Pucked Off (Pucked 5)

“Yeah. It’s a little sensitive.”

“I’ll be careful around there, then.”

“’Kay.”

“Are there any other tender areas?”

“Other than my back and face, nope.”

“Okay.”

Lance doesn’t say much during the massage. Apart from the occasional grunt when I hit what I assume are sensitive spots, and the fist clenching, he doesn’t complain at all about the pressure.

I don’t even ask about his glutes this time, because it’s already after eight, and Bernadette will be gone from her desk, even if a sexy hockey player is here. Lance was right, though, he’s all knotted up again, and there’s no way I’m going to be able to sort it all out with one treatment. He needs at least one more this week, and I’m fully booked.

“I still have some time left. Would you like me to work on your neck and shoulders again?” I’ve done what I can for his back.

“Uh…yeah, I think that’d be okay.”

I’m relieved he doesn’t have the same problem as last time. Mostly.

I get him to lift his hips so I can take the pillow out from under him. Lance makes a sound of discomfort as he rolls over.

“Everything okay?” I ask.

“Oh yeah, just managing the aches. Good to go.”

“Great.”

I won’t be touching his face this time because of the bruising and the fresh fly bandage, but he keeps his eyes closed while I work on his neck and shoulders, so I can study his gorgeous, pummeled features.

No matter how hard I try not to, I can still recall—rather vividly—how prominent Lance’s issue was last time. I must make a sound because his eyes open and flip up to mine. I decide it’s a good time to end the massage.

It’s eight thirty, and I’m alone in the clinic with Lance. I give him some privacy and wash my hands in the bathroom before going to the reception area so I can prepare his invoice, which I find already waiting for me. Sometimes Bernadette can be so sweet.

It takes a few minutes for him to come out—longer than it did the last time he was here. I consider what might be happening in that room. When Lance appears, he looks groggy and disheveled.

I put on what I hope is a natural-looking smile. “Feeling a little less tense?”

His eyes go wide before his expression flattens. “Uh, yeah. A lot less tense.”

He pulls his wallet out of his back pocket and drops it on the counter. Flipping it open, he pulls out his card. “I need to get you for last time, too.”

“Huh?”

“At your house. I didn’t pay you. I need to do that.”

I’d totally forgotten to even prepare an invoice for that massage. “You could email-transfer the funds for that one if you want.”

“Why don’t you add your email to your contact?” Lance passes me his phone.

My name comes up as Pretty Poppy, and it’s accompanied by the picture April accidentally snapped of me. I look like I’m yelling at her. Probably because I was. “April took that picture by accident when you left your phone here.”

“So it’s not a selfie?”

“If I was going to take a selfie, I’d make sure I didn’t look like a troll.”

“I think you look cute.”

“That’s even worse.” I type in my email address and am about to delete the picture when Lance snatches the phone back.

“That’s my phone. You can’t delete my pictures.”

“But it’s a picture of me!”

“Which I like, so I get to keep it. It’s not my fault your friend has a slippery finger. What was she even doing with my phone in the first place?”

“Trying to jailbreak it so she could get all your personal information,” I say.

“Seriously?” Lance looks legitimately worried.

“No. Not seriously. Although she did check to see if it was locked, which was when she took the picture. I forced her to give it back to me.”

“So you were trying to protect my privacy.”

“Mmm. That I was.” I swipe his credit card.

“So you think maybe you can fit me in again this week?”

“I’m fully booked, but I can see if someone else is available.”

“No,” he snaps, then amends, “I mean, no thanks. Like I said before, I only want it to be you.”

“I could try to fit you in at the end of a day again, if that works?” That’s the opposite of what I should do right now, but I’ve decided I’m not going to keep questioning myself. I want this time with him. What I’m doing is helping him, and beyond how much he seems to appreciate it, I like who he is when it’s him and me and I’m treating him, even if this relationship is supposed to be strictly professional.

“Yeah, sure, whenever you can. I have practice a lot this week, cause the official season starts this weekend, but I can usually do these later ones. Unless you want to treat me at my place or yours.”