Chapter 1 #2
“My back. It’s super tight, I’m on a computer all day and….” My voice trails off.
“Okay, does it give you trouble?”
“Terribly.”
“It’s very tight?”
“Yes.”
“Tight isn’t always a bad thing.” I hear the oil squirt and his hands rub together. “Let’s see if we can release it for you.”
Tight isn’t always a bad thing.
His large hands glide up over my back and I push my face harder into the hole in the table.
“What pressure do you like?”
Hard.
His strong fingers squeeze my traps and rub up into my neck and I see stars. “Whatever,” I breathe, distracted, his hands glide down my back and over my hips and I grip the table legs with my hands as I break into a cold sweat.
My god, Mabel.
Pull yourself together, woman.
“How does that feel?” his deep voice purrs.
His fingers knead my lower back and I have to admit this really is so good, it’s all I can do not to moan out loud. “It’s fine,” I push out.
Better than fine, it’s fucking fire.
Okay, think of something else. He keeps massaging my back as my mind begins to troll for a distraction.
Let’s break this down, I mean, logistically…he’s young and strapping and therefore probably happily married and if not married, definitely in a serious relationship.
I’ll tell you one thing I do know is that his partner is out of her mind for letting him do this for a job.
But thankfully he has no idea about what’s going on in my head so I need to just lie here and act fucking casual.
His hands move lower. “Now I just want to search for the muscles giving you trouble, is that okay?”
“Yes.”
His hands run down over my cheeks and I close my eyes as I concentrate on the heat coming out of his fingers.
Dear. Lord.
“Ah yes, here it is.” He pushes into my right side cheek. “Just here.” He pushes hard and I jump.
“Ow.” I wince as he feels around. “Yep.”
“Your piriformis muscle is severely shortened.”
“It is?”
“Yes, it shortens over a long time due to sitting too long.” He pushes his thumbs into it. “Feel that?”
“Uh-huh.”
Hunk aside, he is pretty good at this.
“You seem to know a lot for someone who hasn’t massaged me before.” I close my eyes as he rubs the sore spot.
“I’m actually a physiotherapist by trade.”
“You are?” I ask. “I thought you were a masseur, I didn’t realize that they ordered a physiotherapist. You’re overqualified for this job, I’m afraid.”
“I am a masseur…now. I needed more flexible hours. I do this at night so I can be home through the day.”
“Okay.” I frown as I listen, where is this going?
I can’t help myself, I have to ask. “Why do you need to be home through the day?”
“To look after my children.”
Huh?
“Where is their mother?”
“My wife died during childbirth three years ago. I have two daughters, three and four. I’m their only caregiver.”
Oh no….
“I’m so sorry,” I whisper.
“Thanks,” he replies softly as he rubs my back.
I stare at the ground though the hole, I imagine him trying to care for two little baby girls all alone through his heartbreak. Imagine bringing a baby home from hospital alone.
What a tragedy.
He keeps massaging my back in silence as my mind wanders, I don’t know what to say that isn’t the wrong thing, so I just stay quiet.
He doesn’t ask about me, he just does his job on autopilot. A damn good job too, his massage skills are out of this world.
It’s the weirdest thing, I feel like I’m having an out-of-body experience because I’m not the greatest human.
Ask anyone…I’m a dominant, controlling workaholic.
My life is in order, my ducks are in a row.
My emotions are completely under lock and key.
I am in the driving seat one hundred percent of the time.
But as I lie here on the bed with his oily hands running over my skin I find myself feeling an unknown emotion: empathy.
It’s like I can feel the pain he’s experienced through his touch.
He doesn’t speak, he doesn’t need to.
His hands glide up my legs, and with every muscle he releases, I feel a little more of him…and I don’t mean sexually.
Emotionally.
It’s the weirdest feeling, completely foreign, and I couldn’t explain it, even if I tried.
In what seems like five minutes, I hear the words, “How was that?”
I glance up in a daze. “It’s over?”
“Do you want an extension? That was ninety minutes.”
“It was?”
“Yes.” He gives me a warm smile. “Was it okay?”
“It was amazing.” I force a smile.
“I’ll leave the room so you can get up. Take your time and sit up slowly.”
“Thank you.” He leaves the room and I slowly sit up and hang my legs over the table. I hunch my shoulders up and wow, that really was an incredible massage.
Ha, all this time…. Who knew Melanie was so incompetent?
I pull my robe on. “You can come back in,” I call.
The door opens and he walks back in and begins to pack up. “Would you like to see me again?” he asks as he folds a towel.
“Yes,” I reply. “I have four massages a week.”
“You won’t need that for long. I’ll straighten your body out so you can halve that.” He folds the bed and packs it away as I stand to the side and watch on and eventually he stands up and looks me dead in the eye. “When would you like your next appointment?” he asks.
“Is tomorrow too soon, Mr. Watson?” I say softly.
“Never too soon.” His eyes hold mine. “Call me Andrew.”
“Okay Andrew.” I smile. “Thank you.” We walk out into the foyer and toward the elevator door and he turns to face me.
“May I ask you a personal question?” I say.
“Of course.”
“What are their names?”
He frowns.
“Your daughters, what are their names?”
“Kaia and Birdy.”
I stare up at him.
“Birdy was the name we called her in utero and seeing we never got to pick a name together….” His voice trails off.
“Well….” I get a lump in my throat as my eyes search his. “Birdy is a beautiful name.”
“I agree.” He gives me a soft smile, one that makes my stomach flutter.
“Good night, Miss Harrington.”
“Good night, Andrew.”
The elevator arrives and he steps in and turns toward me, with one last smile the doors close and he disappears out of sight.
I walk back into my apartment and, unable to shake the feeling, I walk back into the room we were just in. I look around, there’s a weird sense of déjà vu lingering in the air. Not quite a feeling, not quite a sixth sense. Not quite anything really, though somehow it feels like it is.
I go to the window and stare out over the twinkling lights of New York as I imagine him getting into his car downstairs.
Drive carefully.