Then her thumb rams into a spot between my spine and shoulder blade, and it feels like she slid a knife into me.
“Ahhhh, shit,” I say, unable to hold it back.
She just holds still, keeping the pressure steady. “Let’s see if this will break it up.”
“What is it?”
“Big knot. Really big.” Her fingertips suddenly feel very warm, as if she flipped a switch. Okay, that’s weird. But the knot begins to ease.
“You’ve got some mad skills with those hands. You can rub me down any time you like.” Of course, I don’t think about what that sounds like until after I’ve said it.
She makes a sound of sheer exasperation. I can’t really blame her. Even I’m frustrated with myself at this point. I can’t get my foot out of my own mouth, and I can’t get my dick to behave. I shift around again, trying to find a comfortable position. There’s no such thing.
She jerks back and makes that angry noise again. “For God’s sake, Austin. What is it now? Can you not hold still for five seconds?”
“I’m sorry. Really.”
“That’d sound a lot more sincere if I thought you actually meant it.” She takes her hands away, shaking them. “That’s it. I’m done. There’s only so much I can do with you flopping around like a trout on a boat dock.”
I lever up on my elbows to look at her. She’s furious—eyes sparking, a patch of dark pink high on each cheek. Goddamn, but she’s hot. And too damn smart. Normally I steer away from women like that—they want more than I’m willing to give them. But this one…
“Could you stop staring at me?” she snaps, and I realize I’m totally gaping at her like the flopping trout she just accused me of being. “And get up and get dressed and get the hell out of here. What are you waiting for?”
I get the feeling she wants me to leave. She’s so subtle about it, it’s hard to be sure. I don’t want to get up. Getting up right now would be a disaster. As mad as she is right now, she’s going to be even madder if I stand up, because that damn erection has a mind of its own, and it’s not going anywhere anytime soon.
I can’t really explain that to her, though. Sorry, Doc, but I need to lay here for another half hour or so until my boner goes away. Though it might not go over any worse than if I just stand up and display said boner. Or maybe she won’t notice. I mean, I can’t be the first guy who’s popped wood on her massage table, can I?
I shift to the side and sit up, moving the blanket over my lap. I can maybe wrap the blanket around my waist. I try to arrange it so it looks natural, but of course it doesn’t.
Okay, I’ve done the best I could. I stand up.
And the blanket tents like it’s trying to cover the center ring at the circus.
Don’t notice. Don’t notice…
She notices. Glances down, then back up with a look that could melt flesh. I blink at her. She isn’t just angry. She’s livid. I’ve never seen anyone look the way that word sounds until just this moment.
At the same time, my own face is going hot, and I’m starting to feel like I’m about two inches tall.
“Are you serious? Do you have any self-control?”
I’m not about to back down now. It’s not like I can actually do anything about my cock. I cross my arms over my chest, no longer remotely apologetic.
“That’s never really been my forte.”
“You’re out of line!”
Give me a fucking break. “I’m a man. I get excited when a hot chick rubs my naked body. Don’t act like I’m the first guy to get a hard on from a massage.”
Her cheeks blaze. “That’s not the point!”
“You’re right. You’re the one who looked at my cock.” I raise a finger, wagging it in front of her. “Naughty.’”
“I did not look at your dick.”
“You totally looked.”
She glowers. “I did not!”
“Then how did you know I was hard?”
“It’s practically a flag right now!”
“So you did look.”
“I did not intentionally look.”
That makes me swell with pride. “Oh, now it’s unintentional.” Damn it, but I love seeing her get so worked up over this. “So if I said I unintentionally glanced at your tits, would you believe me?”
“You’re a pig.”
“Why are you so uptight? Do you think I care that you checked me out? That’s not something to be embarrassed about.” That’s fucking hot.
“I’m not embarrassed. I’m annoyed, and now you’re starting to piss me off.”
Wow. She’s got a bug up her ass.
