A small smile pulls on her lips. “That was a good trip.”
For a too-short second, we share a grin.
Then Chelsea and her impeccable timing strike again. “Lovely. Now we’re going to have you turn on your backs and we’ll adjust the tables.”
Chelsea holds the sheet up for me like some kind of shield, but it doesn’t do much, at least not if what’s happening a few inches from me is any indication. Jess flips over onto her back and in the brief few seconds, I catch a glimpse of everything. The smooth line of her spine, the dip of her waist, her rosy pink nipples, and the flushed skin of her chest.
And then the table beneath me starts to roll, and the already infinitesimal gap between us closes. Our massage tables are now pushed together to form another single fucking bed. It’s like the romance gods are trying to murder us.
The tables aren’t big to begin with and this new arrangement means my bare shoulder is pressed against Jess’s, that silky skin I’m so obsessed with brushing against mine with every inhale. And then Jake and Chelsea adjust the sheets, so that our hips and thighs and hands and so many parts of us are touching that I might actually combust.
Whoever invented couples massages should be forced to endure the worst kinds of torture. Riding “it’s a smallworld” at Disneyland for days on end, or going through copyedits on sex scenes.
Chelsea’s hands are working my neck muscles, but the only thing my body is aware of right now is Jess. She is everywhere, and I want more.
I move my pinky finger, half a centimeter by half a centimeter, until I finally feel the brush of her skin on mine. It’s innocuous and could easily be passed off as an accidental touching, almost unavoidable given the circumstances.
And yet, when she moves her pinky, just a smidge, so that it’s underneath mine, when I take the chance and wrap mine completely around hers, she doesn’t pull away.
I release the breath that’s been trapped in my lungs since the table moved and the earth shook.
“One last question,” Chelsea says. “Tell each other one thing you regret most, something you’ve said or done that you would take back if you could.”
I turn my head, searching for her eyes. “The end. All of it. I regret everything about the end.”
She meets my eyes and hers are shining with tears. I let go of her pinky so I can take her hand in mine. I squeeze gently, and she grips my fingers with equal force.
“I don’t think I can do this,” she whispers.
I swallow the threat of my own tears and nod. “You don’t have to.”
There’s a beat of heavy silence before Jake speaks for the first time since our massage/torture session started. “Take your time getting dressed. We’ll meet you in the hall whenever you’re ready.”
Jess and I both nod. Neither of us moves when we hear the door click shut behind them.
I reach out a tentative hand, tucking a lock of her dark hair behind her ear. “I really mean that, you know. I regret losing you every day, Jess. I hate how much I hurt you. And I hate that I now have to live without you.”
A tear slips down her cheek. “Then why did you do it?”
I grimace, because of course she wants to know the one thing I don’t think I could possibly explain. “I don’t have a good answer for that, Jess.”
She gently pulls her hand from mine, wiping at her cheeks. She holds the sheet to her chest as she rises from the table and gathers her robe from the floor.
I look away as she dresses, as if giving her a smidge of privacy could possibly make up for the thing I can’t give her—the truth.
“You know, Nick, I don’t regret anything about our relationship. I loved you fully and completely, and the years that we spent together were some of the best of my life.”
I sit up, letting the sheet fall to my waist as I face her. I owe her that much at least. “I agree, Jess, and I loved you too, even if it didn’t feel like it at the end.”
She shakes her head sadly, toying with the ties of her robe. There’s no teasing sexual tension in it this time. “I lied, actually. I do have one regret. I regret whatever it is that makes you think that you can’t trust me with the truth.”
She doesn’t give me a chance to respond, not that I could find the words anyway.
I watch her helplessly, silently, as she walks from theroom and closes the door behind her. Scrubbing a hand over my face doesn’t wipe the memories from my brain, or her words from my heart. I dress in my robe and thank Chelsea for the massage and change back into my clothes in the locker room.
I ask at the front desk if there are any extra rooms available, knowing full well there won’t be. Stanley, the same hotel worker from the first day, has gotten even grumpier over the course of being trapped at his job, and he seems to delight in telling me my “girlfriend” already inquired about moving to a new room. Of course there aren’t any open rooms. I knew that, and yet, it still feels like a blow.
I don’t know how I can climb into bed next to her tonight.
