I’d practiced being alone in college, sitting in restaurants, movie theaters, allowing the panic to wash over me until all that remained was numbness. Now I could stand to wait, but not without some anxiety. And it increased with each minute that passed, each refill of my water glass, each time the server asked if there wasn’t something he could bring out while I waited.
Not coming.
He’s not coming.
He was coming. He was just running behind. He was into me; I hadn’t made it up. I read through the texts we’d sent each other earlier in the day, making sure the restaurant information and time had been delivered.
It had been delivered and received.
Twenty minutes passed.
Twenty-five.
I couldn’t help it. I was eight years old, sitting in a restaurant, waiting for her to come back. I told the manager she was coming, but he said he was calling someone anyway. It didn’t matter if it was twenty years ago or yesterday, abandonment felt the same.
My cell buzzed.
Something came up. Have to reschedule. Sorry for the late notice.
“Shit,” I said under my breath.
Seven
I didn’t text him back. Maybe it was petty, but I didn’t care. It wasn’t just him I was pissed at—it was me, too. I’d built him up too much in my head, set my expectations too high. Painting my nails, hanging on his messages—I’d acted like a little girl.
This was what happened when you got too close to people. They disappointed you.
The next day, after checking in with my dad about his pitiful bowling game, I went to work, bypassing the coffee shop just in case Alec was there. Whatever, or whoever, had kept him so busy last night had apparently taken up most of his morning, too. He had my number, but I didn’t hear from him.
My first two sessions at Rave were new clients—a prenatal massage with a woman in her second trimester, and a marathon runner who was rehabbing a torn hamstring. Both of them were delightful and signed up for follow-up sessions.
I had finished remaking the table and was taking the dirty sheets to the laundry room when Amy popped in. Her hair was in pigtails this morning, and she was wearing a slinky black dress with a low neckline that exposed her nonexistent cleavage. Boobs or not, she was sizzling.
“Either it was so good you’re speechless, or it was so bad you’re hiding under someone else’s laundry.” She crossed her arms and leaned against the wall. “Whatever the case, you’re avoiding me and that, my minxy little friend, is unacceptable.”
I wasn’t avoiding her; she hadn’t been here when I’d arrived this morning. Although if things had gone well, I probably would have called, or snuck out between sessions to tell her about it.
I threw the wet sheets into the dryer.
“Neither,” I said. “It didn’t happen.”
Her arms dropped to her sides. “What do you mean? You were at the restaurant when you texted me.”
“Yes, but he wasn’t. He didn’t show.”
“Oh.” She shuffled through the sea of dirty sheets on the floor between us and threw her arms around me. “Oh, I’m so sorry, Anna.”
I rested my head on her shoulder and sighed. There were only a handful of people who were aware of what I’d been through in my childhood, and she was one of them. Amy knew just how painful it was for me to be stood up.
“It’s okay,” I lied. I’d spent the night watching movies curled up on my couch because I couldn’t sleep. Today I was exhausted, but at least I’d traded feeling hurt for being pissed. Anger was so much easier to deal with.
“It’s not. Let’s slash his tires.”
A laugh bubbled up inside of me. “I don’t even know what kind of car he drives.”
“Then we’ll egg his house.”
“What are we, fifteen?” I pulled back. “And anyway, I don’t know where he lives.”
She kept her hands on my arms, rubbing up and down. As terrible as I felt, I was so glad to have her here. If I’d been living anywhere else, I would have dealt with this alone.
“I can’t believe he didn’t even call. What a prick.”
“He sent a text,” I said. “Half hour late. Sorry for the late notice, let’s reschedule. Something like that.”
“Well, that’s something.” At the look on my face, she scowled. “But not enough. I still hate him.”
“Good.”
She picked up a clean sheet out of the wicker basket and helped me fold.
“Come over tonight. We’ll have ice cream and throw darts at pictures of my ex.”
I smirked. Amy’s divorce had hurt her pride more than anything else. Once she’d fallen in and out of love more than anyone I’d ever met, but that was before she’d been burned.
“Sounds perfect,” I told her.
“Anna, are you back here?” Derrick slipped through the door. When he saw the look on my face, he stuck out his lower lip. “Oh, no, boy drama?”
“How did you guess?” I started the dryer and poured the lavender-scented detergent into the washing machine.
“Believe me,” he said, placing a fist on one cocked hip. “I know boy drama. And I’m about to add onto it. You’ve got a delivery up front. The card doesn’t say Melvin Herman, but I made the delivery guy stick around just in case you want to send it back.”
I slumped. “Great. Probably an apology for my four-star salute yesterday.”
“What is it? Flowers?” Amy clapped her hands. “Don’t send them back!”
“Probably chocolate,” I mumbled. “He mentioned something about that.”
“Wrong and wrong,” said Derrick, leading us to the front desk where two cups of coffee from Javaz sat in a cardboard holder.
My stomach clenched.
“Uh-oh,” I heard Amy whisper beside me.
Kevin leaned against the counter, looking starkly out of place in his baggy hemp shorts and coffee-stained undershirt. He twirled his finger around his long goatee, peering at the interior of the salon like something might jump out and bite him.
