Chapter 24
Chapter twenty-four
Tom
I’m getting old, sore in places I didn’t even know I could get sore.
It’s not just my back, the ache stretches all the way to my stomach.
My arms feel like rubber, walking is a punishment, and don’t even get me started on the stabbing pain in my ass cheeks. Which, by the way, didn’t get the action they deserved.
Maybe that’s the problem. It wasn’t the usual action.
I’m slouched against the sun-warmed bricks outside Yosh’s studio, letting the heat soothe my lower back. I saw him swimming from Playa Arcadia to Playa Tortuga while I was having breakfast on the terrace. That was about half an hour ago and he hasn’t returned yet.
He’s never late, but maybe that’s on me. I got here fifteen minutes early, just in case he was already here. Ridiculous, I know. but I couldn’t help it.
I got up after dawn and stumbled to the fruit market in town to get him a guava. Apparently, it's loaded with protein. It’s the island equivalent of bringing roses since resources are limited out here.
Back in Europe, I would have kidnapped him to Paris for a weekend full of exploring. Yes, the city too.
But I guess that’s not really his style, He doesn’t care for grand gestures. He finds joy in the small things of life, like this piece of tropical fruit.
Samira walks by and greets me. I squint behind my sunglasses, raising an arm in slow motion. Everything hurts.
I watch her head toward the front desk. Looks like that’s her shift today.
Then she stops and turns. So does the breakfast chef.
Everyone turns, so I do the same.
And yeah. Now I get why.
Yosh has entered the courtyard, shoulders still wet, towel roughing up his hair. The sun shines on his face in a way that makes me want to be that light. Everyone stares. I stare harder.
When he spots me, his face breaks into a smile, and I find myself mirroring it.
Just like that, time unfreezes and everyone goes back to minding their own business.
I tap my watch dramatically. “I expect my therapist to be on time. Let’s not make this a habit,” I tease in a whining old lady voice.
The towel flies straight into my face.
“Shut up, McKenna. I woke up in the middle of the night and reorganised the infirmary’s supplies. Then I worked out, went for a swim, and stretched on the beach.”
“Wow. I’m fucking exhausted after yesterday and you’re still buzzing. How do you do that?” I circle him while he unlocks the door to his studio.
He shrugs and we step inside. “Take a seat, I’ll take a quick shower.”
He disappears into what I assume are his quarters. Meanwhile I sink onto his lime-green couch.
Seriously, what’s with the lime green obsession? The couch is one thing, but owning a lime-green car? That’s no coincidence. Maybe I should keep an eye out for lime-green lace for my next move.
I place the guava on the coffee table next to an open book. I flip it shut to check the cover; Trigger Points, complete with an image of the human muscular system.
One look is all it takes for me to push it away. This stuff’s way over my head.
Yosh specializes in things I didn’t even know existed. Then again, he’s always studying, collecting certificates like they’re cereal box prizes.
“Interesting?” Yosh asks as he walks back in, folding the collar of his Arcadia shirt. He pauses in front of the mirror to clip his wet hair back.
“What the hell is a trigger point?”
Yosh places his hand on my shoulder. Instantly, a sharp pain shoots through my entire body. I leap to my feet, swearing colorfully in my thickest Aberdeen accent.
Yosh bursts into laughter.
“That’s a trigger point,” he says through his chuckles. “You’ve got plenty of them.”
“How do you know?” I ask, rubbing my shoulder with suspicion.
He gives me a look that says he’s enjoying this a bit too much.
“I can tell by your posture. The way you walk. The way you lift your arms. The curve of your back. The position of your shoulders, your hips, your knees, how your feet are aligned…”
I lose it from there, he keeps talking and talking with a caffeine-level intensity.
“What do you say we tackle some of those trigger points today?” His thumb points at the treatment table.
Yesyesyes.
“Only if you think it’ll benefit me.”
“Oh, I think it will.”
The playful undertone in his voice tells me he knows something I don’t. Which, of course, only fuels the urge to do something stupid enough to drive him insane.
Apparently, that’s my primal way of flirting.
Let’s see what he comes up with. I can always improvise.
“Lie down on the table and take your shirt off.” The usual softness in his therapist-voice is nowhere to be found. My eyes dart around, not really sure where to focus, but then I decide to play along.
“Yes, Doctor,” I purr, giving him the sluttiest version of that word I can manage.
Face down, staring at the floor through the hole in the table, I hear his footsteps getting closer.
The cap of a bottle snaps open, followed by the slick sound of him rubbing oil between his palms. The nutty hint of almond fills my nose.
