5. Garner
GARNER
I'd spent most of my adult life with my hands on other people's bodies.
The tattoo gun was an extension of myself, a tool that let me transform skin into art while maintaining a safe, professional distance.
But nothing—absolutely nothing—had prepared me for the experience of running my hands over Olivia's bare skin in a room full of strangers.
"Remember to use firm, even pressure," Serena called out. "Your partner should feel supported, not tickled."
I adjusted my grip on Olivia's shoulders, carefully rubbing in the warm massage oil in smooth, even strokes.
The couples' massage class was being held in a sunlit room overlooking the lake.
Soft instrumental music played in the background and scented candles burned along the edges of the room.
Everything was designed to feel romantic and intimate. Unfortunately, it did.
"Is this okay?" I whispered, my voice rougher than I intended.
Olivia's head dipped forward slightly, exposing the vulnerable curve of her neck. "Perfect," she whispered, sending the word traveling directly from my fingertips to my chest.
Every tattoo artist learns to read the body's response, like the subtle flinch that means you're hitting a nerve, and the relaxation that comes when the endorphins kick in.
I'd memorized those signals years ago. But reading Olivia's body was different.
When my thumbs traced the ridge of her shoulder blades, she released a small, involuntary sigh that almost made my knees buckle.
"Now partners, move down to the middle back," Serena directed. "Notice the trapezius muscle. It carries so much of our daily tension."
I slid my hands lower, feeling the knots beneath her skin. Her hair was pulled back, but a few stray strands clung to her neck. I remembered how those strands had felt against my face yesterday when we’d kissed. Since then, we’d both been pretending that everything was fine between us.
"You're carrying a lot of tension here," I said.
"Wonder why," she replied, a hint of breathless laughter in her voice.
My fingers found a particularly tight spot, and I worked over it slowly, being careful not to apply too much pressure. Olivia's head tilted forward again, and she let out a soft moan.
"Tension release is essential for intimacy," Serena announced as she walked between the massage tables. She paused near us and nodded her approval. "Nice technique. Your wife is in good hands."
Olivia's entire body tensed under my touch. I could practically feel the blush heating her skin.
"He's always had good hands," she said, her voice light but strained. "It's the tattoo artist thing."
Serena smiled. "Artists do tend to be more attentive to detail."
When she moved on, I leaned closer to Olivia's ear. "Sorry about that."
"Nothing to be sorry about," she whispered back. "We're supposed to be married, remember?"
Right. Supposed to be. Pretending to be. Acting like.
My hands continued their careful exploration of her back, finding the places where stress had knotted her muscles. I tried not to think about how it felt to finally be able to run my fingers over her curves, to feel her body’s reaction to my touch.
"Partners, switch positions," the instructor called.
Olivia climbed off the table and disappeared behind a makeshift changing room to get dressed. I pulled off my shirt and laid down, my big frame barely fitting on the padded table.
When she came back, her hands were hesitant at first, smaller than mine but surprisingly strong.
She'd touched my neck and ran her hands through my hair tons of times over the years, but this was different.
Her palms pressed into the broad expanse of my back, finding the hard-earned knots from hunching over a tattoo gun for hours on end.
"You have actual rocks back here," she murmured.
I grunted in response, not trusting my voice. Her thumbs dug into a particularly sensitive spot between my shoulder blades, and I had to bite back a groan.
"Too hard?" she asked.
"No," I managed. "It's good."
Good was an understatement. Her touch was gradually becoming more confident, more deliberate. I closed my eyes, surrendering to the sensation of Olivia's hands on my skin, knowing I'd revisit this memory a thousand times after we returned to our normal lives.
The class ended too soon. We gathered our things in silence, both pretending that something fundamental hadn't shifted between us. Outside, the late afternoon sun cast long shadows across the resort grounds.
"That was..." Olivia started, then shook her head. "Educational."
I nodded, shoving my hands into my pockets. "Yeah."
We walked back to our room while maintaining a careful distance, both of us looking everywhere but at each other.
The resort staff had been in while we were gone and brought fresh towels, turned down the bed, and set another bottle of complimentary champagne on the table.
The heart-shaped tub gleamed in the bathroom, visible through the half-open door.
Olivia set her bag down on the dresser. "I should probably shower before dinner."
"Sure," I said, reaching for the remote control like it was a lifeline. "I'll just watch some TV."
She disappeared into the bathroom, and I sat on the edge of the bed, flipping channels without registering a single image. All I could think about was her skin beneath my hands, the small sounds she'd made, the way her body had responded to my touch.
