by Sunniva Dee
A receptionist about my age led me here. As requested, I remove all clothing and flop onto my stomach so I end up staring at the floor through a hole in the headrest. Stacy will be with me soon, the receptionist assured me; she’s just a little behind schedule. Should be about five minutes.
The stupid pills overpower me. I want to be upset, but then I think of what my therapist at home said.
“Go with the flow, Pandora. No need to stress over something you can’t change. Go with the flow.”
Flow.
The music is so smooth it’s “Café del Mar” on horse tranquilizers. It adds to the sensation of absolute relaxation, and I’m sinking into the massage table. Why don’t I take these pills more often? I surrender to slumber, because finally, finally I’m not hurting.
I can’t wait to finish this last year in school. The first week took off like a rocket, with a professor dumping all-but-extinct muscular disorders into our laps. The faculty expect us to go fucking apeshit on their stuff already. It’s week one, guys. Week one!
On top of that, Miss Geraldine takes no prisoners at the spa. Sure, she hired yet another girl, but she doesn’t ease them into things. Once “adopted,” she bogs them down with fifty-hour weeks from the get-go, so of course they flake.
Here we are on a Friday afternoon. Stacy quit after ten days, and the rest of us are picking up the slack. Twenty customers, four hours, and four employees. You do the math.
The girl I’m doing next is a rich bitch whose mother stayed on the phone with the missus for fifteen minutes to ensure she got her money’s worth.
I’ll do my regular thing. Work the client so hard she can’t even focus on the clock by the time I’m done.
I crunch my hands into fists, readying myself. Yeah, I’m mad, but the clients get the best when I am. No one ever complains. After my shift ends tonight—closer to midnight than eleven, I bet—I’ll head off to the gym. Then, I’ll have my beer and a Saturday all to myself. Which reminds me—
Last Friday.
Was fucking. Epic.
I shake the memory off and stride down the hall to the customer I’ve inherited. Mom paid for a whole hour, so watch out, brat. I’m about to give you your money’s worth. Prepare to get worked over.
At her door, I stop and breathe. I’m too agitated right now. Spoiled rich girl or not, she doesn’t deserve this; in the mood I’m in, I could bruise her.
I open and enter. As always, a candle-lit ambience meets me. Lavender drowns out all other smells, and like a good girl, the brat’s already face down on the bench. This one’s young and slim, and what I see of her skin above the sheet glows in the semi-darkness.
I shoot a glance at the clock: 5:15 p.m. I might be able to get the hour down to forty-five minutes. With light hands, I lower the white cotton covering her until it barely covers the swell of her buttocks. She doesn’t stir.
A citrusy scent hangs in the air, mingling with the familiar spa odors. Generally, I wouldn’t pay attention, but for the second time today, I’m reminded of last Friday, of the freshman who blew me off after our one-night stand. She smelled like this.
I’m hardening.
The girl’s asleep, so I allow myself to growl quietly in frustration. Six, maybe seven hours to go before my day is over. I spread my fingers over the small of my client’s back to get acquainted with her muscle structure. I rub upward, fanning out enough to cover both flanks of her spine while I work.
The soft flesh of her breasts yields to my fingertips as I slide over their sides on my way to her shoulders.
I shake my head, trying to clear my thoughts. I keep coming back to the freshman from last Friday. She has popped in and out of my mind all week, and now I drop my hold to adjust myself.
On a whim, I reach up and brush a lock away from my customer’s neck. As I do, I recognize that I’ve touched this long rush of hair before. Hell, I’ve touched this body before—in a very different way.
“Panda?” I whisper quietly, but she doesn’t answer. I step back and stare. I’d like to turn the light on, but I don’t. I wish I’d checked her records before coming in here.
The room won’t give me any clues, but I scan it anyway. Next, I hunch down beside her and skim every detail of her face. I am so drawn to this girl.
“Pandora,” I try another time, and then I do something I never do. With my whole hand, I stroke her, starting with her neck, down her spine, to the sheet covering her ass. I do this because I want to feel her.