A breath leaves me when those warm hands land on my back, sliding up in one long motion from my spine to my neck, probably taking in the mess he’s working with.
Shoulders, ribs, down along my spine to the dip of my lower back.
The pressure builds as his thumbs dig into a tight strip of muscle between my shoulder blades.
I flinch, even though I’m trying my best not to. He feels it and pauses.
“Sore?”
“A bit. Yesterday’s demolition work wasn’t exactly ergonomic.”
“I figured.” His palms glide over my back before his thumbs take over at my neck.
“That’s why you deserve this little treat. What happened to your shins, by the way? You’ve got a couple of nasty bruises there.”
“The pool stairs,” I say quickly. Too quickly. “Stupid me.”
It’s believable. Pool stairs are basically designed to take chunks out of you.
He hums. “You’ve been clumsy a lot lately.”
“It’s the island. It’s trying to humble me.”
Another hum. Not convinced, I can tell.
But there’s no way in hell I’m telling him the truth about those bruises. They’ll fade.
He shifts his stance and presses again, working the tight knot loose.
Then he softens, easing the pressure, and I melt beneath his hand. There’s warmth in his touch. Care.
“You’re amazing, you know that?”
“I hear that often.” A faint smile in his voice. “Try to relax. You’re tightening everything up.”
“I’m trying. It just feels like every part of me’s pissed off.”
“I Can imagine. You were swinging that crowbar like you were possessed. Trying to impress me?”
“No,” I say immediately, “I don’t need to impress you. I just wanted to make you happy.”
The pressure eases, his hands going still on my back. A soft swallow follows, barely audible. Then he starts again, hands working faster this time.
Long strokes slide beneath my shoulder blades, coaxing more air, and one humiliating groan after another out of me. My muscles finally start to unclench, one by one.
“How about you?” I ask, my eyes half-closed now. “Feel anything after yesterday?”
“Sore in my arms this morning, but the swim helped. It always does.”
“Maybe I should try that. Trade demolition for exercise that doesn’t try to kill me.”
“Not a bad idea. You would sleep better, plus your muscles wouldn’t hate you after a day like yesterday.”
“That’s no fun.”
“A bit of movement wouldn’t hurt you, McKenna.”
“Is this your way of telling me I’m out of shape?”
“Your body’s telling me that. Don’t shoot the messenger.”
I huff a laugh, a little broken when he presses down on me.
“You’ve got a lot stored up here,” he says more intensely now. “Not just soreness... Tension.”
His hands slow down, feeling his weight on my back as he moves close behind my ear.
“I know how to treat that,” he whispers softly, the faintest touch of his lips on my skin.
Oh... my... god. Did he? Did he just do that?
He’s trying to beat me at my own game. The prick has probably been plotting this all weekend.
I try to get up but he pushes me right back into the table.
“We’re not done yet.”
He reaches for more oil, continuing to work over the sore spots, all the way down to my lower back. I clench my teeth.
I hate how good he is at this.
He knows exactly what he’s doing. Pressing hard enough to make it hurt in the right way, slow enough to make me full on hard.
I can’t help the smug grin as I flip two imaginary fingers at Jay.
Eat this, fucker. You wanted to punish me? Exile me? Look how that story gets a very fucking happy ending.
“You’re unusually quiet,” Yosh says, yanking me out of my thoughts.
“Maybe. But you’re unusually wicked.”
His thumbs pause at the edge of my shorts. I hold my breath.
“You want me to stop?”
No.
Yes.
Fuck.
“Didn’t say that.”
“You can tell me to stop anytime. I mean it. We're not going anywhere you don’t feel comfortable with.”
“I’m going to scream if you stop now.”
That gets a dark laugh out of him.
He leans in, his chest grazing my back. It lets him reach deeper, fingertips gliding over my tailbone, into the curve of my ass. He’s gentler now, careful like he expects me to pull away.
I don’t. I want him to know that.
The moan that slips out when he touches my crease is thick with desperation.
It hits me, I need to play along. Make him tremendously horny so he has no choice but to flip me over and do fuck knows what. That would be so scandalous.
“You alright?” he asks.
“I’m fine.”
“You’re breathing a little heavier than before.”
“You’re imagining things.”
His hands slide over my arse to my hips, then glide back up along my ribs. His fingers move in slow, deep circles over my nipples, toying with them as they harden under his touch. The groan that follows is involuntary.
Fuckfuckfuck.
My hips grind against the table, again and again.
I’m pretty sure this is payback for yesterday, and a clear reminder I can’t get away with all the shit I pull.