by A. J. Pine
“I’m sorry,” she said. “But I knew that when it was hurting too badly on your lower back that the trigger point might be a little lower. And, well, I found it. But it’s better now, right? I can feel your muscles letting go of the tension.”
His skin felt hot, and he was sure he was sweating.
“Well,” he finally said, his teeth no longer grinding together. “That was a first.”
She massaged his thigh. “What’s that?”
“First time I’ve ever wanted a woman’s hands off my ass.”
Grace snorted with laughter, and despite his ordeal, it was one of the best sounds he’d ever heard.
Chapter Eleven
Grace sat on the floor in front of the couch, opening her laptop onto the coffee table. She rolled her neck from side to side. She was always sore after working on a client, but Jeremy was no longer just a client.
He was a friend.
Who thought she was beautiful and had now told her that on more than one occasion. Not that she was counting.
It was like, the more they said that word “friend,” the more it started to lose its meaning. Or maybe it was taking on a whole new one. Because Grace was starting to see something about the former men in her life that hadn’t been clear before. She’d been physically attracted to every man she’d let into her life—and into her bed. And she’d committed herself to relationships she knew felt slightly off, but she couldn’t put her finger on it until now.
None of them were people she would have been friends with had they not been lovers. For ten months she’d been visiting the retail space she hoped to lease. She’d been with him for many of those months, and not once had he taken her up on her invitation to come see it. Not once had he expressed any interest in what she did outside of their two apartments, but then again, neither had she. If she had, she would have known that a well-tailored and pristine public image meant nothing other than her own misplaced trust.
“Let’s move in together,” he’d said. “It’ll bring us closer.” She’d believed him. He’d even shown her the apartment he wanted to rent. It was beautiful. Two bedrooms, dark cherrywood floors, and granite everywhere there was a countertop. It was on a quiet, tree-lined street in Old Town, and she’d fallen for the fairy tale.
But all his assets were tied up until the end of the month. He just needed to borrow the deposit so they didn’t lose the space. So of course she gave him her debit card and PIN. She’d invited him to clean her out and leave her broken—and broke.
She and Jeremy knew each other better now. They weren’t two people bumping into each other in a bar or a gas station. They were something, right? She could tell Jeremy all of it—see how this friend thing really worked.
Hey, so my parents are these hotshot attorneys. My ex—thanks to me—knows some details about my father’s past that could ruin him if it went public…which means I can’t say anything about why we broke up.
She rolled her eyes at herself. Because even in her head the whole situation sounded ludicrous. Yet it was all true. Her life had more drama than a prime-time reality show, and here she was living it. And sure, maybe her love life was going public for all to see now, but she could shield her family from the rest.
No, she wouldn’t bring Jeremy into this mess. He was turning into a small bit of sunshine outside the storm, and she wanted to keep him in that safe place for as long as she could.
It was just money—money that she needed, but so what? Family came first, and if Mark wanted to threaten to bite the hand that fed him, she wasn’t going to call his bluff. She wondered, though, what would happen if he found out about her little reality TV stint. She hadn’t heard from him in over a month, which she hoped meant he’d finally backed off. But if he saw her dating other men? If he knew about the money? She was taking a risk putting herself in the public eye, but this was her shot to come out on top, even if it still meant Mark won.
At least he couldn’t win her. The muscles in her neck constricted even more, and her stomach turned at the thought of coming face-to-face with him again.
“You look like you could use a massage yourself.”
Jeremy stood before her, shirtless in his jeans, as he towel-dried his hair.
“Thanks for suggesting the shower. You were right. It loosened me up even more. I feel almost human again.”
She watched the hard muscles of his stomach contract and relax as his arms moved over his head. He took the last few steps into the living room, and she noticed his limp was less pronounced. Maybe she had helped after all. Staring at him, though, wasn’t helping her concentrate on what she was supposed to be doing.
“It’s probably the bottle of water I made you drink, too. Water is your muscles’ best friend.” She looked over her shoulder as he sat down on the couch above her with only a slight wince. “You look more human, too.”
He smiled back at her.
“I talked to Jamie, and he’s got me covered for tomorrow through Saturday morning, so that’s enough time for me to see Dr. Lang two more times and hopefully be ready for the Saturday night shift.”
He leaned forward, and she could feel his breath, warm on her shoulder, yet the sensation gave her a chill. She was still in her cami and yoga pants, not her usual attire if she was meeting any other client. But it was her most comfortable clothing, and somehow she didn’t think Jeremy would mind.
“Facebook, huh? I didn’t picture you as the social media type.” He leaned closer, his bare shoulder brushing hers and, dammit, those chills spread all over her body. “Wait a minute,” he said, and she braced herself for his reaction. “Grace Bailey’s Man Cleanse: Are you man enough to break the fast? Find out tonight at Kingston Ale House where Grace will be holding an open call for eligible bachelors from 8-10 p.m.”
