36. Rosy
THIRTY-SIX
ROSY
I’ve no idea what’s different today, but from the moment I walked into the gym, my skin felt static. Each look Nate gives me has my pulse racing and a flush working across my body. Everywhere he looks, that flush flourishes and builds.
I’ve never had this much of a connection with anyone other than the guys before, and if this is what sexual tension is supposed to be like…well, shit, I’ve been missing out. I’m almost panting, and he’s not done anything other than look and speak to me.
I can’t even attribute my elevated heart rate to the exercise, because even now, he’s walking on the treadmill beside me, face forward and not even looking at me. But he knows I’m looking at him. Every side glance I give him has a small smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth.
It’s completely, utterly ridiculous that it can have this much of an effect on me.
His head turns towards me, catching me in the act. “Careful not to trip. You’re not looking where you’re going.”
It takes a minute to realise what he’s said, because the growl in his tone was all my brain could initially lock onto. The pure vibration of it.
Would he be opposed if I asked if he could…you know, do it when he’s between my legs? He’d make a good vibrator.
“Handles,” I squeak, feeling way too exposed when he looks at me so closely whilst I’m thinking all the dirty things. “I have handles. I’m holding them, and I’m watching where I’m going.” I nod down at my hands that are white-knuckled around the machine’s support bars.
He offers that knowing smirk again.
So I turn my head back, choosing to ignore him.
Mostly.
We spend the remainder of the walk in silence. It’s not relaxed, though, because I’m so obviously aware of him. Plus, my mind won’t stop thinking all the dirty thoughts about him, and the more I think of them, the more I’m panicking that he can tell what I’m thinking.
Just as we bring the treadmills to a stop, he finishes typing something on his phone and slips it into his pocket.
“Can I take you somewhere?” He breaks the quiet between us as he comes to stand in front of me.
My brows crease at his question. We’re in our sweaty gym wear…where’s appropriate for us to go like this?
“Okay,” I agree, still puzzled but unable to turn down any extra time with him.
He flashes a smile so brief it’s gone before I can take my fill of it, but the lingering vision has me rooted to the spot in both shock and awe. I only move when he tugs on my hand.
What do I need to offer in return so I can have more of those rare smiles? It might not have been wide and full, not an obvious one, but for Nate to have shared it with me, it means everything.
His smirks I’ve got used to, but now I’m greedy and want his smiles too.
The cool breeze has me jolting back to my surroundings as Nate guides me in the opposite direction of home.
The sweat cooling against my skin has a shiver skating through me.
It’s still too cold to be without layers, but I’d completely forgotten to grab a fleece before I’d left home earlier.
Noticing my chill, he tugs me closer, looping his arm over my shoulders and holding me close without letting go of my hand.
How he makes it work, I don’t know, but I’m left with his body heat pressed to my side, and my fingers remaining entwined with his.
“Better?” he asks, dropping a kiss on my hair.
“Much, thank you,” I reply, unable to stop the smile from framing my cheeks. He can’t see it, so I can relax and let the giddiness shine through without feeling worried he might think I’m too much.
After turning down another road, he steers us to a shop, pushing through the door before I can see the name of it.
Warmth greets us; the space cosy and narrow, decorated with blues and greys.
The sides are lined with a few armchairs, and a small desk sits directly to the right.
There’s still no indication of what the establishment is, and I’m about to ask when a man walks in from a doorway at the back.
“Hey, man, how you doing?” he calls out to Nate, offering his hand in greeting.
Nate removes his arm from my shoulder and steps forward and embraces him, their hands clasping as they pull each other in for a quick hug.
Flutters spark in my stomach as Nate steps back to me as soon as they let go, his hand sliding around mine without even looking.
He makes it feel…natural. Even when he’s here with someone who’s obviously a friend, whether conscious or not, his mind still considers me.
“Good, just with my girl,” Nate replies, and shit if that doesn’t send me soaring.
Glancing down, I check to see if my feet are still touching the floor. He’s making it all too easy to fall for him.
“How’s Talia?”
The man’s face breaks into a wide, dimpled smile. Dressed in all black, with a pair of joggers teamed with a T-shirt, it makes his lightly freckled face stand out more.
“Too perfect for me,” the man replies, eyes crinkling at the corners with fondness.
“Fucking too right,” Nate snorts, squeezing my hand and tugging me forward slightly. “Is the room ready?”
