Page 26 of Snow Storm

“Merde.”

“I know what that word means,” Harley murmured.

“Forgive me. The pain makes me lose my filter.” Daniel pulled a face as he used Harley’s grip to sit himself up, but he didn’t attempt to stand. Harley realized why a second later. Daniel’s legs were spasming like someone had stuck electrodes to them and turned them on high.

“Are you okay?”

Daniel waved him off. “Fine,” he said through gritted teeth. “It’ll pass.” He murmured a long string of French before saying, “I knew this was going to happen.” His head knocked back against the cabinet, and then his brows flew up. “Ah. You’re…euh…” He gestured toward Harley’s crotch.

Glancing down, he realized that his limp dick and heat-heavy balls were justdanglingthere like goddamn Christmas ornaments falling off a loose branch. His blush was so hot he felt dizzy as he scrambled up and grabbed the sheet, tying it around his waist like a drunk ancient Greek put on a chiton.

“Can we pretend that never happened so I can go to my grave with a little dignity?”

In spite of his spasms and the obvious pain he was in, Daniel covered his face with one hand and burst into laughter. “I’m sorry,” he gasped. “It’s not funny. It’s not. But I…haha…I understand and…haha. I’m s-so sorry.”

Harley wanted to continue to be mortified, but Daniel’s laughter was so contagious he found himself giggling along. Eventually, the laughter and the absurdity of the situation hit him, and he collapsed next to the other man, mostly naked, now sitting in a puddle of oil, howling his ass off.

“Oh my God, I haven’t felt like this in years,” Daniel said softly. His legs had calmed down, but he made no move to get up. He rolled his head toward Harley and grinned. “I’m sorry to put you in that position.”

“For what it’s worth, laughing at my dick and balls is a lot easier to bear than the shit going around about me on the internet. So, I don’t mind.” He hesitated, the humor slowly draining out of the room. “But…are you okay? Does that happen a lot?”

“Too often,” Daniel said. He bit his lip, then said, “I have my good days and my bad days. Today was a bad day, but I didn’t want to come in here using my wheelchair. The table isn’t short enough for me to massage you that way.”

Harley’s mouth opened. He was about to demand to know why his boss wouldn’t get him an accessible table when it hit him. It was a freight train of realization, and it clocked him right in the chest. He wheezed. “You’re the owner.”

Daniel—no, Claude—looked down with flaming red cheeks. “If it helps,” he said sheepishly, “I never intended on lying to you.”

Harley swallowed heavily. All the laughter was gone, replaced with shame. “Why did you?” he asked very softly. “Trust me, man, I’ve been embarrassed enough over the last couple of weeks. I’d rather know the truth than be made into a fool again.”

Claude muttered something softly in French. “I didn’t mean for you to feel that way at all. I was coming in to tell you that theappointment was canceled after my massage therapist had to leave for the next few weeks.”

“The real Daniel broke his arm, right? That’s what Aminah was talking about?”

Claude closed his eyes. “He broke his arm and got a concussion. I didn’t mention it to anyone that I’d taken your appointment. She didn’t know.”

Wrapping his arms tightly around his bare middle, Harley hunched into himself. “Was I so pathetic that you had to lie?”

“You were not pathetic. You were sad. And rambling,” Claude said. “You had a broken heart, and I didn’t want to make it worse by taking something away from you. You came in here so nervous for your first massage, and I thought, well, I can at least try. I thought maybe I’d be so terrible you wouldn’t have wanted to come back. You would have been polite about it, I think.”

Harley let out a small laugh. “Yeah. I would have. Uh…well. Thanks, I guess? I don’t have anything to compare it to, but youweren’tbad.”

“High praise,” Claude said dryly. He pressed his hands to the carpet and adjusted how he was sitting. “I also really enjoyed your company. I would have canceled the appointment if I hadn’t.”

Harley felt something warm settle in the pit of his stomach. Something that probably shouldn’t have belonged there, but it felt good. He wanted to cup his hands around it and protect it.

“I don’t really know what to say. Or do. You’re the owner of this place. You definitely have more important things to do than give me massages.”

“I think for insurance reasons, I probably shouldn’t do it again. If I hurt you, you could sue me and take everything. Don’t,” he added quickly, “let that give you ideas.”

Harley covered his chuckle with his hand. “Don’t worry. I’m not that kind of guy.” He glanced around, then climbed to his feet and readjusted the sheet again. “Can I help you get up?”

“My chair,” Claude told him, gesturing at the door. “It’s right beside the desk. If you bring it to me, I can get up myself.”

It was an awkward waddle with the sheet on, but Harley managed to find it. It was a sleek-looking thing with small rubber handles that were covered in spikes—nothing like the bulky hospital chairs with the big armrests and the fat handles. It had a low back and a seat barely big enough to fit Claude’s backside.

He had to grip it by the back to avoid having his hands poked, but he didn’t mind that much. He pushed it through the door, then set the wheel an inch away from Claude’s hand. “That good?” he asked, wiping his hands off on his sheet.

“Perfect. I, oh—” Claude smiled at him sheepishly. “The handle covers come off. I put them on so people don’t try to push me without asking.”

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