She winced at the sound of his voice reading those words, his tone morphing from confusion to incredulity to a hint of anger. She’d only just answered Whitney’s text, telling her that she was free for a promotional kickoff event. This was the game she was supposed to play, right? Her chance at $25,000. So why did it feel like in the span of time it took a man to shower, she’d somehow betrayed him?
“You just signed the contract this morning,” he said, leaning away from the screen. Away from her.
“I know. But the end of my—you know—cleanse is only three months away, and Whitney wanted to tease it on the news tonight with a sort of kickoff event.”
He groaned softly, and for a second she imagined him making that sound for a reason other than frustration.
“Whitney,” he said, and she could hear three years of resentment in that one word. How much damage had this woman done to him? And why was he still holding on to whatever he felt for her? Grace couldn’t help but wonder what continued to simmer under the surface.
She turned ninety degrees so she could see him. She drew her knees up to her chest and hugged them to her torso. Jeremy rubbed his eyes with the heels of his hands, and Grace’s guilt bloomed wide. It was more than feeling like this was some sort of betrayal…even though he talked her into doing it. It was the knowledge that she had brought something painful back into his life.
“I’m sorry, Jeremy. I should have realized how hard this would be on you. But now I’m under contract. Look. I appreciate your whole wingman gesture, but let’s forget about that, okay? Let’s just call your injury a happy accident. You get to stay home and rest tonight, and I’ll go do this silly meet and greet, and we’ll call it a day. I promise to keep all other dates far away from Kingston Ale House.”
Jeremy’s eyes grew wide, and he shook his head vehemently. And he was still shirtless, which was getting more distracting by the minute.
“No way. I’m not leaving you hanging on this. And don’t for one second think you owe me an apology. I told you to accept the offer. You need that money, and if this is how you have to earn it, picking some asshole to kiss on camera, then we’re in this together.”
Asshole? Grace suddenly grew hot with ange
r. “Hey,” she said. “I get that this bugs you, but let’s not make light of the fact that this is my life, Jeremy. I’m not looking for some asshole to kiss. I’m trying to turn my life around, and this might just be the way to do it. It doesn’t help me at all to have you standing by, gritting your teeth about a past that still has a hold on you. I am sorry for what happened between you and Whitney, but I can’t change what’s done at this point. I’m going to get ready to head over there. You’re welcome to stay as long as you need to rest.”
She slammed her laptop closed and pushed herself up from the floor. Jeremy leaned forward, elbows on his knees, and hung his head. He mumbled something she couldn’t make out.
“What?” she asked.
His eyes met hers, soft and pleading. His jaw was no longer clenched, and she ached to do something wild, like…like hug him.
“I said, I’m the asshole.”
She huffed out a breath. “Maybe a little.” Her anger ebbed with each second his gaze held hers.
“I even made you swear,” he added.
Her brows rose. She’d been so caught up in her reaction she hadn’t even realized it. God, this guy could push her buttons.
She hugged her laptop to her chest. “Maybe we shouldn’t be friends anymore,” she said, a hint of teasing in her tone. “You’re a terrible influence on me.”
He crossed his arms over his bare chest, and she swallowed hard as his muscles flexed with the movement.
“Did we just have our first fight?” he asked, the ghost of that devilish grin on his face.
She sighed. “I think so.” She didn’t like it—neither fighting with him nor how easily he pushed her buttons. He ignited something in her when she was no longer on the hunt for…for ignition. She wanted trust. She wanted to trust her judgment. But it was when things got heated that judgment usually flew out the window.
He tilted his pelvis up and slid his phone out of his pocket.
“What time is your little get-together?”
She bit her bottom lip. “Eight o’clock.”
“And you need four hours to get ready?”
Grace rolled her eyes. “Of course not. I was just making a dramatic exit.”
He straightened and slid to the edge of the couch, pressing his lips together in a thin line.
“You don’t have to hide your pain from me,” she said, and his expression flashed with something she didn’t recognize. He stared at her for a second, cocking his head to one side. And then as quickly as it came, the expression vanished, and he painted on his carelessly charming grin.
“Sit back down,” he told her.
“What? Why?” She grinned. “I have four hours of beautifying to attend to.”
“Just sit down,” he said again. “Please.”
Because she really didn’t have much to do for the next four hours, she complied. He gestured for her to take the spot on the floor between his open knees. She hesitated, and her heart rate sped up, but then she sat, consumed with the agony of anticipation.
He placed his hands on her shoulders, and she let out a shaky breath.
“Your work takes a lot out of you, doesn’t it?” he asked.
All she could do was nod. Because heat poured from his fingertips into her skin.
“I’m not a professional, but I’ve been told I’m fairly good at this,” he said. “Maybe I can help.”
His thumbs pressed into her shoulder blades, kneading muscles that screamed for attention. She wanted to protest. She wanted to tell him that they were dangerously close to blurring the lines of their newfound friendship. But all she could do was let her head fall forward as she hummed a soft moan.
“Thank you,” she whispered, but he didn’t respond. He just continued in quiet concentration.