“Yup, all good. You can use the one on the right. Done for the day, so I’m heading out now. Lock up when you’re done?” he says, holding out a set of keys. “I’ll grab them from you when I see you Thursday for your session.”
“Will do,” Nate replies, walking us towards the doorway the man had walked through before.
“It was nice to meet you…”
“Rosy,” I call back over my shoulder, trying not to laugh at the situation.
“Nice to meet you, Rosy. I’m Jack. Feel free to remind your caveman that I’m taken, so he doesn’t need to hide you.” He laughs as we disappear down a short corridor that has a door on either side.
Nate just grunts in response, and I can’t tell if it’s in disagreement or not.
As we enter the room on the right, I’m left feeling even more confused. It’s small and cosy, with a chair in the far corner and a massage table in the centre of the space.
“Um…?”
Nate drops his gym bag from his shoulder, then turns to face me. “Can I give you one?” He points at the table.
“A…massage?” I ask. Why does he want to massage me?
“Yes,” he confirms, not filling me in on anything else. It’s not that I don’t trust his intentions; I really do. Nate has never been anything but all in. He might be grumbly, but he always seems to have me high on his priorities.
“Okay, can I ask why?”
He pauses his task of retrieving some towels from a cupboard. “Why? To take care of you.” For some reason, he seems to be the confused one. “Need you in your underwear. I can turn around?”
I’m unsurprised he hasn’t offered to leave the room.
The more time we spend with one another, the more he seems to worry.
I can’t lie and pretend I hate it either.
The nervous part of me wants to take him up on the offer, to shimmy out of my clothes and duck under the towels he’s placed onto the bed.
But there’s an unfurling spontaneity that’s unfamiliar.
That part is demanding I make him watch, to feel his eyes of appreciation on me.
My pulse feels loud, my mouth dry as I don’t respond with words. My hands come up to the zip on my long-sleeved Lycra top. I grip it and try to ignore the fizzle of insecurity.
It’s just clothes. Clothes covering body parts we all have. Just take them off.
Just as I’m about to bail and ask him to turn around, my eyes catch his. His dark brown irises are almost black as they stare into me. His body is tense, and his hands are fisted so tightly the veins curling up his bare arms are bulging, drawing my gaze.
It reminds me…this man is attracted to me. He wants what I have to offer. He doesn’t have the hangups and insecurities I have. He sees me and likes what he sees.
Feeling the confidence trickle back in, I tug on the zipper. The sound is obnoxiously loud in this small space. Peeling off my top, I don’t give myself time to panic again as I slip my thumbs into the waistband of the mauve leggings and wiggle them off too.
“Perfect,” Nate says, his deep voice husky. He taps the bed, indicating for me to lie on it. I get positioned on the padded table, fitting my face comfortably into the gap.
“Can I?” He brushes his finger against my bra clasp, the touch sending a shiver through my back and down to my fingertips.
“Yes,” I consent, trying to stay calm and not fist the towel under me as he undoes the strap, the fabric falling down my sides.
The sound of a bottle opening breaks the quiet, and a second later, the smell of menthol fills the air as his slick hands glide on my back.
My low groan has him pausing, then he chuckles. “Good?”
“Yes,” I agree, enjoying the way his hands push and knead my tired, tense muscles. The silence lingers comfortably between us as he focuses on loosening me up.
“Is this a side hustle you do?” I ask after a while, although the words feel pushed out from the weight on my back.
“No. Studied it a bit but didn’t end up pursuing,” he says, his hands trailing down my arms, soothing aches I didn’t know I had.
“Shame, you’re good at it.” My response is interrupted by another appraising moan. “How did you decide on being an electrician instead?”
“Did a construction course in college and picked it up the easiest.”
“Mmm,” I acknowledge, partially blissed out from his hands. “Is Jack your physio?”
“Yes, he’s good. I come once a month. I’ll book you in with me if you want, can change my time to suit you?” he offers, and I’m glad he can’t see my smile. Definitely a caveman, but he’s sweet about it.
“Thank you, but I think I’ll just ask you if I need another one.”
His hands squeeze my shoulders. “Any time,” he promises, and my reply disappears as his hands travel down my lower back and…knead my butt.
Nate’s hands are massaging my butt.
Without thought I fist the towel, and as his thumbs slide along the seam of my underwear, I do everything I can to hold in the moan that wants to fall free.
He’s giving me a massage—a friendly, muscle-relaxing massage. I’m not supposed to be getting turned on.
Am I?