Pucked Off (Pucked 5)

I take them, aware that everyone is staring at us. Someone snaps a picture to my right. “Um. Thanks?”

“They’re poppies.”

“I see that. They’re beautiful, although unnecessary.” I bring them to my nose.

“They have that water stuff in the bottom, so they won’t die before you get home.”

“That’s very thoughtful. They’re lovely.” Geez. My face must be the same color as the flowers.

He stuffs his hands in his pockets and gives me a cheeky grin. “I didn’t get high when I sniffed them.”

I laugh. “I’m sure you tried really hard, though.”

“I did.” Silence follows while we look at each other, and no one says a thing.

“Sooo…you ready for me?”

It takes a second for me to realize he means the massage, not that he’s picking me up for some date.

“Al-almost,” I stutter. “I’m a few minutes behind. I’m just finishing up with my last client.”

“Oh. Okay.” He drops back into the chair. His knees start bouncing.

My client comes out and settles up with Bernadette. We rebook for three weeks from now, and I excuse myself to change the sheets, taking my flowers with me.

Of course, April catches me in the hall and follows me into my room, closing the door. “Where’d you get those?”

“Lance.”

“He brought you flowers?”

I’m assuming she doesn’t need an actual answer to that.

“Oh my God. He’s so into you. You know what this means, don’t you?”

“The marriage proposal is next?”

“I wonder if he’ll wear a kilt.”

I set the flowers on the chair in the corner, careful not to crush them. I know exactly what this means. I shouldn’t be treating him anymore. But I don’t say that. “He’s being nice. He’s not into me.”

“Bullshit.”

“Will you just help me? I don’t want to be here until midnight.”

She takes the corner of the sheet and pulls it over the opposite end, helping me dress the table.

“Seriously, Poppy. He’s into you.”

“Yeah, well, he’s already slept with someone I know. I don’t want to be an addition to his list of conquests. Plus he’s a client, so I can’t accept his marriage proposal.” I put the heating pad on the table, adjust the cradle, and force April out so I can get Lance.

As soon as I round the corner he’s out of his chair. “We’re good? You’re ready now?” he asks.

“I am. You can come with me.”

He’s right on my heels, practically mowing me over to get to the room. As I close the door, he’s already got the hem of his shirt in his hands. He pulls it up, over his hard, incredibly toned abs.

I drop my eyes to the floor. “I’ll give you a minute.”

“I’ll be naked in thirty seconds.”

I have to bite my lips together to stop from laughing. “Okay. I’ll be right back, then.”

I still knock a minute later, just in case.

“I’m ready,” he calls.

And ready he is. That mountain of muscle is stretched out across my table. The sheet is pushed down to his waist.

I need to keep the ogling in check. I feel like I should go to confession or something, and I haven’t been to church since my cousin’s wedding last year.

“Would you like me to work on the same areas as last time?”

“Yeah. That’d be good.” He shifts a little, and the muscles in his shoulders jump. His fists clench and release a few times as I cross over and pull the sheet to cover his back.

He lifts his head. “Why’re you doing that?”

“It’s how I start. Would you prefer me to leave it the way it is?”

“Yeah. Please.”

“Okay.” I fold the sheet back down. Once again I have no underwear to tuck the sheet into, so I push the edges in around his hips. He jolts a little, then settles again. “I’m going to get started, okay?”

“Yup.” More fist clenching follows.

Usually when I drag my fingers along his spine, moving up to the top of the table, the sheet acts as a barrier. But this time I watch the shiver run through his body and goose bumps break along his arms, the same reaction echoed in my body. When I settle a palm on either side of his broad back, he groans.

I freeze and try to keep my tone professional, rather than breathy. “Are you okay?”

He clears his throat. Twice. “Yeah.” It still sounds like he swallowed the contents of a gravel truck.

“Do you want the heating pad?”

“No. I’m good.” More gravel.

“Take a couple of deep breaths for me, okay?”

He does as I ask, his back expanding with each full inhalation. I do nothing but keep my palm on the center of his back, right in the middle of his cross. When he’s a little more relaxed, I grab the oil and make a few easy passes, moving down his back, gauging where he’s the tightest. When I reach his lower back, he jolts. It’s red, but not bruised. “Is this where you landed when you went down?”