“Hey, Kevin,” I said.
“Hello, my love!” He visibly relaxed. “I’ve never seen where you work. It’s frightening. Lots of sharp things.”
“They’re called scissors.” Amy plucked the card off the tray, read it, and then handed it to me.
Anna, sorry for last night. Won’t happen again.
“You’re right,” I said. “It won’t.”
“He didn’t even sign his name,” said Amy, already sipping her green tea through the straw. “How presumptuous. At least he got my drink right.”
“Amy! Put it down. We’re sending it back.”
She pouted.
“Sorry, Anna,” said Kevin. “’Fraid I can’t do that. Once it’s made, it’s made.”
“Well, I don’t want it,” I said. “You drink it.”
“You sure?” he asked.
Derrick was looking down at the trash can where I’d crumpled and thrown the note. “Is it from Melvin?”
“Yes,” I said to Kevin. “No,” I told Derrick. “It’s from someone else.”
Kevin picked up the large coffee and drained half of it in one impressive gulp. I cringed a little watching him. His throat had to be scalding.
“He’s groveling,” Amy said. “Do we still hate him?”
“Yes.” I left the three of them at the front desk and made my way back to the break room, still steamed at Alec for standing me up and doubly steamed that he’d thought a cup of coffee would fix it. I snatched my phone out of my purse and wasn’t surprised to see a message.
Coffee okay?
I texted back, Wouldn’t know. Sent it back.
I didn’t see if he responded. I turned off my phone, threw it in my cubby, and went to welcome my next appointment.
*
The three appointments that followed were not my best work. I was distracted, finishing early, spending too long on the right leg and then rushing through the left. Rookie mistakes. My two o’clock had t
o remind me twice that the pressure was too strong. I felt it afterward as I stretched my sore hands. There was a reason you didn’t see many sixty-year-old masseuses; their careers were always stunted by carpal tunnel syndrome or arthritis.
But for now, my work made me happy. Usually.
Despite my frustration, I did feel calmer after the massages. It was impossible not to let the soothing music and low lights mellow you. By the time I walked my third client back out to the front to pay, I was almost back to myself.
“Anna.”
My shoulders rose, tense, even as something warm stirred deep in my belly. Just the sound of his voice made my knees weak. I kept my eyes trained on the receptionist as she rang up my client’s ticket, but I could feel Alec behind me, feel his gaze lowering down my body.
“Remember to drink water throughout the day,” I told Maryanne Jenkins, a referral from another of my clients. She rubbed the red semicircle on her forehead from the face pillow with the heel of her hand, and fluffed her gray bangs. “It will help flush the toxins released by your muscles from today’s session.”
“Sure,” she said. “Yes. Whatever you say.” She laughed. “You’re my new favorite person, you know that, right?”
Most people said some variation of this when we were done, even if I knew it wasn’t as good a session as it could have been.
I patted her back gently. “I’m glad you enjoyed it.”
I waited until she was out the door before turning around.
Alec Flynn was undeniably gorgeous. In a royal blue button-up that complemented the dark heat of his eyes, and jeans that were slim enough to cup his ample package, I couldn’t help but stare. It was impossible to look at him and not think of sex—hot, sweaty, wild sex.
Clinging to memories of how I’d felt sitting alone last night, I pulled back my shoulders and marched across the small waiting area dedicated to the spa clients.
“Damn,” he said appreciatively. “Are those thigh-highs?”
I smoothed down the front of my black skirt, wondering if he had X-ray vision; I was wearing a garter belt, but it was well hidden. It was part of the fuck-you-I’m-still-hot wardrobe I’d chosen after a night of feeling like crap. On top, I was wearing a black lace tank over a camisole. It was classy, but still sexy, and from the look on his face, he liked what he saw.
Too bad for him.
“What are you doing here?” I smiled sweetly.
He inhaled audibly. “Right now, admiring the view.”
“Yeah?” I batted my eyelashes. “Wondering what’s under the hood?”
“You read my mind.”
The strain in his voice made those tendrils of need tighten into a hot knot inside of me. God, I wanted to make him growl my name in that voice. I wanted him to throw me on a bed and push inside me like he couldn’t wait a moment longer. His dark hair was hanging down over his ears, and my hands itched to weave through it and yank his mouth down to mine.
He’d screwed us both when he’d stood me up.
We were barely maintaining the limits of professional distance—a little too close for close talkers, but not close enough for our bodies to touch.
“I’m wearing red satin panties,” I whispered. And to make my point, I pulled open my collar slightly to reveal the matching bra strap.
As if out of his control, he reached for the skin I exposed. His lips parted.
“The fabric’s so thin I can barely feel it,” I said.
My hand slid down, skimming my breast on the way to rest on my hip. No one else could see it but him, and I reveled when his jaw twitched.
“It’s like I’m naked, and no one knows but you and me.”
He leaned forward.
I stepped back and covered my shoulder.
“Oops,” I said. Score one for Anna.
“You’re teasing again.” His voice was low, dangerous.
I crossed my arms over my chest. “You should have seen what I was wearing last night.”
His brows rose. His hand fell.
“Good-bye, Alec,” I said. “As you can see, I’m busy today.”
