3. Adair
Adair
The bell above the café door chimes, and I glance up from the register.
And then I freeze.
No. Freaking. Way.
Dr. Matthews, from the ER, is standing in Citrine. His unexpected presence is both jarring and exciting at the same time.
Gone are the scrubs. Now it’s jeans and a t-shirt that fit him way too well for this early in the day. His hair’s slightly messy, like he ran a hand through it on purpose, and those same enticing blue eyes glint like he’s in on a joke I haven’t heard yet.
Shit, am I drooling?
I knew it! He's a customer. That's why he seemed so familiar.
He leans casually on the counter, all easy confidence and swagger. “Hey there. Adair, right?”
I blink, recovering. “Twice in one week? You stalking me, or really committed to your vitamin intake?”
I instinctively look down to see if he's wearing a ring. He wasn't at the hospital, but some men don't wear them at work. If he performs surgeries, it's entirely plausible he wouldn't.
But, he still isn't. And there's no tan line.
I look back at his face, and his mouth turns up in the cutest smile.
“Had to see what all the fuss was about.” He nods toward the fridge behind me, then back at me. “Happened to see an article about the place and recognized you in the picture from the ER, so wanted to check it out. Maybe try to reintroduce myself on the right foot.”
I raise an eyebrow. “Is that so?”
“Indeed,” he says, voice low and smooth. “Though I am into pressed juices.”
“I can appreciate a man who pays attention to what he puts in his body.”
Especially when I’d love for him to put something of his into mine. God, I can be such a slut.
I turn to grab a bottle, needing space but instantly regretting giving him my back. “This one’s beet, cayenne, ginger, and coconut water. Clears toxins. Boosts energy. Might even soften your response to over-reacting crazy women in your ER.”
“Intense,” he says, his gaze lingering a little too long. “Sounds like someone I might have met…”
I glance back. “If you’re trying to flirt, it’s going to take a little more to make up for your dismissiveness the other day. Just saying.”
He smiles like he’s getting started. “Not flirting, here for the juice. And, I wanted to check on how your friend’s doing.”
“She’s fine. Already back in LA. Had one of those scooter things delivered to the hotel within the hour. You’d have to know Jenna to understand.” I hand him the juice. “ No thanks to your stellar bedside charm and swift care. But we’re resourceful ladies.”
I give him a hard time because somehow that is our established banter. But inside, I'm intrigued by him and the fact that he made the effort to stop by.
“Ouch.” His grin curves, amused. “How long are you going to hold that against me?”
I lean on the counter, mirroring him. “Steel trap,” I say, pointing to my temple.
“Oh, you’ve got a good memory, huh?” His question almost seems like a challenge more than a real question.
His fingers trail the edge of the brochures while he smiles sheepishly, like he knows something I don’t. “You’ve done a nice job with this. It’s a cool space. All you?”
I nod. “Every chaotic inch.”
“I have to admit. When I saw your picture in the article today, it felt like the universe was telling me I had to explore further.”
“Well, aren't you a romantic?”
That earns a real laugh from him. His eyes smile when he laughs, showing off slight lines at the outside corners of his eyes, and for some reason, they make me melt inside. It softens as he glances around, then back at me.
I ring him up for the juice, and he slides his card across the counter.
He taps one of the old brochures with his knuckle. “Didn’t it say you do massages too? If you have any openings, I'd love to snag one.”
I pause, caught off guard. “Used to. I cut the spa services a few months ago. Citrine’s scaled down. We’re less pampering, more power shots, lotions, and beauty products.”
He raises a brow, teasing. “That’s a shame. I was about to offer to mop in exchange for a shoulder and low back reset.”
I normally wouldn't take on a walk-in, especially after the day I've had. But my eyes snag on the way he rolls his neck. The tightness in his jaw. The way he’s holding tension like it’s stitched into his spine.
Something old and instinctual kicks in. The part of me that used to read bodies like energy maps.
I hesitate and then sigh. “I still keep the room prepped. For regulars and VIPs.”
He tilts his head, eyes narrowing with a smirk. “So, I make the VIP list?”
I raise a brow. “Don't get ahead of yourself. Just saying your timing is right, I could squeeze a massage in if you're needing one.”
“That would be amazing.”
"Well, alright, then."
He lifts the juice in a mock toast. “To temporary exceptions,” he says, but it comes out as more of a question.
I smile and walk around the counter. “Here's the deal. I close in ten. If you want to wait for me, I’ve got twenty minutes and enough massage oil left to give you a proper massage.”
“Put me to work. I’m happy to help.”
I shake my head. “Kind of you to offer. Thanks, but look around or take a seat over there while I start shutting down. Enjoy your juice so you're good and hydrated, and I should be done so we can head back."
He’s basically a stranger. This is probably a terrible idea. But I do have the time, and my hands are itching to run over those bulges.
Once I'm done with the few things I needed to do, I turn the "open" sign to "closed" and lock the door. I find him studying the ingredients of a retinol cream for men on the shelf.
