Page 17 of Return To You

I blink several times.

He pushes himself up on his forearms and speaks to the table. “Matter of fact, the massage is over, and I need you to step out so I can get dressed.”

So he thinks he can boss me around and tell me how to do my job? “The treatment isn’t over. It’s already just a mini massage. Cut it in half and it’s a waste of time.”

“Nope.” He doesn’t move, though.

Was it something I did? Was it too hard? “I can adjust the pressure…” And then I get it. “It’s a normal physical reaction in men. I see it all the time. There’s no need to—”

“You see it all the time?” he blurts.

What’s he all worked up about? “It’s a sign of relaxation. Nothing to be self-conscious about.” I hand him a pillow to cover his midsection. “Here.”

“No.”

“If you walk out of here limping, I’ll lose business. I need to get to your quad. Now get on your back. You’re holding up other people.”

He huffs. “Turn around first.”

Fine. The ruffling of the sheet sends a shiver down my spine. What is happening to me? It can’t be because of how he’s changed.

And he has changed.

Ethan was always athletic. He was Emerald Creek’s golden boy. The hockey star. The football captain. It drove all the other boys crazy. They could never measure up to him. But he was such a good guy, no one that I know was ever jealous of him.

Everybody liked him. He was that kind of person.

When he walked into my tent earlier, I was taken aback by the mass of muscle he’d become.

That was after I registered and dealt with the shock of being so close to Ethan King.

He was supposed to be the love of my life.

Or so I thought, growing up.

“Ready,” he grunts.

He has one arm thrown over his face, hiding his eyes, while the other hand holds onto the pillow for dear life. In the process of him turning around and focusing solely on hiding his privates, the sheet slipped off, revealing a torso that I’m intimately familiar with.

I rub my hands with oil, lean over his hairy thigh, and get to work. Starting from right above the knee, I identify the knot and work my way up, kneading and stretching. I close my eyes to focus. All I need is to feel the muscles under my hands. To let his body guide me.

“That’s enough,” he snaps and sits up.

My eyes fly open. I was almost there. Almost got that pesky knot untangled. I lift my face to meet his, then quickly look down. “Not quite.” I run my hands higher up, dig deep with my knuckles up to his hip area, which is connected to his back. There. “That should do it. For now.” I straighten, avoiding his gaze by focusing on his naked shoulder. That seems like a safe place to look at.

It’s not.

I remember crying on this shoulder.

I remember laughing so hard I bumped my forehead on this shoulder.

I remember the way his shoulder would curve around me to make me feel safe.

Everything about him is a painful memory.

Whipping around, I prepare a sample of arnica and CBD ointment while he gets dressed. “That’ll help,” I tell him, turning around just in time to catch his gaze drilling into me. He blinks several times. His jaw clenches as he pockets the small box. “How much is it? And the… massage?”

That’s it, huh. Just a transaction. “It’s free. Says on the tent.”

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