The receptionist, a pixie-like girl with short red hair who was finishing her cosmetology license, appeared beside me with a glass of cucumber-infused water.
“Mr. Flynn, I see you’ve met Anna. She’ll see you back for your session now.”
My mouth fell open.
Alec grinned.
Eight
“In my defense, you did say to make an appointment.”
Alec followed me through the door into the dimly lit hallway. The music changed to the sounds of rain—relaxing for just about everyone in the world but me.
I had told him that. Before last night.
“I have the right to refuse service to any client,” I informed him, walking stiffly.
“But you won’t.”
I stopped and turned slowly to face him. “Oh, and why is that?”
“Because you want to hear my apology for missing our dinner in person,” he said, and the low light casting shadows over him made me that much hotter. I couldn’t look him in the face; he was like some sort of male siren, luring me in just to hang me out to dry. I had to be careful.
“And,” he continued, “you want to know how I’m going to make it up to you.”
Dammit all to hell. I wasn’t forgiving him—I told myself I wasn’t hurt enough to want an apology anyway—but the possibility of amends was intriguing.
We entered the room I’d prepped while Maryanne Jenkins was getting dressed. At the time I’d been expecting a new client, someone who’d made an appointment earlier this morning, but I’d been distracted and hadn’t thought to check the name.
Alec eased back against the table, which was distracting enough because it looked too much like a bed with the sheets and blankets. I closed the door softly and leaned against the wall, giving myself enough distance to think.
“You could start with what happened last night,” I prompted.
His head tilted slightly. “When the boss calls, I have to answer. That’s the way it works.” There was an edge to his voice—maybe sarcasm, maybe something else.
“Like a dog.” I gave myself another point.
“Ouch.” Amusement flickered across his face. “I deserved that.”
I hummed my agreement.
For a moment he was quiet, studying me, and as the seconds ticked by, I felt as though my skin had turned to glass and he could see every secret I’d carefully hidden inside.
“I hurt you,” he said.
He rubbed his knuckles across his chin, a scowl on his face. The wariness I’d seen in the picture in Mr. Stein’s office returned to his eyes.
“I’m sorry,” he added, and I could feel it—a brick in the wall around my heart crumbling. He sounded so genuine I couldn’t help but believe him.
“I’m a big girl, I’ll get over it.” I tried to sound tough, but the mood had shifted from tense to fragile. I didn’t know what to do; I didn’t let men make me feel vulnerable. He shouldn’t have anyway. He was on my turf, he was asking for my forgiveness.
He pushed off the table and closed the space between us. With the wall firm against my back there was nowhere to go, not that I could have moved anyway—my heels felt rooted to the floor. His fingertips skimmed down my cheek, and though it felt good and the butterflies in my belly spazzed out like they’d been drinking a little too much caffeine, I turned my head away. I didn’t know what it meant that I could accept his dirty words but not his kindness. Something was wrong with me.
I panicked.
“Just undress to the level of your comfort and lie facedown on the table.” The line was so practiced it came out without a second thought.
With that, I escaped into the hallway, closing the door behind me. I needed to breathe, to get myself under control. This man could turn me on with a look, then bring out my most vindictive side. He’d invaded my thoughts and made me lose control over my body, and I knew practically nothing about h
im.
“Ohmigod, is that him?” Amy pounced from the laundry room where she’d been lying in wait for my break.
“Shh! Yes.”
“What’s he doing here?” She was staring at the door like if she tried hard enough, she might see through it.
“Apologizing. And getting a massage, I guess. I don’t know.” It dawned on me that he was probably taking off his clothes. He could be naked right now, and I would be lathering his perfect body with oil and rubbing my hands all over him.
How I was going to get through this without getting fired for sexual harassment was beyond me.
“Let me get this straight,” she planted her fists on her narrow hips. “He’s apologizing, but you’re giving him a massage.”
I breathed in slowly, exhaled. We were both staring at the door.
“He’s hot, Anna.”
“I know, Amy.”
“No, Anna. He’s hot hot. Like, molten-lava hot. Like unearthly hot. Like . . .”
“Yes, I get it. I’ve seen him.”
“All of him?” She shook her head in disbelief. “I’d like to see all of him, if you know what I’m saying.”
I flexed my fingers and stretched my hands. Even if this wasn’t how Alec had intended to spend this time, I was going to proceed as though he had. He needed to see he couldn’t throw me, and since he quite obviously had, I didn’t know what else to do but play it cool.
“I have to go in,” I told her.
Straightening my spine, I reminded myself I was strong, independent, and, most important, in control.
“Good luck.” She stayed while I cracked the door, trying to peer inside until I shooed her away. With a pout on her face, she backpedaled down the hallway and slipped through the door to the waiting room.
I waited until she was gone before stepping back into the room. I hadn’t known what to expect, and in those seconds before I saw him, my imagination had gone wild. Visions of him lying on his chest, his bare back exposed for my tingling fingers, followed by him lying on his back, naked and hard as a rock, filled my mind.
What I didn’t expect was to see him still fully dressed, peering at my supplies on the granite countertop.
The Masseuse Page 6
