Chapter 6
CHAPTER
SIX
Charli
My eyes are drawn in the most inappropriate and unprofessional way possible.
I can’t help it, it’s just…there.
Male clients have gotten erections before, and it’s never really bothered me. It’s part of it. I just don’t draw attention to it, while they do their best to conceal it. Hard to do with a thin blanket over you, but whatever. I get it. It’s biology.
But Quinn’s erection? I’m suddenly having very untimely and dirty thoughts, and my eyes keep sliding back to take in the view.
And what a view it is. Long, thick, and very hard. Even through his boxer briefs and the blanket, I get a pretty good idea of what he’s packing. How could I not? It’s outlined perfectly in front of me.
Clearing my throat, I move to his head so I can work on his shoulders and neck.
Of course, when I get into position, I have to force my eyes to cast downward at what I’m doing, not steal more glimpses of his cock.
I’ve never—and I mean never—had to use such restraint when it comes to a client.
Ninety-nine percent of the time, I’m a complete professional, but for some reason, with this man, my nipples are hard and my panties are soaked just at first sight, and the repeated glimpses I keep stealing aren’t helping the matter.
I apply a bit more oil to my hands and move to his shoulders.
He’s got more tattoos, ones I’ve already seen before, but this is the first time I’m truly seeing them up close and personal.
His upper arm is inked with an American flag, tattered and torn, and yet still waving with pride and freedom as it rises out of the ruins.
There’s also a tattoo of a fish, and that one always makes me smile. Camden has the same one on his pec, an ode to their youthful fishing trips out at Wyatt’s property. I remember when they went to get them, both freshly eighteen and able to sign their own consent.
“What are you grinning at?”
I look down and find dark, curious eyes watching me. “Oh,” I reply with a little chuckle. “I was just thinking of the day you and Cam went to get these tattoos,” I tell him, thumping the fish on his skin.
He laughs, a throaty, gruff sound that makes my body tingle. “That was quite a day. It was his eighteenth birthday, and we had been planning it for months. Hell, probably even years.”
“Oh, I remember. He was so proud of it. He wanted to be like Cade and Collin, with their matching tattoos,” I say, digging my fingers into his tight muscles until they start to loosen.
He chuckles before sobering, his eyes sort of rolling around as the pleasure and pain of the massage slam into him in the most euphoric dance. I love watching the feels play across the faces and bodies of my clients, but I’m not sure I’ve ever been as affected as they were.
Because…can I tell you a secret?
I am most definitely affected.
Bad.
Watching the way he responds is a huge turn-on, and that’s completely inappropriate for multiple reasons. His skin is tan and warm. He’s also muscular, but not in that way guys who spend too much time in the gym are. Quinn has muscles from his job, and a sore back to go along with it.
A wave of irritation washes over me.
Why am I suddenly attracted to Quinn?
He’s my younger brother’s best friend and was practically raised at our house.
He’s five years younger than me!
Just then, my stomach growls. Of course it’s loud, because why wouldn’t it be when I’m alone in a room with a client and it’s quiet, with the exception of the tranquil waterfall sound and soothing elevator music.
Quinn chuckles. “Hungry?”
“Apparently,” I reply, realizing I skipped lunch to accommodate back-to-back clients.
“I’m your last appointment, right?”
“Yeah,” I assure him. “I’ll grab something to eat after your appointment.”
I don’t know how I finish his massage, but I manage.
Between the hunger and the other hunger I’m feeling since I saw him standing in the room in a pair of tight boxer briefs, I do my best to focus on my own breathing.
I close my eyes when I can close them or zero in on his tattoos when I need them open.
But honestly, I can do a massage with my eyes closed almost from start to finish, not that I would.
Sometimes, I need to see their facial expressions to gauge pressure or pain just as much as I rely on the muscles themselves to speak to me.
“All done,” I say softly, stepping back from the table and desperately needing to create space.
“That was amazing,” he mutters, his eyes closed and a soft grin on his lips.
“I’ll step out and give you time to dress. No rush. Be careful getting up from the table. Sometimes you can be a little lightheaded, spacey, or sore.” With that, I exit the room like my ass is on fire.
I lean against the door and take a few deep calming breaths. I’ve spent years around Quinn, but for some reason, today is packing a punch. I can’t seem to stop thinking about him in ways I should not be thinking about him, which just makes me mad. I’m a damn professional.
