Page 6 of Sebastian

I shake my head. What was that? Objectively speaking, yes, Sebastian’s a good-looking guy with dark hair and dark eyes and lashes for days. He’s got a boy-next-door quality to him. But then, almost every person who walks through Mars’s front doors is good-looking. And most importantly, I don’t make a habit of sleeping with my clients.

I scan Sebastian’s intake form while he’s in the locker room, but it doesn’t tell me much. No injuries, no existing conditions to be cautious of. His fitness goal is a very unhelpful “staying fit”. I keep telling Beau to take that option off the form, to no avail.

When Sebastian comes out again, he’s in tight shorts and a loose tank top that actually covers very little of his torso. Oh, he works out, all right. You don’t get that kind of muscle definition from sitting around doing nothing all day.

“How familiar are you with exercise equipment?” I ask as I lead him toward an alcove reserved for Mars’s personal trainers.

“Uh… I know how to use them, but I’m more of a running and yoga guy.” He shrugs and offers me a shy smile.

I do a double-take.

He’s peering up at me through those mile-long lashes and his lips are curled into a tiny smile. It’s a perfect mix of innocence and sex and it hits me low in my stomach.

The thing is, I’ve caught dozens of guys practicing that exact look in the locker room mirrors and I always walk past trying not to roll my eyes. On Sebastian though, it doesn’t look feigned, it looks real. And it works.

I find myself wanting to smile back, wanting to let my gaze travel leisurely down his body. That’s not something I normally want to do—it’s not something I should want to do at all. I rub the back of my neck and clear my throat.

“That’s, uh, that’s great.” No more small talk with the client. Time to get down to work.

I start Sebastian out with some warm-up stretches. Too many guys jump straight into their workout, whether that’s cardio or strength training, without warming up and that’s just asking for an injury.

Sebastian isn’t lying about being a yoga guy. He’s certainly flexible enough to sink right down into the stretches I guide him through. He doesn’t have any trouble with any of the other exercises I show him either. There are only a few times I have to ask to adjust his posture. He seems to hold his breath each time though, staying stiff as a board as I nudge him an inch this way and that.

At the end of our hour together, I lead him to the massage tables. “We offer assisted cooldown stretches, if you’re cool with that.” I go an extra step and explain what that is in case he’s leery of more touching. “I basically do the stretches for you so we can get deeper into the muscle.”

Sebastian stares at the table like it’s a torture device.

Some clients aren’t comfortable with getting so hands-on and I have no problem with that. “You don’t have to if you don’t want to. I can show you some other stuff.”

“No!” Sebastian flushes under his olive complexion, then chuckles awkwardly. “I mean, no, I’m okay with the…” He gestures to the table and then climbs on, face down.

I smile. It’s a massage table, but I’m not actually giving him a massage. “Actually, it’s face up.”

Sebastian flips right over. “Oh, sorry.”

“No worries. It’s a common mistake.” I pick up one ankle to start the cool down and Sebastian’s leg is as straight and solid as a telephone pole. I glance toward his face and give his leg a gentle shake. “Relax. I’m not going to hurt you.”

A nervous giggle escapes Sebastian’s throat and it sends shivers down my spine. Goosebumps break out over my skin and my breath catches in my lungs. Suddenly the skin under my palms feels extra warm, bordering on hot.

“So, um…”

When he trails off, I glance up toward him again. He’s staring at the ceiling like he physically can’t look away. His hands are clasped on his stomach and he’s wringing the hell out of them.

“Yeah?” I prompt him.

“I think I recognize you.” He’s dropped his voice so it only travels as far as my ears.

Ah, here we go. He’s seen my porn. He’s most likely a fan. I take my time swinging around the foot of the table to pick up his other leg. “Oh yeah?”

Sebastian sneaks a peek at me, then goes back to staring at the ceiling. He takes a deep breath and I want to tell him to take a few more. “Are you, um, Chris Preacher?”

There was a time when that name felt more like me than my real name, when I would get confused when someone called me Christian. Now, my hackles rise just a little when I hear my old porn star name.

“Yeah, I am.”

“Yeah?” He sounds relieved, which isn’t the weirdest reaction I’ve ever gotten, but it’s not a common one.

“Yeah.”

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