Pucked Off (Pucked 5)

I sit up straight in Bernadette’s chair; all the hairs on the back of my neck stand up.

“So…uh, I remember the night I met you.”

I drop my eyes. “Oh.”

“Well, not you exactly. Well, kinda. But it’s all real vague until I went upstairs to check on Miller.”

And now my stomach is churning in a not-so-good way. My voice is a whisper. I fiddle with Bernadette’s sparkle pens. “With Kristi.”

“Yeah. Anyway, I didn’t sleep with her. Well, like, I fell asleep, but I didn’t sleep with her. As in fuck her. I didn’t, I mean. Do that. I thought it would be good to tell you.”

I blink a few times, shocked. “But she said—”

“—a lot of bullshit, I’m betting.” Lance looks annoyed.

I don’t know why he would bother to lie to me about something like this, and Kristi liked to brag about all the guys she’d slept with, so it’s entirely possible nothing did happen.

“Oh. Okay. Well, thanks? We don’t hang out anymore, sooo…”

“Right. Yeah, okay. Good.” He taps the counter some more. “I still wish I could remember meeting you that night. I guess it explains why you’re so familiar, aye?”

“I guess.” I can’t look him in the eye. “They kind of dragged me along.”

“So—” He slaps a hand on the counter, startling me. “Uh, I don’t know how much free time you have, but maybe you wanna go out for dinner with me sometime?”

Well, that’s quite the segue. Now I have no choice but to look at him. “Like on a date?”

Lance’s eyes dart around. “Aye. Like a date.”

“I can’t go out to dinner with you.” Oh my God. What the hell am I doing?

His brows pull down. “Why not?”

“It’s against the clinic policy to date clients, not to mention the association that provides me with a license to practice.” This is it. This is the best way to pass him off to another therapist. He’s given me the perfect excuse, and I don’t have to own up to anything. And he wants to take me on a date. I think I’m in shock.

“You can’t even go out to dinner with me once? Just to see if, you know, you’d wanna hang out again?” He’s doing that thing where he chews on the inside of his lip.

“Not if you want me to treat you.”

“So it’s not about the Kristi thing? ’Cause I’m serious when I say I didn’t sleep with her.”

“It’s really not about Kristi. If I agree to go out with you, I can’t treat you at the clinic anymore.” The Kristi revelation does mean I might agree to the date, though.

His expression turns hopeful. “Just at the clinic?”

I dash it with my next response. “Or at my home. But that was already off the table.”

Lance taps his lip while he thinks about that. I don’t know whether to feel good about his hesitation or not. I guess it means I’m a decent massage therapist.

“What about the ones I’ve already scheduled?” he asks.

“You’ll have to see someone other than me. Devon is great, and so is Marcie.”

“What about the other girl who works here? Your friend with the blond hair?”

“April can’t work on you.”

“She’s not any good?”

“We’ll go with that.”

The corner of his mouth pulls up in a slow smirk. “You don’t want her to touch me?”

Now he’s poking fun. “Never mind. This isn’t a good idea.”

“Whoa, whoa. Okay, no April. We’ll go with Marcie then, or I can see the team therapist if I have to.” He huffs out a breath. “So how long will I have to wait for you to be able to work on me again?”

“I won’t ever be able to treat you again.” I don’t mention that if one date turns into many, and I end up being more than just someone he sleeps with and tosses aside, I’ll be more than happy to provide all services free of charge. He doesn’t need to know that.

He runs a rough hand through his hair. “Never?”

“You can’t be my client anymore. Not ever.”

“Fuck. It’s really that final.”

I nod solemnly. “I could lose my job otherwise.”

“For going on a date? Shit. Well, I don’t want that to happen.” He dips his head resolutely. “Okay. So two dates, one coffee and one dinner, in whatever order you’d prefer them.”

I have to force my face to stay neutral. “One date. Dinner or coffee.”

“I think we need to do some negotiating. If I have to give up massages from you forever, it’s only fair that I get more than one kick at the can here.”

I raise a brow at his choice of words. I also have to bite my tongue to keep from telling him that technically this would be his third kick at the can.

“In case I screw something up,” he continues, “which is entirely possible since this whole dating thing is off the grid for me. So one dinner date and one coffee date?”