Page 33 of The Proximity Effect

Before I could answer, Evan let out a dramatic sigh that belonged in a soap opera. “Everything. Myfriendhere has been working me to death in the kitchen.” The way he emphasized “friend” made me want to flick him with the hair tie around my wrist.

The massage started normally enough. Luna’s hands were strong and capable as she worked the knots out of my shoulders. I was just starting to relax, mentally composing menus and ingredient lists for the restaurant, when Evan let out a sound that belonged in an entirely different kind of establishment.

My whole body tensed. Oh God.

“Right there,” he groaned. “That’s perfect.”

I was going to kill him. Slowly. With a spatula. Maybe two spatulas. I’d make it artistic.

At one point, my hand dangled off the side of the table, and I nearly jumped out of my skin when I felt Evan’s fingers brush against mine. It was probably accidental. But then his pinky hooked around mine for a moment with deliberate intent that sent tingles up my arm, and I knew it was about as accidental as my tendency to hit snooze five times in the morning.

Another appreciative moan from his direction had me biting my lip. The room suddenly felt ten degrees warmer, like someone had cranked up the thermostat to tropical vacation levels, and I was hyperaware of every sound. The soft instrumental music faded into background noise compared to the symphony of Evan’s reactions to his massage. Was the music getting steamier, or was that my imagination?

“Time to turn over,” Luna announced after what felt like both an eternity and no time at all.

I carefully maneuvered myself, trying to keep the sheet in place. I’d done this dozens of times before without incident, but of course, today would be the day the sheet slipped. Just a little. Just enough. Because the universe clearly hadn’t finished having its fun with me yet.

Evan’s sharp inhale told me exactly what he’d seen.

“Oh my God, I know you saw my boob, and I’d really appreciate it if we could pretend that didn’t happen because I have to work with you now, and that’s going to be super awkward if we acknowledge it. Not that my boob isn’t acknowledgment-worthy. It’s a perfectly nice boob, but that’s not really the point, and why am I still talking about my boob?” The words tumbled out like marbles spilling across a tile floor, impossible to stop once they started rolling.

The room went dead silent except for the soothing sounds of pan flutes, which suddenly seemed wildly inappropriate for my moment of mortification. Like elevator music at a funeral.

“I didn’t see anything.” Evan was clearly suppressing a laugh, his voice full of amusement. “Maybe it was your boob’s way of reminding you to schedule that mammogram for nine years from now.”

Luna coughed in what I suspected was an attempt to cover a laugh, and I seriously considered asking her to smother me with the face towel and end my suffering. I could already imagine my epitaph: “Here lies Tessa Callahan, done in by an errant sheet and questionable timing.”

The rest of the massage was an exercise in exquisite torture. Every time Evan made one of those sounds—which he seemed to be making more frequently now, the jerk—I felt it like an electric current through my body. Our hands kept finding each other, innocent touches that felt anything but, and I was achingly aware of his presence mere inches away.

By the time it was over, I wasn’t sure if I was relaxed or wound tighter than before.

“Now it’s time to flush out all those toxins in the sauna.” Aiden pulled back a partially open curtain I hadn’t even noticed and then pointed to two robes.

I stared at them as if they were live snakes ready to strike.

Right. The sauna. Because apparently past-Tessa thought future-Tessa would enjoy prolonging the exquisite torture of a couple’s massage by sitting in a small wooden box with a nearly naked man. It was supposed to be my new husband, but even so, what had I been thinking?

“Fifteen minutes is the perfect time to let those muscles really relax,” Luna said cheerfully, completely oblivious to my internal crisis. “Don’t forget to take your water with you.”

As soon as the therapists left, Evan hopped up from his table with the enthusiasm of a kid on Christmas morning, and oh... oh my. Those boxer briefs left very little to the imagination, and my imagination was already working overtime. My eyes seemed tohave developed a mind of their own, refusing to look anywhere else.

“Here.” He handed me my robe, our fingers brushing. When our eyes met, there was something deeper and more intense in his.

He cleared his throat. “I’ll, uh, give you some privacy.” He turned around, slipping into his own robe before disappearing into the sauna, grabbing two water bottles from a table as he went.

I took a deep breath. I could do this. It’s just fifteen minutes in a hot box. People did this with friends and strangers all the time. Completely normal. Nothing weird about it at all.

When I stepped into the sauna, the heat hit me like a wall. It was small. Like only for two people small. Evan sat on the bench, his robe parted enough to show a slice of chest that made my mouth go dry. I perched on the bench, as far away as the small space would allow, which wasn’t nearly far enough.

“So... this is cozy. Not cozy in a romantic way. More like a ‘we’re both adults who can handle being in a small, heated room together without making it weird’ kind of cozy. Though I guess pointing that out kind of makes it weird, doesn’t it? Like when someone says ‘no offense’ right after saying something offensive. Not that I’m offended. Or offensive. I?—”

“Tessa.” Evan’s voice was soft but amused.

“Yes?”

“You’re cute when you’re nervous.”

I groaned, dropping my face into my hands. “I’m not nervous. I’m... experiencing an adverse reaction to excessive heat combined with...” I gestured vaguely at him without looking up.

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