The Stopover (The Miles High Club 1)

My eyes hold his. “Sure.”

I watch him walk back to his desk and fall into conversation with the person who sits next to him.

I’m watching you, asshole.

I look around the office with renewed determination. I’m watching all of you. Every single one.

It’s just now four, and I email Jameson.

Hi,

I booked you a massage with a physio. They will be at your place at seven. Hope this suits your plans.

xoxoxo

A few moments later, a reply bounces back.

Dear FB,

Please define “they.”

I roll my eyes. I knew this was coming.

Dear Mr. J,

They . . . aka . . . male physiotherapist professional, nonsexual-act-performing masseuse. Specializes in back treatment and hella expensive.

xoxoxo

I wait for a few moments, and a reply bounces back.

FB,

Fine, can you let them in

to my apartment, please? I’ll have Alan pick you up at seven. I’ll meet you there, maybe fifteen minutes late.

xox

I smile broadly as hope blooms in my chest. I write back.

Are we seeing each other tonight?

He replies.

Yes. I’m away for the week next week, therefore, I’m taking next week’s meetings too. See you tonight.

Jay