This is insanity, and I’m risking my job. Still, I need to be sure, so I scoot the fabric further down. Slowly, I reveal part of the perfect butt I’d recognize anywhere.
Damn. It is her.
“What’s going on?” Her voice is small, drowsy. I swallow as my mind fills with the squeal she let out when she came around me. I pull myself together and start massaging her in earnest.
“Nothing, Pandora. Nothing.”
My massage person has Dominic’s voice. This is not the Stacy I was told to expect. Is that why the hands gliding across my skin, scooting the sheet out of the way, stir me? I might be so flustered I make things up.
If I weren’t so drowsy, I’d be worried about the blanket resting too low. At the moment, it ends at my upper thighs. Who knew massage people did butts?
“Any sore spots?” His voice is intimate at my ear, and I immediately recall other words he’s said. Hotter words.
Wow. It is him.
I can’t move. “I—” I start. “I’m in pain, Dominic. I have Scheuermann’s disease,” I finally sigh out. His hands pause on me. I’m afraid he’ll stop touching me at the same time as I hope he doesn’t keep going.
“Scheuermann’s?” His fingers move again. Expertly, they travel up my spine, searching. Finding. They pause over the slight lumbar curve at the center of my back and press gently.
Despite the medication I took earlier, a jab of pain pierces through. I stifle a moan. It sounds wrong in this room, this setting, and Dominic sucks in a breath as if he agrees.
“Panda,” he says, “how long have you been hurting?” His fingers probe, tap along my spine, loosening muscles. They dip into warm oil from the side table and return.
“Since the road trip here,” I say. “We drove coast to coast to get to Deepsilver, so the car ride took a while.” I smile at the memory.
“So a week? Have you taken any muscle relaxers?”
“Um, yeah, a couple of hours ago.”
“Ah.” He sounds like I’ve confirmed his suspicions.
“Why?”
“Because you’ve been overcompensating for the spinal pain all this time. You have to let your muscles relax. I’ve located two areas with chronic spasms, and there might be more.”
Whoa.
“I took them, though,” I repeat myself.
“Yes, but too late. You don’t want to postpone meds; you need to function.”
Dominic raises the sheet over my hips. A pang of disappointment hits me, my cheeks warming at my own reaction.
He’s careful, so careful, while he works every muscle along my spine. I doze off again but wake up when the door creaks open.
“Still not done with this one?” a female whispers, her pitch climbing on the question.
“No, she’s got Scheuermann’s disease.”
“Yes, I’m aware, but you’re behind schedule.”
“She hasn’t been taking her pain meds and is seriously knotted up, okay?” Dominic’s impatience cuts through.
There’s a short silence before he continues. “Sorry. I’m almost done, Geraldine.”
At home, the evening blurs by. I drift in and out of sleep on my bed. Through the relaxed numbness, I still feel Dominic’s fingerprints on my skin. He’s got mad skills.
I bask in the relief of not being in pain anymore. What are the odds of him working at my spa, though?
Dominic’s got a point about the meds; even though they knock me out for a couple of hours, I shouldn’t let the days become less than they
are. I need to own this, take my prescriptions.
Tomorrow, I’ll begin my workout regimen again. Elliptical training. I’m going to start slow and increase the time and impact with each day. My old physiotherapist wrote out my ab-and-back exercises, and I have the sheet somewhere. If not, I’ll ask Mom.
Ask Mom? I groan for even considering it.
My phone buzzes. She’s so tuned into me, I’m becoming paranoid. Then again, she’ll want to know how the massage went, I reason.
Sluggishly, I answer. “Hello.”
“Sweetie.” My dad’s gravelly bass reaches me through the speaker. I haven’t heard his voice in forever. My lower lip begins to tremble.
“Hey, Dad.”
“How are you, Pandora?” he asks.
“I’m good. I was in pain after the long trip in the car, but now—”
“Which is why I wanted you to fly there.”
“Yeah. I didn’t want to.”
“You never listen.” His voice is steely over the phone, and my nerve endings react on instinct.
Shit. Don’t.
I can’t think about how controlling he is.
