Page 43 of Paxton

A package of pleasure and support and a safe place to land.

I quickly decide if she is, I don't fucking care. I'm happy to be whatever she needs me to be.

“He's not worth the energy,” I force myself to continue, working around the tight emotions in my throat. “And besides, we don't have to like the players we work with,” I say, and then smirk at Lawson. “I was certain I’d hate you the minute you skated onto the ice last season.”

Lawson covers his chest dramatically as if I've stabbed him in the heart. “You're supposed to be the nice one,” he says, his tone drenched in fake sadness. “I expect that shit from Clay, but not you,neveryou, Pax,” he says in a singsong voice that sends us all laughing and rolling our eyes.

“Give it a rest,” Clay says as he pushes off the bench and heads toward the showers.

“I'm still invited to the party this weekend right, bestie?” Lawson calls after him.

“Yes,” Clay snaps but then flips him off again. “Unless you keep running your mouth.”

Lawson mimes locking his lips with a key, but the effect is wasted because Clay has already disappeared to the showers.

Nash and I laugh though, and I appreciate my friends’ ability to help me shake off the tension I know will explode if I keep burying it like I do, but I honestly have no other choice.

If I press the issue and ask Monroe to define anything between us, she’ll bolt and freeze me out.

I've seen the situation unfold a dozen times before. Anytime a boyfriend tiptoed toward firm definitions.

I completely understand where she’s coming from, which is why no matter how hard it hurts, or how terrified it makes me, I won’t be the one to force the issue.

I meant it when I told her I wanted to be whatever she needed me to be for her, and I will continue to be that. Even if the day never comes where she tells me she wants me and only me forever.

And as much as that hurts, it only makes me that much more appreciative of every day I get to spend with her where I can pretend like she’s mine.

CHAPTER 14

MONROE

I slowly shiftaround my massage table, getting another pump of lotion as I instruct my client to breathe deeply.

“Okay, let it out,” I say softly while gliding my hands over her back, triple-checking that the two knots I spent thirty minutes on have finally broken. “Good,” I say, happy with where her muscles now stand.

I move, carefully shifting the sheet to properly hide my client's body as I tell her to turn over, moving on to the last portion of our session where I'll focus on her neck and head.

“And it's like so crazy,” my client continues as if there's been no pause in our conversation while I've been working on her. “Just pick a flavor, that's all I'm asking him to do, but it's like him coming with me to the cake shop is the same as trying to get him to make a decision on a venue.”

One of my regular off-season clients, Lana, is a delightful woman my age, and recently engaged. Our last four sessions have focused on easing tension that is clearly being caused by stress. Like many of my other clients, she uses the opportunity to treat me sort of like a bartender—unloading grievances and stresses that she likely doesn't even realize she's confessing to.

It sort of comes with the territory of my job, releasing physical tension can be a trigger for the emotional as well. I move her long black hair out of the way, working my fingers into the tense muscles in her neck.

“At least you two have finally set a date.” I do my best to focus on the positive.

I walk a fine line with my profession—I can be a healer for their body, but I don't have a degree in psychology, so I don't presume to have the answers about the emotional stuff. The best I can do is give them an ear to listen and encouragement that’s healthy yet professional.

“You are so right,” she says, eyes closed, a deep sigh falling from her lips as I move to the base of her skull. “In the beginning, it was hard for him to set a date, so maybe it's the same thing with all these other decisions. Maybe I'm putting too much pressure on the wedding itself. But I can't help it, I'm excited. I've been dreaming about this moment since I was a little girl. You get where I’m coming from, right?”

I take a moment, focusing more on the tense muscles in the base of her skull than I need to. This is one of those fine lines.

“I'm afraid I'm not super helpful in this subject,” I say, choosing to go with honesty.

Lana opens her eyes, looking up at me. “Wait. You're telling me you didn't dream about your wedding day when you were a little girl?”

I furrow my brow, continuing my work. “Not really,” I say. “Maybe when I was young enough to not understand what my mom's profession was.”

“That's right,” she says, recognition dawning in her eyes before she closes them again. “I remember you telling me about her. She's a powerhouse right? Like the best divorce lawyer in the country or something?”

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