The Masseuse (5 page)

“I know. Just be careful, all right? It’s different when you’re on someone else’s turf. You never know what you’re going to walk in on.”

We both giggled. But though she sounded like my dad, she was right. They both were.

“I’ll text you as soon as I’m done with my appointments, I promise.”

“Anna,” called Derrick from the front. “Your eleven o’clock is here.”

M
elvin Herman lay facedown on the massage table, covered by a sheet. The lights were low, and the sound of waterfalls piped in through the speakers. After our last visit, when he’d shared that he’d been dreaming about me on my knees before him, I’d informed him that we would no longer be doing the complimentary foot scrub.

He rose up on his elbows so that he could look at me, a red ring from the face pillow on his pasty cheeks.

“I just want to apologize again for my behavior last time, Anna. I was out of line.”

“I accepted your apology earlier,” I told him, gently pushing him back down on the adjustable headrest. “And I accepted your apology last session for the time before that.” I didn’t want to be rude, but it was important to set boundaries in a field where you slid your hands over someone’s greasy body.

“It’s just difficult to think straight, you being so beautiful and—”

“Melvin, we’ve talked about this. You can’t say things like that if you want to stay.” I removed my hands from his deltoids and waited for him to get himself under control.

“You’re right, you’re right. I’m sorry. I’ll just lie here.”

“Relax.”

“I’m relaxed.”

In the quiet, I worked my way down from his shoulders to his lower back and he let out a low groan. Most clients did this, so I didn’t stop, but Melvin’s leash was getting shorter by the second. I’d made it to his right hamstring when he spoke again.

“I’m so appreciative of all everyone does here.” His voice was muffled by the face pillow. “Tax season has me so stressed. I really look forward to these appointments.”

“I’ll pass that along,” I said, knowing full well I was the only person he saw here.

“I brought a box of chocolates—for everyone. Since everyone does such a good job. I thought maybe you
all
might enjoy them.”

It took a lot of will power to hold back my sigh. After the flowers he’d sent last month, I was sure Derrick had made it clear he couldn’t bring gifts.

“That’s very thoughtful,” I said. “You didn’t have to do that.”

“But I wanted to,” he said.

I reached over him for the edge of the sheet, careful not to touch him with my body any more than necessary.

“I’m going to lift this up,” I told him. “Go ahead and roll onto your back and scoot down for me.”

He did, and when I put the sheet down, I blinked in surprise at his very obvious erection. Melvin Herman pitched quite a tent.

“Melvin,” I warned.

“Hmm?”
He grinned sleepily.

“Melvin.”
This time I was more direct. “I’m going to leave the room. I’d like you to get your things and go, please.”

Melvin sat up quickly, noticing, as if for the first time, what might have accounted for the sudden change.

“Oh,” he said. “Oh, dear.”

“Oh, dear is right,” I said on my way out. I made my way quickly toward the break room. Only once I was inside with the door firmly shut behind me did I shake off the creeps and wash the cinnamon-infused oil off my hands. He wasn’t the first male client to get hard during a massage; it happened occasionally. But I wasn’t about to put up with it from a man who had such a difficult time with the word
no
.

I’d have to tell Derrick that Melvin had indeed gotten sassy with me, but I wanted to give him the chance to leave with some dignity first. I reached into the cubby marked with my name in glittery letters, and pulled my cell out of my purse.

There was one text, from a local number I didn’t recognize.

Ready to collect on that favor.

Alec.

My body hummed to life. Ten different images of what he might mean—ranging from dinner to sweaty, sheet-fisting sex—flashed through my mind.

He must have gotten my cell number from Ms. Rowe—she had been the one to call me first to make the appointment for her employer. The fact that he’d not only asked about me but gotten my number sent a little jolt through my veins.

What did you have in mind?
I texted back.

I waited a minute, pacing around the break room. Another minute passed.

Out in the hallway, a door closed quietly, and I could hear footsteps padding quickly toward the exit to the salon floor. Melvin was leaving, which meant I needed to get out to the front to talk to Derrick.

Reluctantly, I put the phone back in my purse, but just as I was turning, I heard it vibrate again.

Payback.

Payback? What did that mean?

For what?
I typed. He responded immediately.

Being a tease.

I smirked.

I don’t know what you’re talking about.

Thirty seconds passed, in which I started to wonder if I’d said something stupid and blown it. When my phone buzzed, I quickly read the new message.

You’re doing it again.

I chewed my bottom lip, debating what to say next.

So do something about it.

I bounced on my heels, hoping I hadn’t taken it too far and come off as slutty.

I plan to.

I swallowed, my throat suddenly dry. What was I doing? I barely knew anything about Alec. Intuition said he was dangerous, but not unsafe. A little flirting was probably harmless, but I did have a cop for a father.

You should know I never kiss on the first date,
I typed.

Would my words end this, whatever
this
was?

We’ll see.

I laughed, then cupped my hand over my mouth. As much as I didn’t want to, I had to wrap this up.

Got to go.