Maybe she was cleansing her life of all the toxins that poisoned it before, but until now, she hadn’t realized what she’d been missing. What’s more, she hadn’t known how much she needed it.
The simplicity of physical contact. Of caring human touch. And Jeremy had given her that without asking for anything in return.
You are never alone when you are in touch with your inner self, when you truly understand need from want. Lust from connection.
She’d read those lines in Suzanne Summerville’s book countless times in the past few months, reminding herself why she was abstaining from all of life’s distractions. But had she taken it a step too far? When was the last time she’d allowed anyone to make contact? She couldn’t even remember. She worked whenever she could and pretended her family lived on a remote island in Asia instead of the nearby suburb of Lincolnwood. The thought of telling them about the cleanse and listening to their snap judgments, of having them probe more into her breakup with Mark, taught her the fine art of avoidance. But what it had turned into was the finer art of loneliness.
But Jeremy hadn’t judged her. He’d simply listened. He’d shown her that however little she had left, maybe she wasn’t all out of trust after all.
After ten minutes of complete and utter ecstasy, at least the closest she’d come to such a state in three months, he withdrew his hands and cleared his throat.
“I should probably get going,” he said.
She couldn’t see his face, and his tone was unreadable. It wasn’t that she expected him to massage her all evening. Though she wouldn’t have objected if he had. But the stopping was abrupt, no wind-down to warn her like she did with her clients. Then she reminded herself that Jeremy wasn’t a professional. He probably just didn’t know.
She pushed herself to her feet.
“Thank you for that,” she said, extending a hand to help him off the couch. “You’re actually quite good at it.”
He reached for her hand, and she expected that megawatt grin and some sort of cocky yet charming retort, but instead he just gritted his teeth and pushed himself up from the couch with his other hand.
“You’re welcome,” he said quietly, his expression somewhere between a grimace and a smile. “I’m just…uh…realizing how wiped I am. I think I’m gonna head home and nap or something.” He chuckled. “I don’t think I’ve done that since college, and it certainly wasn’t because I had a bad back. It was more like me sleeping off happy hour so I could make it out for round two.”
Grace pressed her lips together in a smile. “Oh, how the mighty have fallen.”
He raised his brows. “Hey. This isn’t an aging thing. It’s an ignored injury thing. There’s a difference.”
She shrugged, happy he was at least keeping up the banter with her. But something still felt off. “Jeremy?”
“Yeah?”
“Maybe you should put your shirt back on before you go.”
He glanced down at his torso and then back at her, his signature grin finally returning.
“I might have a better chance at catching a cab like this,” he said.
“It’s forty degrees outside.”
He raised his brows. “Then I’ll attract even more attention.”
She stepped around him to where his discarded T-shirt still lay on the chair opposite the couch and chucked it over his shoulder. He turned just in time to catch it.
“Ride’s on me,” she said. “I’m calling an Uber.”
He opened his mouth to protest, but she shook her head.
“This is the last of me taking care of you,” she said. “And appeasing my guilt that this happened somewhat because of me, even though I know about your car accident and untreated injury and blah blah.” She paused to make sure he wouldn’t interrupt, and remarkably, he let her continue. “I’m heading up to Madison in the morning for my weekend shift, so you’re on your own until Sunday. Promise me you’re going to take care of yourself.”
He crossed his heart with his finger and then finally covered up that eye magnet of a torso, but his smile had vanished.
“What?” she asked.
His brows drew together, and she could tell he was contemplating what to say.
“Is it we
ird to tell you that I’ll miss seeing you when you’re gone?”
Her breath hitched, and she shook her head, because he was saying things to make her lose her words again. Even with his shirt on.
“Then I’m going to miss you, Grace Bailey.” And without warning, he drew her into a hug.
Her brain didn’t have time to work out whether or not they should be doing this, because it was her body that reacted without a single thought.
She melted into his arms, into his scent, as she buried her face in the crook of his neck, her arms wrapped around his solid torso.
He let out a long breath and then kissed the top of her head before letting go and stepping back.
“You’re a good friend, Grace.”
She nodded but still wasn’t sure what to say. She hadn’t yet processed him missing her, and now she had to figure out why hugging him had felt so good yet made her ache.
He didn’t seem fazed by her temporary muteness. He simply grabbed his fleece from the chair and pulled it over his shoulders, then slid his feet into his loosely tied tennis shoes while she stood there.
“I guess I should probably hang back tonight,” he said, his voice full of resignation. “I’m not proper wingman material at the moment. But text me and let me know how it goes, okay?”
She nodded, then grabbed her phone from the coffee table and quickly opened her Uber app to call him a car. She held the screen out to him and said, “Uber in two minutes.”
“Good luck tonight, Grace.”
She nodded again, and just like that, he slipped out the door.
She sucked in a breath as if she’d just come up from being under water, and all her words flooded to her lips, like falling over the edge of a waterfall.
“You’re a good friend, too. Maybe the best one I have right now. And I’m going to miss you more than I want to let on.”
And then she thought the most absurd thought ever to enter her mind.
What if I asked him to wait for me?
