Page 109 of Pucking Strong

“Novy, you are not my patient. And I was off the clock two minutes ago.”

“I’ll pay you. Come on, you know I’m good for it.”

With a sigh, I drop my backpack down to the chair. Crossing my arms, I glare at him. “How much?”

“I am not hearing this,” Brady mutters, tapping away on the tablet.

Novy stares me down like we’re in the Wild West. “One hundred dollars.”

I snort. “Nov, I’d payyoua hundred bucks just to let me leave.”

“Fine. Five hundred dollars.”

“You know I know your salary, right?”

He groans, dragging a hand through his short hair. “I’ve only got five hundred cash on me.”

The man looks so pathetic. And I guess I do have the time. Henrik’s home with Karolina. He took her to PT this afternoon. “Fine. Five hundred bucks. For five minutes.” I hold out my hand and wait.

“Five minutes? Are you shitting me?”

“Hey, five minutes is plenty of time to get one good calf massage … or two kinda good massages.”

Muttering under his breath, Novy digs in the pocket of his shorts for his wallet and pulls out the cash: five crisp one-hundred-dollar bills.

“Thank you.” I pluck the bills from his hand. “Hop up on the table. You want one massage or two?”

“One,” he growls. “Left calf. And you better make it good.”

“I will do my absolute best work,” I assure him, pocketing the cash. I make a show of setting my phone down on the table by his head before tapping the timer and starting his countdown. Oiling up my hands, I massage his calf. Following the lines of the musculature, I work to ease his tightness. He chokes back the sex noises as best he can, pressing his forehead to his folded arms.

“Pressure good?”

“So good,” he mutters.

I smile. I really do take pride in my massages. And Novy’s not the first client to tell me they prefer me to all the other PTs. He’s just the most obnoxious.

My phone dings and Novy perks up. “Karlsson just texted.”

“What’s he saying?”

He props himself up on his elbows, my phone in his hand. “He’s asking, ‘Are you ready?’”

I go still. “What?”

“Hey, that was not five fucking minutes.” He shows me the ticking timer on the phone. “Keep going or give me my money back.”

I keep massaging. Did I miss something? Am I ready for what? My phone pings a second time.

“Karlsson again. He says he’s outside. Want me to call him and tell him you’re occupied?”

“I—”

“Oh wait, never mind. He’s calling you.” Before I can stop him, Novy answers my phone, turning it on speaker. He puts on an airy receptionist voice. “You’ve reached the office of Doctor Theodore O’Connor. May I ask who’s calling?”

I groan as Brady chuckles again from his corner.

Henrik is clearly confused. “I … what? Who is this?”

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