I settled on some mindless cooking competition and turned the volume up, trying to drown out the sound of the shower running. Trying not to picture Olivia standing under the spray, water sliding down her shoulders where my hands had recently been.
When she came out twenty minutes later wrapped in one of the plush resort robes, her hair damp and her face flushed from the steam, I nearly swallowed my tongue.
"Your turn," she said, her voice neutral.
I nodded, escaping into the bathroom before I could do something stupid like tell her how beautiful she looked.
The shower did nothing to cool the heat under my skin.
If anything, the solitude gave my mind too much freedom to replay the events of the day.
Not only the massage class, but the way Olivia had looked at me during breakfast, uncertain and hopeful.
The way she'd absently twisted her hair into a messy bun while we'd listened to the retreat coordinator outline the day's activities.
The split second when her fingers had brushed mine as we'd both reached for the same coffee carafe.
I stayed under the water until my fingers pruned, and my thoughts were slightly less dangerous. When I finally emerged, a towel wrapped around my waist and another draped over my shoulders, Olivia was sitting cross-legged on the bed, scrolling through her phone.
She looked up, her eyes widening slightly before dropping back to her screen. "Feel better?"
"Yeah," I lied, running a hand through my damp hair. "Mind if I...?" I gestured vaguely toward my duffel bag.
"Oh! No, go ahead." She stood quickly. "I'll just... wait on the balcony."
I dressed in record time, pulling on jeans and a clean black t-shirt. "All clear," I called.
She slipped back inside, the air between us thick with unspoken tension. While I’d been in the shower, she'd changed into a simple sundress, the kind of thing she wore around Mustang Mountain in the summer. Nothing fancy, nothing revealing, but somehow it made my mouth go dry.
"Dinner's not for another hour," she said, fiddling with her hair tie. "I was thinking maybe we could explore a little bit more. See if we can find anything else about those property listings?"
Work. Focus on the reason we were here. Not on how the late afternoon light was turning her hair to liquid gold, or how her bare feet made her seem vulnerable.
"Sure," I agreed, reaching for my boots. "Lead the way."
We wandered the resort grounds, maintaining our couple disguise with casual hand holding and the occasional arm around shoulders.
Each touch was a small electric shock. Each time she leaned into me to whisper an observation about a staff member or a suspicious-looking door, I had to remind myself this was all for show.
But as the sun began to set and we made our way to the dining room, something in the air had changed. The pretense of our fake marriage was wearing thin, eroding with each glance, each brief touch.
Dinner was a blur of forced small talk with the other couples and picking at a five-star meal I couldn't even taste. Olivia kept twisting her napkin in her lap, her eyes meeting mine then darting away. Under the table, our knees touched occasionally, neither of us pulling away.
Back in our room, we moved around each other like awkward strangers, both reaching for the same light switch, both apologizing when our hands collided reaching for the TV remote.
"We should probably..." Olivia gestured toward the bed.
"Right," I agreed. "Long day tomorrow."
We took turns in the bathroom again, the domestic routine somehow more intimate than the massage had been. When I came out in my usual pajamas, sweats and a worn t-shirt, Olivia was already under the covers, her back to my side of the bed.
I slid in carefully, maintaining the same invisible boundary we'd established the night before.
"Garner?" Her voice was so quiet I almost thought I'd imagined it.
"Yeah?"
She rolled over, her eyes finding mine in the dim light. "Today was..."
"I know," I said, because I did. Because whatever she was struggling to put into words, I felt it too.
She nodded, a small movement against the pillow. Then, with deliberate care, she reached across the space between us and touched my face. Her fingers were cool against my stubbled jaw.
I caught her hand in mine, pressing it more firmly to my cheek. Her breath caught.
"Liv," I whispered, not sure what I wanted to say next.
She moved closer, erasing the careful gap between us. "I don't want to pretend right now," she said, her voice barely a whisper.
The last thread of my restraint snapped. I pulled her against me, one hand sliding into her hair as my mouth found hers. She made a small, desperate sound against my lips, her body melting into mine like she'd been waiting for this her entire life.
Maybe she had. Maybe we both had.
The kiss deepened, years of unspoken longing pouring out in a rush of hands and lips and moans. Her fingers slid under my shirt, tracing the tattoos she'd seen a hundred times but never touched. I mapped the curve of her waist, the arch of her spine, committing every inch to memory.
"Are you sure?" I breathed against her neck.
She answered by pulling my shirt over my head, her eyes dark and certain. "I've never been more sure of anything."