I want to see you.
A second later another text came through.
Tonight.

I frowned. Tonight I had a session with June Esposito, a sixty-year-old woman with chronic pain caused by lupus. If she hadn’t been the sweetest woman in the world, I would have considered canceling.

I have a session. After?

Just say where and when.

I shot off the name of a Cuban restaurant near Mrs. Esposito’s house that I knew was open late and told him I would be there at eight thirty. I could hardly stand waiting that long. It had been a long time since I was this excited about a date. Mentally I was already sorting through my closet trying to pick something to wear. And it was a good thing I worked at a salon—I’d recently waxed.

Not that I planned on bringing him home tonight. I had my standards.

But if anyone could make me break the rules, it was him.

*

“He did not.” Amy was doubled over with laughter while I relayed what had happened with Melvin to her and Derrick. “Was he hung like a horse? The skinny ones always are.”

“
Ew
. And yes. Dammit.” I hid my face shamefully in my hands.

Derrick put an arm over my shoulder. “Sorry you were scandalized.”

“Me, too.”

“I’ll put a note in the system and send him a letter,” he said. “He won’t be permitted back on the premises. I do need you to fill out an incident report.”

“Sure,” I said, dropping my arms. “Of course.”

As Derrick went to retrieve the paperwork, I asked Amy if she’d seen Melvin leave.

“No,” she shook her head. “He must have gone through the back. My eleven thirty canceled, so I was helping out up front.”

The back of the building led to an alley that led back to the main street on the opposite side of the tattoo parlor. The thought of Melvin, nerdy and dejected, back there with the inked-up smokers and the stray chickens that roamed the Ybor streets made me feel a little guilty.

“He’ll be all right,” Amy said, reading my mind.

I leaned closer. “Alec texted. We’re going out tonight.”

Her brows lifted. “That was quick.”

I flipped my hair over my shoulder. “What can I say? I’m on fire today.”

She jabbed me in the ribs before her face turned serious. “What are you wearing? You shaved, right? Are your toenails done?”

“I don’t know,” I said. “Yes. And I think they’re okay. Julie just did them a couple weeks ago.”

“Come on.” Amy took my hand, dragging me toward the pedicure chairs. “We’ve got work to do.”

*

By the time I’d reached June Esposito’s house in North Tampa my legs were smooth, my hair was redone with soft curls, and my toes were dark red to match my lipstick. I wore black leggings and my customary black cotton shirt to the appointment, but had brought a hip-hugging emerald tank to change into afterward.

I parked the red Kia in the driveway and carried my bulky supplies to the front door of the small ranch-style home. Mrs. Esposito, a frail Mexican woman, answered on the third knock, hobbling back to give me space to set up in her living room. The walls were covered with pictures of her children and new grandchildren, and a delicious scent was coming from the kitchen.

“What is that?” I asked. “It smells incredible.”

“Tamales,” she said. “My mother’s secret recipe. It’s my son’s birthday tomorrow.”

“Well, happy birthday to him,” I said.

“I will send you with some. For your date.”

I grinned as I began to unfold the heavy table.

“What makes you think I have a date?”

“You have sexy hair,” she said with a little giggle. “And the look of a woman in love.”

“I don’t know about that. I’ve only just met him.”

“Well,” she said. “You have the look. I will make tamales for your wedding.”

I laughed. “Sounds perfect.”

When I’d laid out the sheets, I helped her up, easing her down slowly to a prone position. She was doing worse than last week; her joints were stiff and she winced with each move.

“How’s the pain today, June?”

Her wrinkled hand, still bearing the wedding ring from a man who’d died ten years ago, squeezed my forearm lightly.

“Better now that you’re here.”

It was easy to let my mind wander while I worked through June’s shoulders, neck, and lower back. Thoughts of Alec made my mouth water. I’d reread the texts he’d sent half a dozen times, and prepped like a girl going to the prom. Every time I thought about what might happen afterward, my body responded. I wanted him, more than I’d ever wanted anyone. The intensity of my desire frightened me a little. I was used to keeping men at a distance, emotionally if not physically, but the way Alec had invaded my mind with barely a touch already had me reeling.

I needed to turn the tables, get back on my feet. I planned to do that tonight. He thought I was in for a little payback? Game on. By the time I was done with him, he’d be wrapped around my finger.

*

I pulled into the parking lot of the restaurant, fixed my lipstick in the visor mirror, and walked inside.

I looked hot. I felt good.

Alec Flynn was mine.

The host was a stocky man in his fifties. He took me to a table for two where I had a clear view of the door. I ordered some of their homemade lemonade, waiting until Alec arrived to order a cocktail, and texted Amy to tell her I was at the restaurant.

Give him your panties under the table,
she texted back.
I saw that in a movie once. Totally sexy.

I laughed and sent her a
Good night,
then set my phone down.

The excitement turned to nerves as I finished my drink. I checked my phone. Fifteen minutes late. I leaned back in my chair, crossed my arms, tried to ignore that familiar feeling creeping up the back of my neck.

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.

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 to 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.