Chapter 2
JAMIE
“Synergy Health Hub, Jamie speaking. How can I help you?” I recite, robotically.
The phone has been ringing off the hook, but that’s a given on Mondays. Not being able to breathe between answering the calls is exhausting, but for once I don’t mind.
I spent the weekend scouring ‘roommate wanted’ ads—the choices are abysmal, by the way—and drowning in self-pity.
I can’t stop ruminating over the last few months, trying to think of anything that might’ve suggested David was done with me.
I know there’s no point—it is what it is, and David’s not coming back, but it’s been driving me insane.
How can someone be so blind that they don’t notice when their partner isn’t even attracted to them?
My only explanation is that I did notice and subconsciously chose to ignore it. Because denial was easier than admitting I’d end up alone. Again.
The front door bell chimes, pulling me out of my spiraling thoughts.
I paste on my customer service smile. Usually, it’s not even fake.
The job is stressful—what job isn’t at times?
—and it’s not something I want to do forever, but I do genuinely enjoy interacting with people and helping them.
Sure, I don’t help them as much as our practitioners, but a smile and a kind word go a long way.
And if everything goes well, I’ll be able to help as a practitioner soon as well.
My massage therapist certificate isn’t that far away.
I glance up at the newcomer, and my heart rate spikes.
Tyler.
If I hadn’t been so swamped with phone calls and emails (and too busy feeling sorry for myself), I would’ve seen his name in the booking system. I would’ve done something about the dark circles under my eyes and the hair I didn’t bother brushing before I left for work.
I resist rolling my eyes. Look at me, acting as if I’d ever have a smidgen of a chance with someone like him. Still, it would be nice if I didn’t look like a bog monster when those hazel eyes fix on me.
Tyler strides in with that easy confidence, like he’s got a perpetual spotlight following him.
He’s got that sexy, rugged look going on—his brown hair is tied into a messy bun and, combined with his short-trimmed beard and lightly tanned skin, it makes him look like he stepped out of an episode of The Survivor.
Not to mention that the deadly combination of a white T-shirt and grey sweatpants leaves absolutely nothing to the imagination. Not my imagination, that’s for sure.
He gives me a grin, the one that always hits like a ray of sunshine on a cold, windy day.
“Morning, Jamie.”
Dear God. How can he make my boring name sound so good in that voice of his?
“Morning,” I manage, keeping my tone neutral and very non-thirsty.
I scan the bookings for his name. “Seeing Claire today?” He’s only been seeing a chiropractor for the past six weeks, but I double-check just in case.
There are a lot of patient cross-referrals within the multidisciplinary clinic, and mistakes happen.
“Yep.”
I mark him as arrived so Claire can come fetch him when she’s ready.
“She won’t be long. Want some water while you wait?”
“Nah, I have some in the car, thanks.” He leans his forearms on the counter, and I can’t help but be drawn to his hands. They’re nice hands, big and strong. The kind of hands that could hold someone down without breaking a sweat.
“How’s your day going so far?” Tyler asks. He always does. To be fair, most of our patients do, but it sounds different coming from him. Maybe it’s the way his gaze pins me in place as he waits for my answer. As if he really wants to know.
Maybe—and this is more likely—I’m just making it up.
“It’s good.” I turn my attention to the computer, so I don’t give the lie away.
And so I don’t end up staring at his stupidly handsome face.
Hopefully, he won’t think I’m being rude or ignoring him.
Tyler’s so nice, I’d hate for him to think badly of me.
Just the mere idea makes something inside me twist.
“Yeah? You look…tired.” The pause makes it sound as though he wanted to say something else but changed his mind.
“You know how Mondays are. It’s mayhem.” I use the excuse.
His brows pinch, as if he’s worried, and it does something strange and dangerous to my chest. Tyler’s strikingly good looks I can get over—it takes effort, but I can.
Kindness, though? Kindness has always been my kryptonite.
Even when it's insincere, because my affection-starved heart can’t tell the difference.
To make it worse, Tyler is both beautiful and kind.
And definitely not good for my heart. Until today, I’d had guilt to hold me back—no thirsting after hot, kind, and likely straight men when you have a man at home.
But that’s over. Now I’m supposed to hold myself back by sheer willpower.
Might as well call it Mission Impossible: Needy Bottom Edition.
Tyler is watching me, the line between his brows deepening. He looks like he’s going to say something, mouth already parting, but then his name is called out. He seems to hesitate, giving me a long look before flashing a quick smile and heading into Claire’s room.
I blow out my cheeks before exhaling hard and force my brain to focus on work. It’s not difficult. The next fifteen minutes pass in a blur of answering phones, checking in patients, printing referral forms, and pretending I don’t glance toward the chiro room every few minutes.
When Tyler finally emerges, rolling his shoulders like everything’s been realigned, I force a professional smile.
“How did it go?” I ask when he approaches.
“So good.”
He lets out a groan that shouldn’t be sexy. Alas, my brain doesn’t get the memo, sending a rush of heat through me. My mind supplies scenario after scenario where Tyler makes the exact same sound, just under different circumstances. NSFW circumstances.