"You into beauty regimens? That's a great cream to put on before bed, and it smells divine."
"Never thought about it, but I'm intrigued."
"I can talk to you more about the benefits, but you want to get started on the massage first?"
“Lead the way,” he says, putting the cream back in its place.
Inside the room, the table is already set up for a massage. Martha Timmons is coming tomorrow morning, so I don't have to do anything to get him in. I'll just have to turn over the room before she comes in.
I switch on the instrumental playlist and the lavender diffuser, letting the soft scent fill the room as I move around the space with practiced ease.
“Go ahead and get comfortable,” I say, handing him a towel. “You can take off your shirt and anything else you need to relax. I’ll be prepping oils while you settle in.”
He nods, and I flip the top sheet down, then turn on the heated blanket beneath it.
“Shoulders and neck?” I ask as I move toward the warmer and place a towel inside.
“Actually,” he says, shifting slightly, “my lower back’s been killing me. I’ve got to get some better shoes for work. Could you hit the neck, shoulders, and lower back?”
“At your service.” I grab a second bottle of lotion, making a mental note to adjust my pressure points as I work my way down.
“Would you be offended,” he says lightly, “if I took my pants off? Just to give you better access. I can leave my boxers on if that’s more appropriate.”
My fingers pause briefly on the cap of the oil.
“Whatever makes you comfortable,” I say, keeping my tone smooth and professional. “You’ve got the towel, and I’ll step out to give you a minute. Just get under the sheet, face down, and I’ll be right back.”
“Cool, thanks,” he murmurs, and I walk out. My mind is running wild.
I hear rustling in the room, and my spine stiffens. I bite my lower lip, imagining him naked on the bed. Get it together, Adair!
Once I hear him settle onto the table and the movement stops, I head back in.
His back is insane. Broad shoulders taper into a V of pure muscle, like he was carved from stone. I nearly drool. My professionalism is hanging by a thread.
“Ready?”
“Work your magic. I should say, I do tip well.”
I smirk as I reach out to touch him. The spark that flies up my arms almost takes my breath away. I wonder if he feels it too.
I start working on his shoulders, and within seconds, he lets out a satisfied groan that makes me throb between my legs.
“Good?” I ask, feeling a little proud.
“Better than good,” he murmurs, his voice a bit muffled against the pillow. “Amazing.”
I move to the side of the table, focusing on his shoulders, but he turns his head slightly, watching me through hooded eyes.
“You have no idea what you’re doing to me right now,” he says with a rough voice.
I pause. Funny enough, he has no idea what he's doing to me right now. But I keep that to myself. I’ve done this a thousand times. He’s not the first hot guy to end up on my table.
But something about him, the taut pull of muscle beneath my hands, the quiet tension in every breath, makes my body tighten with a sharp, unbearable need. It's like I'm bracing for an impact I know will be the death of me..
It’s even more intimate when I reach the top of his firm rear end. I’ve performed all types of massages, but a “happy ending” massage is a big no-no. If there were ever a time to break that rule, though, this might be it.
“You must spend a lot of time on your feet. Your lower back’s so tight,” I say, mostly to justify why my hands are creeping lower.
I knead along the edge of the sheet, digging into the tops of his firm glutes like it’s part of the job.
Just because I'm enjoying it doesn't mean it isn't part of the job.
He lets the air in his lungs go slowly. His eyes are still closed, and his voice is relaxed.
“I’m probably going to regret asking this, but… is your boyfriend going to come after me for enjoying this too much?”
I blink, caught off guard. “I don’t have a boyfriend.”
"Oh, really?”
“Why do you sound surprised?”
He shrugs and moans again as I put pressure on his lower lats. "I guess I expected someone so beautiful and accomplished would be taken."
I laugh under my breath, but my pulse kicks. “You're smooth, Dr. Matthews. I'll give you that.”
He groans, letting out a low and guttural sound, and shifts slightly. “Damn, you’re good at that.”
“VIP service,” I murmur, smoothing my hands up his spine one last time, pressing my forearm along the trough of his back.
This is probably a terrible idea, but I keep going where the moment is taking us. “Roll onto your back when you’re ready. I’ll work your shoulders and pecks from the front.”
He doesn’t hesitate and flips over in one fluid motion, causing the sheet to slip.
And then he’s there. Naked, fully exposed, and yeah, his cock is hard and at full attention. And now, so is my breathing. I try to look away.
I don’t.
I guess I’m not the only one feeling it.
I nearly stumble back from how fast the intensity floods through me. My breath catches. This happens sometimes. It’s normal, involuntary.
But my reaction isn’t normal. This is all him, the raw, primal effect he has on me.
His erection lies heavy against his abs, and he does not attempt to cover himself. My skin goes hot. My mouth dries out, then waters again. Normally, in this type of situation, I would reach for a towel to give us both a chance to reset.
But I don’t.
Instead, I stand there, fingers frozen, heart racing, waiting to see what he’ll do next.