Page 16 of Return To You

What the hell? I don’t think so. I pull my T-shirt off my back. Her eyes narrow on my torso, slide down to my abs, and even in the dimness of the tent I can see her cheeks turning a deep red. She catches herself and turns her back to me just as I unbuckle my jeans.

I fold my clothes neatly and place them on a stool. My hands don’t shake. My heartbeat doesn’t rattle the tent. Nothing betrays the anger boiling inside me. Then I slide under the cool sheet.

Face down. I turn on my belly. I wish I could look at her. Make her squirm under my gaze. Ask her to her face what the hell happened to her.

To us.

“Ready,” I grunt.

four

Grace

Of course he doesn’t care. He never has. I tell him it’d be better if he left, and he decides to stay? Why? To spite me? Rub in my face that we’re just two strangers? That I’m a nobody giving him a massage?

The last time I saw him, really saw him, he betrayed me.

So seeing him here without warning? I don’t know that I can handle it.

“Ready.” His voice is emotionless. Like I said, I’m a stranger to him.

I’m used to this now. I’m used to being just a side note in people’s lives.

It’s okay. Tonight, I’ll go through my memory box. Imagine what could have been. If I imagine it hard enough, I can believe it’s true. At least for a minute or two. That’s all I need.

I know I shouldn’t be doing that. I know I’m stronger than that. And I am. I really am. Just now and then, I need a little pick-me-up. That’s all it is. I know it’s not reality. Doesn’t mean I don’t like the fantasy.

Don’t judge me. If you like to read romances where the guy is hot and young and a billionaire and he only wants little old you, you’re doing the same. If you go to gaming conventions dressed as your favorite hero, you’re doing the same.

We all have our ways of getting through shit.

I have my memory box, my fantasy world. That gets me through.

Meanwhile, Mr. Hotshot here needs his massage.

He breaks my heart, shatters it to pieces, sees how distressed I am, knows it’s because of him, offers to leave to let me live my sad little life in peace, and when I say yes please (or something close to that) he taunts me by staying here to torture me some more?

I pull the sheet down and get started.

“Ow!”

Yep, that’ll hurt all right. Man, he’s a bundle of tightness. Okay, I should go easier now. After all, he’s just a client now, and I have a reputation to uphold. I don’t want him walking out of the tent cussing and complaining about what a bad experience he had.

It’s enough that I’m losing my space. I can’t afford to lose my clients.

I ease up, use the heel of my hands instead of my knuckles, feel the deep tissue loosening under my touch, then graduate him to a deep massage using my elbows. “We only have ten minutes, so I’ll focus on the pain point. Get you walking normally again.”

Without him looking at me, it’s easier.

He doesn’t answer.

I do need to get to his quads, though. I wish there was another way, but there isn’t. “Now turn around.” I cover his body with the sheet, step away to oil my hands again and to give him privacy as he gets situated on the table.

“No.”

“’Scuse me?”

“I ain’t turning ‘round.”

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