Page 17 of Calculated Chaos

“Yeah, it was good. You?”

“Yep. I was high as a kite.”

I snort a laugh. “Good for you.”

Handing me a travel mug, he tilts his head toward the door. “We should get going.”

“And where is that?”

“Spa day. You earned it after enduring this weekend with me.”

I scrunch my nose. “Spa day?”

“Yeah, you know, pampering. Men deserve it too. Don’t get hung up on how society makes all the good shit seem like it’s for women only. It’s not.”

“No, I know. I just never thought…” The words trail off as the motive becomes clear. “Yeah, okay. Let’s do this.”

“Atta boy.” Axel wraps an arm around my shoulders, pulling me into him, and plants a kiss on my temple.

It’s a comforting gesture, something he’s always done, and he’s the only person I allow to freely smother me in affection. It’s just how he is, and I would never change it.

“Hey, Ax?” I say as we step out of the house.

“Yeah?”

“I’m really lucky to have you. I just want to make sure you know I appreciate you.”

He grins. “I know that.”

“Good.”

I really am a lucky man. Maybe it’s time I start acting like it.

The drive to the spa is a quiet one and my guess is that Axel is replaying the weekend too. He has a tendency to drift away at times, but I’ve learned he’s just thinking. Back when we were younger, I initially thought he was the kind of guy that just let everything slide off, while every thought I had stuck to me like glue.

I discovered that’s not true though. He thinks a lot. It’s just that you have to know him well to notice it. Otherwise all you’ll ever see is happy-go-lucky Axel.

Twenty minutes later, he pulls into the parking lot of the spa I often pass on my way to work if I choose the side roads and not the freeway. Can’t lie and say I’ve never wondered what the inside looks like, because the outside is the opposite of what I think of when I picture a spa.

It’s got an industrial vibe to it, with exposed brick walls and black metal fixtures. Instead of that weird instrumental music I heard the time I dropped off a girlfriend at a spa, the music has more of a beat to it—soothing, but still with some energy.

The man behind the front counter glances up from his computer screen and smiles. He’s blond with a light beard. His black t-shirt stretches across muscular biceps and tattoos cover all the exposed skin I can see from his neck to his knuckles.

“Gentlemen. Do you have an appointment?”

“Yeah, we do,” Axel answers. “It’s under Axel Penniston.”

The man clicks his keyboard. “Here you are. If you want to sit over on the leather couch, your attendant will be out in a few minutes to escort you back. Would you like a mimosa or bloody mary?”

Axel turns to me with a questioning expression. “I think I’m good for now,” I answer.

“Same,” Axel says to the man, who nods and returns his attention to the computer. “It’s designed for men,” Axel continues. “The owner is actually a woman who wanted to give the spa experience to men in a less feminine environment.”

“Oh. So there are only male clients here?”

“That’s my understanding. I guess it makes sense in a way. Some men have hang-ups about doing things that are perceived as feminine.”

“Yeah.”

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