10. Noah #2
We were supposed to be dating, which meant we were supposed to be comfortable with undressing in front of each other. Although I might have gotten tiny flashes over breakfast this morning—a collarbone here, a wrist there—I didn’t think either of us was ready to fully disrobe.
She made a circle motion with her finger. “Fine. Turn around.”
I turned around. There was some shuffling and the sound of fabric falling to the ground. For the second time today, Macey was naked in my presence. I heard a pumping sound, only for it to be the sound of my heart racing.
How sick was it that I was tempted to turn around? I never would betray Macey’s trust like that, and the last thing I wanted was to make her uncomfortable. It was better this way, staring at the tiny water bottles by the wall instead of the woman who I wanted to kiss. As a starting point.
She is your fake girlfriend, Noah. You’ll probably never see her after this weekend. Get your shit together.
Besides, she’d made it clear that she was not interested in me in that way. I’d never forget the horror in her eyes at her realization we’d have to pretend to date. I couldn’t imagine her reaction to me asking her out on a real date.
“Okay, I’m getting under the sheets.”
I heard Macey crawl into the massage bed.
“You can undress now. I promise not to look.”
I spared a glance over my shoulder, where Macey was lying face down on the massage bed. The only thing she could see right now was the floor. I undressed quickly and climbed into my own bed. “I’m done, too.”
I stretched lazily on the massage table, the linen cool against my skin. Beside me, Macey lay unnaturally still.
“What’s wrong?” I asked.
Macey shifted so her temple was pressed against the headrest. “I’ve never done this before.”
“I would be a little insulted if you’ve already had a couples massage with a fake boyfriend.”
“No, I’ve never had a massage before.”
I propped myself up slightly, trying to keep my amusement in check. Even more important, keep my eyes in check. At the bottom of my vision was the soft skin of Macey’s collarbone. “Really? ”
“Nope.” She huffed. “I don’t know, the idea of a stranger kneading me like bread always sounded weird.”
I smirked. “You do realize that’s the appeal, right?”
She shot me a look. “Is it? Or is the appeal signing up to get publicly humiliated when they find out my back is just one giant knot?”
“That sounds like a very specific kink. I’m not against it, though.” Her fingers tightened around the linen, and I sighed deeply. “Don’t overthink it, Scribbles.”
“I’m not overthinking,” she said. “I’m just mentally preparing. What if I can’t relax? What if I tense up so much they have to call in reinforcements?”
I chuckled. “That would be a first. I highly doubt you have that much tension.”
She peeked at me, narrowing her eyes. “Maybe I didn’t, until I was forced to spend all this time with you and?—”
The moment the masseuses walked in, all serene smiles and effortless grace, Macey practically flung her face back into the headrest. I turned my head away just in time to compose myself. Barely.
“Are we ready to begin?” one of the masseuses asked in a calm, melodic voice.
Macey made a noise that might’ve been a yes.
I said, “Oh, I definitely am.”
Macey’s hand twitched like she wanted to reach over and smack me.
Soft island music played through hidden speakers, blending with the rustling palm trees outside. The masseuses poured warm oil into their hands, the scent of coconut and vanilla orchid filling the air. The second the first stroke of pressure rolled over my shoulders, I let out a deep exhale.
“See?” I said, voice melting into relaxation. “Not so bad, right? ”
Macey made a noise, the sound of someone slipping into pure bliss.
I grinned. “Is that a yes?”
“Shut up,” she murmured, but there was no bite to it.
The masseuse’s hands moved expertly over my back, kneading tension I hadn’t even realized I was carrying. I sank deeper into the table, letting the steady pressure work through each muscle.
Then, from beside me, I heard another little sound—soft, almost surprised.
“That definitely wasn’t a noise of de-stress.”
Macey retaliated, “I am not making noises.”
“Mm.” I cracked one eye open, watching her out of the corner of my vision. “Whatever you say.”
We slipped into comfortable silence, luxuriating in the massage. I was about ready for a nap when I heard it—a small, barely there squeak from the massage table next to me.
I turned my head slightly, just enough to catch Macey’s face. Her eyes were squeezed shut, her lips pressed together like she was trying very hard to will herself into serenity.
Another shift of the masseuse’s hands, and her body gave the slightest twitch.
I withheld a laugh. “Was that?—”
“It was nothing,” she said quickly, voice tight, her fingers gripping the edges of the table like she was bracing for impact.
I raised a brow. “Are you ticklish?”
“No,” she shot back, too fast, too defensive. Which, of course, meant yes .
I rolled my head back onto the headrest. As if this massage couldn’t get any better.
The masseuse, still calm and professional, kept working her way down Macey’s legs. The second her hands glided over her foot again, Macey lost it. A full-body twitch, followed by a burst of barely contained laughter, muffled by a hand over her mouth.
I watched in delight. “You are ticklish.”
“I am not .” Macey gasped, sounding desperate. “It’s just my muscles reacting.”
“Yeah. Reacting like a kid getting poked in the ribs.”
She glared at me, eyes narrowed, cheeks flushed, right before another stroke of the masseuse’s hands sent her into another helpless giggle—followed by a sudden flail of her leg.
It took me a second to process what happened, but when the masseuse let out a soft “Oh!” and Macey practically launched herself upright in horror, I was the one losing it.
“Oh no,” she stammered, turning to look at the masseuse she’d just kicked. “I am so sorry! I didn’t mean to—oh no, this is mortifying.”
I shook with laughter. “No, this is incredible.”
Macey held the sheet against her chest, but she didn’t let that stop her from glaring at me. “I hate you.”
The masseuse, the true MVP in all this, just gave a small, amused smile. “It’s okay, miss. This happens sometimes.”
“Does it?” I asked slyly. “Because I feel like it doesn’t.”
Macey peeked at me again, eyes still sharp despite her obvious humiliation. “I will kick you next.”
“Worth it.”
She let out another muffled groan, but I caught the way her lips twitched. And when the masseuse very carefully avoided that spot for the rest of the session, I had to fight back another laugh.