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“You were just building your client list. Now you’re his personal nurse. Next, you’ll be his wife. Then you’ll have nothing of your own at all.”
I’m quiet, because she’s right. Elliot made me give up all my male clients when we got together. He said I could only work with females if he and I were to be a couple.
Daisy went off when she found out, and while I agree it’s silly for him to be jealous, I can see his side of it.
Massage therapy requires the utmost professionalism, and while I never, ever give any hint of impropriety, I know a few of my old male clients wouldn’t have minded a bonus cock-rub.
“Elliot is my primary client because it helps him. He takes good care of me.”
“He’s your only client.”
“That’s not true. I have others.”
I hope she doesn’t ask how many, because she’s right. I’ve got Elliot and about two other women who call me occasionally.
I met Elliot when I was just getting started. I finished my training in sports medicine and massage therapy at Palmetto college, went around to all the offices downtown and left my card, set up some Groupons. He messaged me back in a day.
Then I met him, and he was so fine. Golden-brown hair, blue eyes… He’s not tall, but his body is amazing—all hard muscles and a tight ass honed by years on the baseball field.
A back injury forced him into retirement early, and he went to work with his dad in waste management. Sitting behind a desk all day aggravated his injury, which is how I got my hands on that body. He asked me to dinner, and yadda yadda yadda… three weeks later, I moved in with him.
It was pretty great at first, but now, that same old injury is the excuse he gives for why we haven’t had sex in three months.
Three months is a long, damn time.
I haven’t dared tell Daisy.
“Weren’t you just fighting last week? What makes you think he’s going to propose?”
I swallow the tightness in my throat. “I accidentally opened his credit card bill, and I saw a huge charge at Jared’s.”
“Hold the phone. Snooping in his mail is a big red flag. Also, seriously? What kind of engagement rings do they have at Jared’s?”
Damn Daisy.
“Nice ones!” I match her tone, and she blows air into my ear. I shake my head. “I’m hanging up now. I’ll call you after he proposes. Or better yet, I’ll send you a photo of my gorgeous new ring. Then I’ll accept your apology.”
“Hang on, don’t hang up.” Her tone softens. “I’m worried about you, cuz. I want you to be with someone who deserves you. Someone who’s going to make you happy.”
“Elliot makes me happy.” My voice cracks, and anxiety flashes in my chest. I choose to ignore it. “I’ll call you later.”
“Love you, bitch.”
“Love you more.”
The sun is setting through the high-rises, and I shove my phone in the side pocket of my black yoga pants. I’m wearing a sports bra and tank, because I did a mini spa day in anticipation of tonight. I got a body scrub, bikini wax, facial, and of course, a fresh mani-pedi so when I post pictures on social media, my hands will look perfect.
Pushing through the glass doors, I smile and wave at Eric the doorman. He’s on the phone, and he seems startled to see me.
I hope I’m not spoiling any surprises as I skip into the gleaming elevator and hit the PH button, swiping my door card over the keypad.
The elevator shoots upwards, heading to the top floor, and I gaze out over downtown Columbia.
It’s not the biggest city in South Carolina, but it’s bigger than Fireside. I love being a cosmopolitan girl living in a penthouse apartment with a sexy, rich boyfriend. I’m like Gossip Girl or Sex and the City light. Or something.
The bell dings and the doors open to the small foyer. I cross the space to open the door, and I’m surprised when Elliot meets me on the landing. He’s wearing his suit pants, but his jacket is gone. His white dress shirt is crumpled and buttoned awkwardly.
“Hey, babe. You’re back early.” Sweat glistens on his upper lip, and his hair is messy and damp at the temples.
