I know.
I know I have it bad.
I also know perfectly well I’m breaching every professional rule a massage therapist follows, swooning over her own freaking client when he’s under her.
But Blake isn’t exactly a traditional client. And I don’t typically meet men who make me come undone when I lay my hands on them.
“First caller, you’ve got Blake on tap. How can I help?”
I’m listening with bated breath as Blake croons from the little alarm-slash-radio speaker on my nightstand.
The girl on the line sounds anxious, insecure, very young. “Um. There’s…there’s a guy at school that I like. But…he’s a senior and I’m a sophomore.”
“That’s not such a big difference, honey. Just seems that way ’cause you’re young and grades mean more than age does,” Blake says gently. He’s got a different tone when he’s talking to kids, this sort of soft encouragement that doesn’t talk down to them. More like he’s taking their problems seriously. “Do you think he likes you, too?”
The girl lets out a nervous laugh. “I don’t think he even knows I’m alive. I just hope he’s not listening tonight.”
“I won’t ask your name, then, sweetheart,” Blake says with a low laugh. “Have you ever tried talking to him?”
“Oh God, talk? No way!” the girl squeaks.
Man, do I know how she feels.
Every time I think about trading banter with Mr. Silver Tongue again, maybe seek some common ground, I just clam up inside.
I’m not ready to quit, but this little game isn’t easy.
The more he winds me up, the scarier it gets to put myself out there.
It doesn’t hurt when a stranger rejects you, not really.
It’s a whole different thing when a man’s been under your hands, laying himself bare.
“What if he hates me?” the poor girl goes on, her voice shaky.
“Well, young lady,” Blake says, “he can’t hate you if he doesn’t know you. Anybody who’d hate you without knowing a darn thing about you ain’t worth your time. So maybe give him a chance to know you first, yeah? Find out if you two have anything in common. Then it’s all just talkin’ about things you both like, and that ain’t so hard at all.”
She hesitates. “He…he really likes comic books, and so do I.”
Blake lets out a soft, encouraging chuckle. “That’s a good start. You know his favorite superhero?”
“Yeah!” she gasps. “He likes She-Hulk. That’s one of my favorites, too!” Then she pauses, her voice dropping. “Ugh. I really hope he’s not listening. I sound like a creepy stalker.”
“C’mon now. It’s not stalking to notice stuff about your crush.”
No, it’s really not, I think, grinning to myself.
I’ve noticed too many things about Blake.
How he dotes on Andrea.
How he takes on too much, like he’s destined to carry the entire weight of his life on his shoulders without ever asking anyone to help, even just a little bit.
How he seems to be trying to atone for something, and I can’t imagine what.
I have a feeling it has to do with his dead wife.
Andrea’s mother.
Maybe he’s apologizing to his daughter all the time for being the one she was left with.
It makes me wonder what kind of woman her mother was, considering things hadn’t worked out between her and Blake.
But Blake must’ve loved her once, even if things went sour.
So what kind of woman did he love?
Enough love to have a daughter as feisty and smart as Andrea with?
I’m so caught up in it I almost miss him speaking again.
“Hey, I know the bookstore’s restocking titles tomorrow, right?” he draws. “Bet he’ll be there after school. Why don’t you show up too?”
“Eep.” The girl makes a mortified sound. “Won’t that seem weird?”
“Nah,” he says. “You’re just there to pick up a new comic or two, right?”
“R-right,” the girl says, then a bit more brightly. “Right! So I just…what? Talk to him?”
I cover my mouth, suppressing a giggle.
“That’s all it takes, sweetheart,” Blake says, his voice low thunder. “In the end, that’s all relationships are. Two people who like talking to each other more than they like talking to anybody else. Then they get to that point where they don’t need to talk at all, and it’s good to just be together without saying a single darn word.”
Okay. I can’t help a soft sigh. Or three.
I’m as bad as that high school girl. But the man has a way with words.
I’d love to find out how they fit into his life.
Talking to Blake until all hours of the night, until we don’t need words at all.
And maybe we could talk with lips, with hands, with skin…
My stomach tightens, my thighs tensing, this fierce pulse echoing in my blood. And I try to drag my mind from the gutter.
Not so easy. Not when his smooth as bourbon voice pours over me in shivers, like rough fingertips over my skin, submerging me in heat and friction from head to toe.