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I smile, hiding every ounce of apprehension that’s blooming within me. Why would he be here? Why would he want a massage? How did he know where I was? I didn’t tell him where I went to class. I didn’t tell him what nights I went to class. I didn’t tell him anything. Yet now, he’s here, and on the same day that he had this huge reaction to me ‘touching’ other people.
I try to play it cool. This could all be coincidence. Or, like every episode of Dateline my mother made us watch growing up, this very attractive guy could be insane.
My chest tightens as I reenter the space.
“Hey.” He reaches out for my hand as he says, “Sorry to show up like this. You mentioned massages earlier, and I thought that I could use one.”
“Okay. Yeah.” I nod and return his gesture for a handshake. It’s the first time we’ve touched. His skin is so rough. “Why this place? It’s pretty out of the way for you.”
“Well, there’s no one on the mountain that does massages and when I Googled places in the area, this was the cheapest place that showed up. I didn’t realize it was a student spa until I checked in.”
All of this could be true. We do offer the cheapest massages in a three-hour radius, and it is promoted like a spa, not as a school, which is kind of false advertising, if you ask me.
“You, ugh, you have to take your shirt off.”
James grunts something deep in his throat before unbuttoning his shirt and tossing it into a chair beside him. I don’t get the vibe like he actually wants to be touched, but I guess we’ll see.
Until now, I’ve only ever seen the muscles James puts on display. I knew he had strong biceps and shoulders. That was obvious. Now, I see so much more. His back is strong and muscular. His chest is tight and defined. And though he doesn’t have a perfect six-pack like a book boyfriend, he’s toned and fit with a trail of hair that covers his chest and roams down toward his jeans.
My skin heats.
Why is my skin heating?
“I’m going to touch you. Is that okay?” My voice cracks when I talk.
“Yes.”
“Good.” I try to steady my breath. “Tell me where it hurts, so I can focus on those areas. Okay?”
He sighs low in his throat as I unknot my fingers and try not to die when I touch him.
He’s so… manly. So… perfect. So… weird.
My heart pounds and my breath quickens as I pool oil in my hands and warm it between my palms.
Right about now, I wish the room wasn’t so basic. There are no fancy rock designs, no fish tanks, no trickling water wall. There aren’t even tiles to count. I guess that’s why we leave the shades slightly open. Our clients can enjoy the nature of this back city lot. Right now, though, they get the complete darkness edition.
I blow out a soft breath, staring down at the beast’s muscular back, which is also covered in ink. I study the pictures drawn on him, trying to gather some sense of who he is. A dragon, a few skulls, an eagle on top of a globe with a flag nearby. I wonder if that’s military. I make a mental note to look up which branch that would be when I get home.
“I hope you like lavender. It’s the scent of the day.”
Lavender. For a second, I’m reminded of my most recent book and the fields that the heroine was just rushed off to for a wild night of crazy sex. That’s not the image I need in my head right now.
James groans again. It’s a more guttural sound this time. Why am I so nervous to touch him? I’m not nervous to touch anyone. I’ve given hundreds of massages at this point. I don’t even think about it anymore. Skin is skin, and bodies are bodies. If you’ve seen one, you’ve seen them all. However, James is different. He’s… so very different.
I slide my hands over his biceps and work the tension that’s built between his shoulder blades. He’s so stiff.
He growls low but doesn’t speak.
“Is that where it hurts?”
He grunts out a response as I dig deeper into the muscles. My thumbs probe and poke at his shoulder, scorching trails through the knotted space between his joints. For the most part, everyone’s muscles tell a story. An office worker typically has shoulder pain from being hunched over a computer. An athlete has more pinpoint pain that’s usually in the calves or forearms, depending on the sport. A rancher, like James, would typically see a lot of lower back and shoulder pain.
I drag my hands down over his body and sweep the area, studying him like a map for areas to concentrate on. When I reach another tight spot on his far lower back, I feel scar tissue beneath the surface.
“You have some damage here. What happened?”
“Not sure.” As usual, his responses are quick and void of anything informational. I thought we were progressing earlier. “Aren’t massages supposed to be quiet?”