“How do you think I feel? I’m doing everything I can to ignore you by watching the game, and then you slut-shame me—”
She cuts me off. “Did you really just use the word slut-shame in a sentence? Wow. Act like an adult and own up to the fact that you’ve been inappropriate this whole time.”
“That’s a good idea. I think if we can both act like mature adults, we can still have a ‘happy ending’ here.” And this time, deliberately, in time with the words ‘happy ending,’ I give my hips a little thrust.
“Oh my God. Never ask me to work with you again. You understand me?”
“Whatever.’”
She spins on her heel, stalks toward the door, and tears it open. “Stupid. Stupid football players,” she growls to herself. “What the ever-loving hell—”
The door slams shut behind her. At first, it feels like a victory. I got one up on the too-clenched-up-for-her-own-good physical therapist. But by the time I get my clothes out of their neat pile on the chair in the corner and start getting dressed, it’s all starting to piss me off. No woman should get under my skin like this. I’m too smart for that shit.
And what the fuck was that “stupid football players” comment? I went to college. Shit, I’ve got a degree. Maybe not some fancy master’s or whatever you have to have to be a physical therapist, but it’s a legitimate college degree. I worked hard for that diploma, unlike some of the other guys on my college team. I had a family counting on me to keep my grades up so I wouldn’t lose my scholarship.
She’s probably from some kind of snobby rich-ass family, probably never had to worry about money for a day of her life. Sure as hell never had to worry about a kid, or a sick parent. Sure, she’s hot as fuck, and damn, would I love to hit that, but there’s no way she’s going to see me as anything but a dumb jock. Some people are just that way. Best to let it go, move on, and use one of the other on-staff physical therapists like I’ve been doing.
On the other hand… Fucking with people like her is straight-up fun. I could bring her down a peg or two. Make her admit she wants my dick. The anger making my ears hot starts to fade a little, and I grin.
Yeah. That could be really, really entertaining.
I fish my phone out of my pocket, ignoring the “No Cell Phones, Please” sign on the wall, and call my manager.
3
Chloe
Slut-shaming: an unfortunate phenomenon in which people degrade or mock a woman because she enjoys sex, has sex often, or from rumors based on her sexual activity.
I push back from my desk and rub my eyes from the glare of the tiny screen of my phone. I can’t believe he actually made me look up the definition.
Yeah, there’s no way I was slut-shaming Austin-freaking-Sherwood. The guy made a happy-endings joke. How does anybody manage to be such an asshole? I know the answer to that, though. He’s been pampered and petted and told he was God’s gift to the world since he stepped onto his first varsity lineup. I know the type far too well. And I hate them.
My throat tightens as I sit behind my desk, completely aware of the fact that I’m probably going to get fired. You don’t get called on your day off by your boss to get an atta-girl. Sure, Austin was an asshole, but I fucked up. I lost my cool. He was baiting me. I knew that, and I still fell for it.
It’s not like I’m new to sports-related physical therapy. I’ve worked with football players before, and I’ve mostly ignored them. And even the fact he popped wood on the table—it’s not like that doesn’t happen on a fairly regular basis. Hell, I know a lot of professional massage therapists who’ve seen that probably ninety times more often than I do. It’s just…one of those things.
If I’d stayed professional, it might not have been a big deal. So why did I lash out at him so hard?
Because he’s really fucking hot, that’s why.
I’ve never reacted to a man that way before. Uncertain and flustered, like I suddenly grew extra hands and maybe an extra head. Like every time he looks at me, my skin catches on fire. I’ve never had such a hard…make that difficult time working with a patient. I’ve never had such a difficult time keeping myself focused, paying attention to the landscape beneath the skin instead of the shape of the body itself, the textures, the smells, the heat pouring into my fingers… Thinking about what it would feel like to be under that big, strong body, taking his weight on my chest. And I’m pretty sure the reason I got so irritated about his arousal is because it mirrored mine. Because I wanted to get more closely acquainted with it. Much more closely.