Page 72 of I Can't Help It

“There’s a lot of tension in your neck,” Kiara observes, her voice sounding far away. “Are we still doing okay?”

Oh my gosh, Luke is probably shirtless.

OF COURSE, HE’S SHIRTLESS. He slept with a shirt on when we were sharing that darn bed, but now that I’m not around—there’s no need for basic decency!

I silently curse as another unwelcome thought comes to mind.

Did he completely undress?

Is he naked in the next room?

“Ma’am, is everything all right?”

Is everything all right?

No, everything is not all right!

This blanket is too heavy.

This room is too warm.

This music is too irritating.

I knew massages were a bad idea!

“Would it help if I stepped out of the room for a minute or two?” Kiara’s hands leave my neck. “Or if you’d rather not continue, we can let your colleague know, and then you can—”

“No!” My eyes fly open. “No, we don’t have to do that. It’s fine. I’m fine. There’s no need to stop.”

How the heck would I explain that to Luke? Something like: “Hey, Luke, they had to cut my massage short because I knew a woman was touching you in the next room and I was too enraged by that little detail to relax.”

Nope. We’re finishing this massage, even if it’s going to be the longest forty-five minutes of my life.

* * *

“Did you enjoy your massage?”

The question is innocent and expected, but I want to glare at Luke anyway. While I’m tense all over from thinking about his massage therapist having her hands all over him, Luke is the definition of relaxed and refreshed. He looks like nothing could bother him.

It’s beyond aggravating.

“Ava?” His voice is laced with concern as he cups my chin. “Was your massage bad? Are you okay?”

I barely shrug, avoiding his soft gaze. “It was fine. She did a good job.”

She really did. It wasn’t Kiara’s fault that I couldn’t fully enjoy the experience.

“Then what’s wrong?” he asks, his voice a tad bit firmer now. “Did something happen?”

“No.” I shake my head as I step away from him. “It’s nothing. How was your massage?”

Being jealous is starting to feel more and more immature, and I hate it, so we’re going to turn the focus on him instead.

A flawless plan.

“Ava—”

“Sir, you forgot this in the room,” a middle-aged man interrupts, coming up to us with a cell phone in his hand.

---