Page 62 of The Unhinged Christmas of a Cat Lady
I go very still.
“...maybe.”
Fi loses it. “You turned him on with bear porn and a trauma dump?! Miranda, that’s a superpower.”
I cover my face again. “I am never opening the door again. Ever.”
Amelia grins. “Was the bear at least hot?”
“Amelia!”
Fi wipes a tear from the corner of her eye. “Honestly, you’ve outdone yourself. This is Oscar-worthy.”
“I haven’t even told you the worst bit,” I mutter.
Bri turns, brows high. “There’s more?”
I stare at my wine. “He offered to help.”
“Help how?” Amelia asks warily.
“To relax me,” I say, and instantly regret the phrasing.
Fi nearly chokes. “He offered to shag you?”
“No! No. Not like that.” I wave a hand, nearly sloshing my wine. “He said he’s trained. Massage therapy. From a summer in Bali. Pressure points and all that stuff—not the dodgy kind.”
The group goes silent for half a beat.
Then Lizzie squints. “Wait... is that true? Is he actually trained, or is that just what hot men say before your knickers disappear?”
“I don’t know!” I say, exasperated. “He was so... calm about it. Like offering a cup of tea. But for... trauma.”
Bri nods sagely. “I mean, if someone offered me a trauma massage, I’d say yes and see what got released first—the knot in my shoulder or my orgasm.”
Amelia frowns. “But why would he do that? Just out of the goodness of his… suspiciously toned arms?”
“He said I seemed tense,” I say flatly.
Fi snorts. “What gave it away? The constant frown or the shoulders up around your ears?”
I bury my face in my scarf. “This was a mistake. I should’ve stayed home and joined a convent.”
“Too late,” Lizzie says, grinning. “You’ve got us—and possibly a tantric handyman slash landlord with a saviour complex.”
Bri nudges me with an elbow. “But are you… actually considering it?”
I choke on my mulled wine. “Of course not.”
“Really?” Fi raises a brow. “I would.”
“If I need a massage, I’ll pay someone,” I say primly. “Someone whose qualifications are framed on a wall, not wedged into the waistband of their cargo trousers.”
Lizzie hums. “But would they be as… motivated?”
I shoot her a look. “He wasn’t trying to sleep with me. He was being… annoyingly sincere.”
“Exactly,” Amelia says. “Which, weirdly, is kind of worse. Like, if he’d been sleazy about it, you could’ve just rolled your eyes and kicked him out.”