The salon is silent now that it’s closed, and thanks to a soundproof room for my business, I don’t hear Quinn moving around.
When I signed my lease with Jenn almost seven years ago, we spent extra time and money soundproofing the room so the salon noises couldn’t permeate the space.
No one wants to be enjoying a nice, soothing massage and listen to a blow-dryer in the background.
I move to the counter and pull out my phone, ignoring the incoming text messages for now and pulling up my schedule. I’m off on Mondays and usually work afternoons and early evenings the rest of the week. I always try to leave myself breaks, to give my body a chance to rest.
Tuesday’s schedule isn’t too bad. Two afternoon appointments and two evening appointments, all hour-long massages. As it stands now, I’ll have a three-hour break between the two, which will be a good time to make sure I’m caught up on laundry and cleaning, both at the studio and at my condo.
I take a lot of laundry home with me. For every client, there is a fresh bottom sheet, top sheet, and thin blanket.
We have a stackable unit in the back here, but I try not to monopolize the machine with as much as I’d need to use it.
The main use is for towels for the salon, and while my lease includes some use of it, I prefer to take home the majority of my laundry each day.
I’m fiddling with my phone when the door opens to my room. Quinn exits, looking relaxed and refreshed. “All good?” I ask, grabbing a small bottle of water and holding it out for him.
“Feeling amazing,” he assures, twisting the top off the bottle and chugging the contents.
“You know all the post-massage instructions, right? I’m sure Selena went through what to do and not to do?”
He smiles widely. “Your massage therapist jealousy is showing, Charlotte.”
My eyes narrow. “I’m not jealous.”
“No? That’s good, because you couldn’t possibly take care of every client who needs a massage,” he reasons.
It’s annoying.
I roll my eyes. “Obviously.”
“So, dinner?”
His swift change of subject catches me completely off guard. “What?”
Glancing at his watch, he adds, “Well, early dinner. Or late lunch, depending on how you see it.”
My mouth drops open and I seem lost for words, which is wild, because that never happens. I always have something to say. “I’m not going to lunch or dinner with you.”
“Why?” he asks. His one-word question speaks of open curiosity. I don’t catch a lick of the argumentative nature we generally embark in, nor an ounce of irritation, which usually follows the argument.
“I—I don’t know, because I’m busy.”
I’m not.
“Doing?”
I huff out a deep breath and cross my arms over my chest. “Laundry,” I state, jutting up my chin.
“That can wait,” he insists, dropping cash on the counter and finishing his bottle of water. “Let’s go eat.”
I ignore him, though my hunger pangs are clearly paying attention.
The thought of a jumbo burger from the diner sounds pretty damn good right about now.
Not to mention breaded mushrooms and cauliflower, which is my go-to.
They’re not on the menu as a combo, but ever since I washed dishes in high school, Jeff, the owner, always does a mixture of both for me.
“You know you want it. I’m guessing a jumbo burger with extra slaw, mushrooms and cauliflower, and a strawberry milkshake.”
I look up, startled by his accuracy.
Quinn chuckles. “I’ve known you a long time, Charli. You’re not that hard to read.”
Narrowing my eyes once more, I lift my chin and ask, “Because of my resting bitch face?”
He barks out a laugh and shakes his head. “It doesn’t bother me.”
I sigh and snatch up the cash on the counter. I retrieve my money bag in the locked drawer and start to put his cash in there. That’s when I realize the amount. “Wait, this is too much,” I insist, counting five twenties. “An hour-long massage is sixty dollars.”
“Keep the rest as your tip,” Quinn replies, shoving his hands in his pockets. “It’s always a hundred bucks when I go to the other place, so that’s what you deserve too.”
My eyes practically bug out of my head. “They charge a hundred bucks? For a one-hour massage?”
“Well, it’s seventy-five or eighty, and I always leave a tip.”
I should have known Quinn would leave a generous tip.
Shoving the money bag back in the drawer, I lock the cabinet and stand up. He’s still here, staring at me, waiting. That’s when my stomach chooses to growl once more. It’s loud in the silence of the expansive space and I’m instantly pissed off.
With a huff, I move to my room, ignoring how amazing he smells as I pass by.
I rip the bedding from the table and turn off the waterfall fountain and music.
I grab a disinfectant wipe and clean the table, headrest, and footrest. Then I pick up the ball of bedding, flip off the light, and lock the room.