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Austin smiles, holding the door for me. “I am, with my friends. But this venture is all my own. A new kind of spa experience, aimed at busy professional men. Hi-tech, cutting-edge treatments, physical therapy, luxury all the way.”
“Because fancy lavender soaks and complimentary cucumber water isn’t manly enough,” I quip, and he chuckles.
“Exactly. The concept is inspired by all the treatments athletes receive, both preventative and restorative. Ice baths or cryotherapy, massage guns, electric stimulation, all kinds of stuff.”
“Oh, right,” I remember. “Lisa mentioned you were a professional athlete.”
“I was, yes. MLB.” He smiles over hesitantly at my blank smile, then tags on the clarification. “Major League Baseball.”
“Cool,” I say, brightly. There’s really no other way I could follow up. Here’s what I know about baseball: hot dogs, Cracker Jacks, and the national anthem. Tight pants. So, yes, I will be googling Austin later. Already wincing, I say, “I’m afraid I don’t know much about baseball.”
He doesn’t look offended at all. In fact, he’s looking over with interest. We’re outside now, squinting in the morning light. “You don’t know who I am?” he asks.
“You’re Austin,” I say, with an apologetic shrug. “My backup in a bad bar situation. Jacket saver. Bar investor. Spa owner.”
“All true,” he admits. Then, he adds, “And someone you’ve agreed to work for…?”
I laugh, shaking my head. “Nice try.”
“OK, OK.” Austin holds his hands up, flashing another grin. “You still need convincing. Let’s see if my next meeting won’t help.”
To my surprise, we only walk a couple of blocks before we reach our destination: Another chic spa-looking place, although this one doesn’t have the amazing light or sleek design, I note, as I follow him through the doors. I figure Austin is here to consult with another founder, or discuss partnerships, but instead, he leans in close to me. “If it comes up, pretend you’re my girlfriend.”
“What?” I blurt.
“Reconnaissance,” he explains, with a covert glance around. “I want to know more about the competition, so we’re undercover. OK to play along?”
He waits for my reply. I blink. “Ummm, sure?”
Why not? It’s not as if my day could get any weirder. Play girlfriend to the hot stranger who thinks I’m somebody else entirely? Bring it on!
The lobby smells like a Tahitian getaway—how I imagine it anyway. A small fountain gives off the soothing sound of trickling water, and from a quiet speaker system, that gentle music they play in yoga classes. Austin heads for the main desk.
“Hello,” says the clerk, with a quiet, soothing voice. “And welcome to your escape at Eucalyptus.”
“Glad to be here,” Austin says. “We’re ready for our treatments, isn’t that right sweetheart?” he gives me a conspiratorial smile, and dammit, just hearing him say ‘sweetheart’ melts something inside me.
“That’s right, honey-bun,” I manage to reply. Austin’s lips quirk in a smile.
“Wonderful. Who will be doing our Balinese experience?”
“She will,” Austin says. Meaning me. “You love to relax, don’t you, pumpkin?”
Pumpkin? Now I’m the one trying to keep a straight face.
“That means you’re set for our restorative therapy,” the reception guy says, handing Austin locker keys for the both of us.
“Great!” I exclaim, taking my key. “But be gentle. He may look tough, but he’s marshmallow really, aren’t you, muffin?”
Austin and I are both trying to keep from laughing, all the way to the locker rooms. But the minute the reception guy leaves us, I have to chuckle out loud. “Laying it on kind of thick, weren’t you?” I tease. “Clearly, you missed your calling as an actor.”
“Watch the video of my fourth-grade performance inFiddler on the Roof, and you’ll be singing a different tune.” Austin shoots back. “Anyway, go enjoy your treatment. I’ll see you after. And take notes!”
There’s really nothing for it but to follow his orders—all the way to the luxury massage table.
“Let me know if the pressure is OK,” my therapist murmurs, pouring delicious scented oil on my back, and then setting to work swiftly kneading all my many, many stress-induced knots out of my muscles.
Ahhhh…