“T-that’s good,” I stutter, ever the professional. I put the payment through for him and follow it up with the same question as always. “When would you like your next appointment?”
“Actually, would you have a spot available for massage? Next week, if possible.”
“Yeah, sure.” I pull up next week’s schedule. “Did Claire recommend one?”
“Yeah, she thinks I might be too knotted up to properly benefit from the adjustments and might need some soft tissue release first.” He chuckles. “Can’t say she’s wrong. My body’s a mess.”
“Looks good to me.” Oh. My. God. I said that. I just said that to Tyler. “I d-didn’t—I meant—”
Tyler throws his head back with a boisterous laugh. I stare at him stupidly, my face on fire.
“Thanks, I’m flattered,” he says, smiling wide, his eyes sparkling with good-natured humor.
I’m still dying here. “Sorry. That wasn’t very appropriate.”
“Pfft, not at all. Nice to hear that destroying myself at the gym is paying off. Especially since it’s the reason my body is a mess.”
“Let’s book you that appointment, shall we?” I change the subject before I can combust from embarrassment. “What day works best for you? Monday again? Similar time?”
“Yeah, if you have a spot.”
I scan the schedule, not really seeing timeslots or therapist names. I’m seeing Tyler, face-down on one of our tables, stripped down to his underwear, waiting for someone to touch him—waiting for me to touch him. A thin sheet the only thing between that gorgeous, muscular body and my hands.
I know exactly how I’d work on him. I bet he’d melt the moment I worked into his traps—those things are always tight on guys like him.
I’d start slow, palms gliding along the length of his spine, feeling the warmth of his skin under the oil, thumbs sinking into the tense muscles.
He’d be warm and solid under my hands, letting out all kinds of low, dirty noises whenever I’d find the right spot, voicing his approval.
“Yeah, that’s good,” and “Just like that,” and “Your hands feel fucking amazing, Jamie,” and—
I clear my throat and force my eyes back to the appointment list, scrolling like my life depends on it.
This is inappropriate. So, so incredibly inappropriate.
I’m literally a couple of months away from being licensed. The last thing I need is to start acting like some perv drooling over a client. People with sick minds like mine are the reason why massage therapists get bad rep!
Okay, calm down, Jamie. You’re being dramatic. You’re not qualified yet.
Yeah, that’s right. No need to panic. Plus, I’ve practiced on other students in my class, some of them very attractive, and I’ve never had weird thoughts about them. For all I know, my brain will switch into a professional mode the second I begin treatment. That’s how it works, right?
God, I really hope so.
Bottom line is, I’m not actually a massage therapist yet, and Tyler is not my patient. All these thoughts are just that—thoughts. Harmless, idle. Natural. I’m allowed to find people attractive, especially now.
I’d never let myself imagine things like this when I was with David.
Every time my brain so much as drifted toward someone else, I smacked the thought down, like it was unfaithful.
I also felt guilty and shallow for, sometimes, wishing that David was bigger, stronger.
Someone who could throw me over their shoulder like I weighed nothing.
He wasn’t weak or anything—he just wasn’t that type.
It wasn’t his fault. So I always shut that train of thought down, too.
But now I’m single. And the train is back on track.
And Tyler is right here. How am I supposed to resist that?
It doesn’t matter anyway. He gives off straight energy. Warm and friendly, sure, but so many straight guys are like that when they’re comfortable. And like I’ve said, Tyler is kind, easy-going. Anyone would swoon over him.
Pulling myself together, I finish booking him with the senior therapist, Riley, not feeling at all jealous.
“Okay, you’re all set. Next Monday, at 10:15.”
He fiddles with his phone, likely putting the appointment in his calendar.
“Perfect. Thanks, Jamie.” There it is again—my name, spoken in that warm, gentle voice. And that smile. God, that smile. That’s the killer.
“Anytime,” I squeak, trying to appear busy as I type on the keyboard.
“Hey.” Tyler leans slightly over the counter, so close I can smell him. Surprise, surprise, he smells delicious, spicy and musky. All man. “It’s going to be okay.”
“What?” I blink at him. Fuck, he’s even more gorgeous up-close. And he has freckles. So cute.
“Whatever is eating at you,” he goes on, eyes incredibly soft. “It’s going to be okay. I promise. Nothing lasts forever.” He gives me another of those smiles and a wink that almost undoes me completely. “See you next week, Jamie.”
“See you,” I echo too late, watching his back as he heads out.
I swear the room exhales when he’s gone. Or maybe that’s just me. My chest feels tight and achey, in a strangely pleasant way. Like something is trying to settle in a place where there was always nothing.
Shit. This isn’t just basic attraction anymore.
I have a crush on him, can feel it blooming in the cracks left behind by the breakup. It’s not a huge one, not life-ruining: although even the smallest thing can be life-ruining when it involves a straight guy.
Not that my brain cares, feeding me fantasies about Tyler and me. Alone. Naked. Those big hands on me, that strong body on top of me, settling between my spread legs—
I groan and drop my face in my hands. I’m fucked, and not in the way I’d like.