardworking praetor; he saw a girl who shrieked and twisted backward whenever he squeezed her waist.

Obediently Leo moved his hands back up under her knee. He was suppressing a smile, though—he'd had an idea. He maintained his best innocent look as he skipped over her knee and curled his rough mechanic's fingers under the lowest part of her thigh.

Her braid half undone, Reyna looked up in surprise. "My hamstring is fine," she started, sounding almost a little uncertain, and that was when he pulled her toward him by the leg, knocking her from her pristine posture and half into him. In one quick motion she went from sitting upright to lying on her back, one leg stretched out across his lap and the other bent by his waist.

He leaned over her, careful not to catch her pooling hair when he set his hands by her shoulders. He was going to enjoy this rare moment of having the advantage, the upper hand. "Your running thing is hot," he said with a grin. "But really, if you wanted my hands on your legs, all you had to do was ask."

A smirk on her lips, she cocked her head and beckoned for him to come closer, so he lowered himself until barely an inch remained between them. His curls brushed against her forehead as he waited, and then:

"I did ask," she whispered, her breath hot against his ear.