“Tell Mom thanks for setting me up with the spa,” I mumble, deflecting the attention to something we agree on for once. “They’re awesome. It was the best massage I’ve ever had. Definitely returning for more.”
“No. She’ll get you a real physiotherapist, pumpkin.”
I squeeze my eyes shut. Now that I’m away from home, I don’t have to accept mandates from my parents, I remind myself. I try to be cordial, but my father isn’t making it easy. “Gotta go, Dad. Sleep’s calling. Love you.”
When I hang up, Shannon’s in the doorway. A ridiculous grin stretches over her face, and the immaculate layers of makeup she’s wearing rival a runway model’s.
“Going somewhere?” I ask unnecessarily.
“Yep, we’re heading to Smother. Party time.”
“Hmm, more Pac-Man calling your name today?” I’m the party pooper in my drug-induced haze.
Destiny’s warm, brown eyes appear over Shannon’s shoulder. “Do you want me to stay home with you, Pan? I can keep you company.”
Mica inhales sharply in disagreement. “Ah! If I’m to go out without my wifey, I need-need-need my Destiny. Sorry,” she throws out half-heartedly at me.
My stomach sinks with self-pity. “Don’t worry about me. You guys have fun. I can’t even drink,” I say. I’m all over the place tonight, so I force myself to swat them off before they catch my sad state.
From the kitchen, Destiny bursts out laughing at something Mica said. Very out of character. After they’ve left, I can’t sleep. They’re going to have a blast, and I’ll be lying here like a sick old lady.
My need for company is a big part of why I acquired a boyfriend early. I’ve never enjoyed being alone, and I block out the reason why.
I finally fall asleep again, and it’s almost one a.m. when I wake up. The ache in my back has eased to a mild throbbing, and the side effects of the meds are gone. With the house eerily quiet, my heart speeds up. Generally, I’m the first one out the door, so this stagnant solitude makes me jittery. God, how I wish I could have slept through the night.
On cue, my phone lights up on my pillow, and I scramble to read the text.
Guess who’s here? Dominic! Mica types. He asked about you!!!!
I don’t think.
I reply immediately.
What’s his number?
Mica doesn’t answer, and I regret my message already; I’m worried as hell that she’ll actually ask him for it. I get up and find orange juice in the fridge while I obsess over my impulse-text. I’m lame. So lame.
I’m surprised Mica texted me in the first place. She doesn’t spend time on her phone at parties. On the way back from the kitchen, I go into damage-control mode. Yeah, I’ll just tell her to forget it—easy peasy.
The phone glows from my bed, and I hurry into the room. For an instant, I consider not reading Mica’s message… but then again maybe she just wants to tell me that Dominic has left. I’m hoping so hard. An unknown number flashes at me.
Panda, it’s Dominic. Are you OK?
My heart skips a beat, and as I read, I think about how not okay I am.
No, I’m alone. Can you come over?
The instant after I hit “send,” I cover my mouth. I breathe into my hands, and the hot air rushes over my cheeks.
Never mind—I’m good, I add.
Dominic doesn’t respond, and I wonder why I freaking text people before I think. I blame the meds.
What if he just comes now? No, he wouldn’t. I told him not to come. No one does that, especially not in the middle of the night…
Do they?
Stop obsessing, Pandora.
I head to the bathroom and examine myself in the mirror. I’m pale but clean, thanks to my pre-bedtime shower. For no reason, I drag a brush through my hair. I even dab my favorite perfume on my wrists. Look at how I’m preparing for visitors—ha!
What am I wearing? My pink Victoria’s Secret hot pants and angel top. I’d wear this out to pick up the mail too, so no biggie.
Still, when the doorbell buzzes, I jump and paint my nose with toothpaste. I drop the toothbrush and clean the white goop off my face. My heart thuds in my throat as I scurry out to the intercom.
“Hello?”
He doesn’t say his name. “Pandora, I’m here.”
“Oh, hi…”
A minute later, I lean my forehead to the doorjamb and peek up at Dominic from beneath my bangs.
