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Memories of Dominic’s hardened muscles flexing beneath my hands rushed through me like a crashing wave. His body was so much more amazing up close than from outside the ring. Ridiculously so. No one needed to be that good-looking and that rich.
My attraction to him made perfect sense, and I was sure it was completely normal for any straight woman to have. Actually, any person period. Didn’t mean I needed to go acting on that attraction. I bit my lip against a sudden surge of desire.
But what was one steamy night in the grand scheme of things?
As if he were even remotely interested in that prospect with a girl like me. Yes, he’d asked me out, but I was sure it was him just having some fun. He could get any woman he wanted whenever he wanted, a fact I’d seen with my own eyes on several occasions.
As far as he was concerned, I was a nobody. Just a very bad masseuse in training.
Laughing to myself, I swiped the sponge over the toilet and called it a day. No amount of scrubbing would ever make these things look clean again, but at least I’d vanquished the germs.
I winced as I stood, stretching out my sore back and legs. Thirty was a few years away and already I felt like an old blobfish. I shuddered to think how much worse I’d feel by then.
After shoving the caddy into the overpacked supply closet and thoroughly scrubbing my hands despite wearing elbow-length gloves while cleaning, I skipped down the basement steps to grab Finley.
As I approached his aquarium, the axolotl blinked sleepily up at me between gently waving strands of seaweed. He was enjoying a nap, one of many throughout the day and something I wished I had more time for.
“Hey, buddy. Sorry to wake you, but Frankie brought lunch.” I submerged my arm and reached my palm toward him.
Yawning, he let out a stream of bubbles and stretched, taking his time.
“I smelled tuna,” I added.
Immediately, Finley’s iridescent skin swirled with color, and he swam onto my palm. He raced up my arm to perch on my shoulder, where he yipped with excitement. Unlike human-world axolotls, his kind were more than capable of making sounds whenever they wished. He could also use his magic to dry himself in a flash so as not to soak my shirt.
I laughed and dried off my arm before heading back upstairs. “You and me both.”
Because luminara axolotls were even rarer on land than my kind, outings for him were few and far between. We took advantage any time the gym was closed and no one but Frankie, Marissa, or me would see him.
In Frankie’s office, the promised food lay waiting on her desk, making my mouth water. It was the perfect way to recharge after a busy morning cleaning. My boss didn’t glance up from her computer, and I knew better than to interrupt her.
I grabbed half of the tuna sub and sank into one of the worn chairs, hoping today wouldn’t be the day the seat gave out. It held firm, and I bit into the sandwich with gusto before tearing off a chunk for Finley.
The axolotl scurried down my shoulder to the desk where I set his food. He dug in as fast as I did, and his opalescent scales shimmered brightly with happiness.
After a final mutter at her screen, Frankie leaned back in her squeaking chair and nodded to the little creature. “Heya, Fin. What’s shakin’?”
Without lifting his head from the tuna, the axolotl shook his tail in response.
She cackled. “Never gets old. What a trooper.”
My mouth was too full to respond, but I managed an agreeable nod.
“Look, I gotta talk to you about somethin’ important.” Frankie removed her reading glasses and rubbed at the bridge of her nose.
I swallowed the bite I was chewing, a bad feeling rising in my stomach. “Okay…”
She tapped some papers on her desk. They were crumpled around the edges as if picked up too many times to count. It wasn’t an unusual state of affairs for paperwork in here. “The gym’s in a bit of a pickle.”
I drew my eyebrows together. “A what?”
“Pickle.”
Was she losing her mind? I’d never heard of a pickle that large before. “How is that physically possible?”
She shot me a look like she was wondering if I’d lost my mind, too. “Ten years on land and you haven’t heard that phrase? Bein’ in a pickle means bein’ in trouble, in a tough spot, ’tween a rock and a hard place.”
I still didn’t get it. “Why would anyone think a pickle means trouble?”
