Page 41 of Hard Hitter
Becca giggled. “It was supposed to saywatch. Damn autocorrect.”
Her phone chirped with a new text and Ari groaned. “I’m afraid to look.”
“I’ll look!” Becca made a grab, but Ari didn’t fall for it. She held on tight and read the text.
Becca got your phone, huh?
Ari snorted with laughter.Yes and now I shall beat her with it.
Tell her she’s got me thinking about shower sex now. And you’ve seen my shower.Ari’s stomach flipped over.
“You’ve seen his shower?” Becca asked, blatantly reading over her shoulder. “I thought he didn’t let people into his apartment?”
Gotta go, she typed speedily.See you tomorrow.It was abrupt, but she needed to end this conversation.
Night, sweetheart, came the quick reply.
Becca made a motion like stabbing herself in the heart. “I can’tevenwith this. Who knew O’Doul was a romantic?”
Ari picked up the remote and aimed it at the TV with theeager grip of a cop show criminal holding his gun. “More Tatum. Less talking.”
***
The ten thirty time slot on Ari’s treatment schedule the next day belonged to Patrick O’Doul.
By the time his appointment approached, Ari was ready. She had the stereo switched off and her game face on. Before she began his massage therapy, she would greet the elephant in the room, acknowledge its presence, and then show it the door.
At ten thirty sharp he sauntered in wearing nothing but a towel, his hair damp from the shower, his skin glowing with a life force which she’d experienced the other night atveryclose range...
Focus, Ari. “Good morning,” she said with the same firmness she greeted all her clients. “How are your hip flexors feeling today?”
Before answering, he shut the door and faced her. She was keenly aware that nothing separated her from the potent look in his eye except a not-so-wide massage table and a towel. It was as if he’d failed to hear the cool, businesslike tone of her greeting. He studied her the way she looked at the cupcakes in the case at One Girl Cookies—like she was a well-deserved snack he was about to gobble down. “Hi, sweetheart,” he said slowly. “You doing okay?”
Gulp. “I’m doing well,” she said, trying to remember what it was she had rehearsed saying. “I got an order of protection, and hired a process server to track Vince down to serve it. And the lawyer Becca recommended is ready to step in if the cops try to tie me to any of Vince’s shady dealings.”
“That’s good,” Patrick said, never breaking her gaze. His intensity made her knees feel squishy. Eventually he dropped his towel and slid onto the table, releasing her from that laser stare, thankfully. “No Pearl Jam today?”
“Um, I can turn it on.” She tossed another towel over hismidsection before it became tempting to stare. “After we have a quick chat.”
His eyes lifted to hers again, and he looked almost amused. “What’s on your mind?”
“It’s about the other night. We can’t have a repeat performance.”
“Of course not,” he said, letting out a wolfish chuckle.
For a split second she was actually disappointed at how quickly he’d agreed. But then she caught herself and remembered to be relieved.
“...I mean, not anexactrepeat,” he added. “I like to mix it up a little. The shower sounds good. Up against the wall.”
“Patrick,” she warned. “I’m not joking. We obviously have a bit of chemistry...” She rubbed a bit of oil onto her fingers and then started in on the muscles just above his knee.
He snorted. “We have abit of chemistry. And hockey has a bit of violence. We practically burned down your bed together.”
Did we ever. “Be that as it may, I need this job. It’s the only part of my life that didn’t just implode.”
He reached down to squeeze her wrist before releasing it. “I would never jeopardize your job.”
“Thank you.”
