Page 42 of Hard Hitter
“But I call bullshit. If you want to give me the brush-off you’re going to have to do a little better than that flimsy excuse.”
“It isn’t flimsy! I have it on good authority that Nate doesn’t like his staff, um...”
“...Making the players come so hard they see stars?”
“I would have put it differently. But yes.”
He grinned. “And yet Georgia is marrying Leo. I don’t see her looking for a new job.”
“Her dad is the coach? Hello?” She rolled his towel toward his crotch and kept working. “You seem tight today,” she said suddenly.
“It wore off, I guess. Your latest treatment.”
“Well, it’s been a few days since you were on the table.”
“That’s not the treatment I meant.”
She let go of his leg. “Don’t make that joke.” It came out a little too sharply. “I’m not a prude, and I don’t think it’s all that big of a deal to, um, get carried away one night with a friend from work. But this here”—she indicated the room—“is my professional space. I wouldn’t ever touch a client inappropriately. It would violate the trust that you give me when you climb onto my table. And I’m sorry if that sounds really nitpicky, but the distinction matters to me.” When she stopped to take a breath, she realized what a rant she’d just spewed out, damn it. “Sorry.”
But Patrick’s eyes became soft and lazy. “I understand, baby. I won’t tease you anymore.”
“Thank you.”
“Not here, anyway.” She gave him a glare and he laughed. “Can I have Pearl Jam, at least? I’ll be a good boy.”
“Yes, you can.” She tapped the iPod with her knuckle, to avoid getting massage oil on it. “Now tell me why you’re so stiff, without using any innuendo.”
“You take all my fun away. Fine. Tonight we play Buffalo and I have to fight this asshole Falzgar.”
“And you’re not looking forward to it,” she guessed.
“Can’t say that I am.”
“Let’s work those hip flexors, shall we? Roll to the side.”
She noticed that this time he let her really probe the muscles that had been bothering him. He didn’t even flinch. Either he was feeling better or trusting her more. Maybe both. She worked on both his hips and then asked him to flip onto his stomach.
Except for the music, it was quiet in the treatment room. In spite of the raging attraction she felt towards him, it really wasn’t that difficult to stay in the zone and handle him with the same care and efficiency she’d show any client. The playlist rolled on in the background while Patrick relaxedunder her touch. When she worked on his lower back he sighed with appreciation.
Then a song came on that she would rather not have heard. So she took a second to tap a knuckle against the iPod again. But instead of advancing the song, she paused the music entirely.
Patrick lifted his eyes from the face cradle. “Something the matter? I thought you liked ‘Better Man’?”
“Eh. That song isn’t my favorite right now.”
His expression turning thoughtful, he balanced his cheek on the table. “It hits too close to home?”
It did, actually. And since he knew her torrid little story, there was no point in lying. “The girl in the song stays with a guy who isn’t good to her. I never thought I was that girl, and then I was.”
His eyes went all soft again. “This is a serious problem now. We can’t let that asshole put you off a perfectly good Pearl Jam tune.”
“I’ll manage.” Ari was pretty sure she’d put herself off it.
“No, babe.” He propped himself up on an elbow, which ruined her work.
“Turn over if you’re going to talk. You’re wrecking your alignment.”
He flipped over. “The thing is, I think you’ve misinterpreted the song.”