“So. You missed me?” he begins. A corner of his mouth curls in a subtle smile. Thick chunks of dirty blond hair fall over eyes that are playful and serious at once.
This isn’t my brightest moment, so I mumble, “I was lonely.”
Dominic steps inside and cups my chin. Squinting, he holds me out a little and lets his gaze run over my expression. “How’s your back?”
“Good. My neck too,” I volunteer. His other arm circles my waist and nudges me closer. I think he’s going to hug me, but he doesn’t.
Two fingers prod at the exact location of my lumbar deformation, and I strangle a yelp.
“Sshh,” he says. “Not all the way yet, huh? Where’s your bedroom?”
The question spurs a hot twinge in my lower abdomen. I lead him behind me, and his fingers hook into mine as we walk.
Once there, Dominic guides me to the bed as if I don’t know where to go. I want to titter at that for some reason.
“Here.” He begins to pull my top up. I shrink away so he can’t reach. Dominic crosses his arms and looks at me. “Panda, I’ve seen you before.”
That damn blush.
“Shyeah.” I roll my eyes, playing it cool. “But I still want you to turn around.”
“Really?” His brows arch.
“That’s not very professional, Dominic.”
Unfortunately, I’m not hitting a nerve with the comment. His grin broadens. “Babe, you’re the one who summoned me at one a.m. I don’t accept after-hour jobs, and this is way after hours.”
Honestly, I have no idea what he’s trying to say. That he’s making an exception for me? Or is he expecting a booty call?
Ugh. Booty call. Gross!
I settle on him being nice with me, so I remove my shirt with my back to him.
“Now, lie down,” he commands.
“I know. Geez.”
His laughter is low. He’s entertained by me. Light hands skim over my bare skin, causing goose bumps to start at the base of my neck and fan out with his touch. I hope he gets these kinds of reactions a lot, that he isn’t smirking behind me. Hey, maybe he doesn’t even notice.
“You like it.”
Fuck.
“Gah, I wish you were more professional—what are you anyway, like, self taught and just—” I don’t know where I’m going with this, and now he’s laughing out loud.
“I study physiotherapy. I’m in my last year and work at Elysiu
m on the side.”
“So you should act professional, then.” I’m a broken record. My skin sings with every caress. Because that’s what he’s doing—caressing me.
The mattress dips before the weight of him settles on my ass.
“Hey,” I start weakly.
“Too heavy?”
“Mm… no.” Dominic knows where to sit. Is this what they learn in physical therapy school nowadays?
The warmth of his touch seeps into my muscles, and the lingering scent from the massage oils at the spa tickle my nose. He digs the heels of his hands into my shoulders first. When he squeezes around those big muscles, I go rigid.
“Don’t, Pandora. You need to trust me. Relax. Breathe.”
I obey and drag in a gulp of air.
“Better,” he whispers.
He’s rough with me, different from how he treated me at the spa. “Ouch, why’re you being so hard?”
“Because you can take it now.”
Sexy, I think despite myself. For every squeeze, every pinch, the pain stretches in to the dead center of my muscles. Even so, goose bumps disperse over my body, and I feel myself getting…
Wet.
Down there.
I burrow into the pillow, happy he doesn’t know. Dominic works his way to the small of my back. Hard, sure hands dig in, strumming my threshold of pain. Challenging it. Whenever I tense up the tiniest bit, he tsks at me. Pausing the massage, he holds me still like I’ve been bad, and pushes me lightly into the mattress.
I do what he wants; once I relax, the pressure of his hold alleviates and he continues. I hurt. I daydream. I’m so turned on. All I’m wearing are these tiny shorts.
“Pandora…” His voice is silky. “Please stop.”
“What?” Did I say something out loud?
“The way you move under me.”
I stiffen, embarrassment shooting beet red across my face. Dominic notices and lets go of me. His weight on my behind disappears, and my body screams in protest.
Keep. Touching. Me.
I don’t move. I will his hands to resume their path over me. A feathery light nip at the lining of my hot pants makes me realize that he’s lowering them. He hasn’t asked for permission, but I arch my hips and make it easy for him to roll them down.
