Page 29 of Is This for Real?
“Sure, I was going to order something in. Did you make it?” he asks. Gilda puts her head on his foot. She definitely has a doggy crush on him.
“Stress baking.” When I came home for my parents’ funeral, everyone made Olivia and me lasagna. We had so much in the freezer. Lasagna is still my go-to comfort food.
“I have so much to tell you,” I say. I need to put a positive spin on working for Theresa.
“You seem upbeat.”
“You look tired.”
Rory smiles. “Way to boost a guy’s ego.” He rolls his head as if to loosen his muscles. “Tough day at the office, but your lasagna will perk me up.” He picks up the Styrofoam block holding mini purple roses. Which are on the table. And shouldn’t be. The roses are standing in a row in various stages of completion, with tweezers, an eraser, and glue sitting to the side. “I don’t know how you do that detailed work.”
“It’s soothing.” I move my Styrofoam square and tools to my craft desk before Zelda comes home and sees that I’ve expanded beyond my allotted space—which is already a lot in our apartment. “Do you want a massage?”
That just popped out.
“You’re offering lasagna and a massage? What, have I stepped into heaven?” he asks.
“If that’s your idea of heaven.”
“You’re hanging out with the wrong people if it’s not.”
I have to agree.
“It’s been a while since I took that massage course, so I may be rusty, but I’m always looking for willing victims.” I leer at him.
“When did you take a massage class? Did I know that?”
“When I was writing that novella with the fireman meet-cute, the protagonist was a masseuse, so I took a class. I’m kind of miffed that’s not what Anthony remembered about me.”
Rory follows me into the kitchen. I put the lasagna in the oven.
“He wasn’t going to ask how the massages are going,” he says. “And he definitely remembered you.”
My cheeks grow warm. It is true that massages can get pretty intimate. I shouldn’t have suggested it, but I don’t know what I’m doing anymore. Rory is not for me—I need someone who is more down to earth than all roses and rainbows. I don’t know what he’s looking for, but none of his other girlfriends have captured whatever it is.
“It’s probably easiest on my bed,” I say.
We walk toward the back, Benson trailing behind us. My cat, Goldie, is on the corner of the bed.
Rory takes off his shirt. He’s lean and muscular.Okay, not the best idea.
Depends on what the idea was, my evil inner voice says.I haven’t seen Rory without a shirt in a while. And I’ve never massaged Rory without a shirt. He lies down on my bed.He’s in my bed.He raises himself on his elbows and looks back at me. The air seems heavier.
I stop, afraid I’ll shock myself if I touch him.
In a funny Swedish accent, I ask, “So, vhere do you hurt?”
“Shoulders and lower back.” Rory lies down flat.
I get on my knees on the bed, warm up my hands and place them on his back, and rub up and down, feeling first for tight muscles.Keep it professional. Professional thoughts only. It’s just a man’s back. The perfect man’s back, professionally speaking.I dig deeper with my hands into his shoulder muscles where they’re tight.
Rory groans. “Yes, that feels good.”
I feel that groan deep in my stomach.
As I work my way down his back, Goldie gets up, stretches, and comes over to sniff Rory. She massages Rory’s arm, purring.
I should be purring, too.
