The Rub Down (14 page)

My eyes lit up, thinking about my father. “My dad’s great. I’m his princess, and my mom’s his queen. He spoils us rotten.” I hoped someday the man I married worshipped me the way my dad did my mom.

“A princess huh? Sounds pretty accurate.” Luke squeezed my hand. “My parents are still head over heels in love. I want what they have. I want to be married for forty plus years, and still feel the deep connection that was there when we first met. It’s inspiring.”

The idea of Luke and me being together that long made me smile.

“Wow, I couldn’t agree more. I want that, too. My parents still hold hands and cuddle on the couch. When I was younger, it grossed me out, but now I’m just jealous.”

Luke pulled my hand to his lips and gave it a sweet kiss, and my heart warmed with the adoration in his eyes. Just as I was about to ask more questions, our server brought our meal.

As we ate the delicious food, Luke described the guys at The Rub Down, and their crazy shenanigans kept me entertained.

“Why don’t you have any female massage therapists?” Since my first appointment, I had been dying to ask this question.

“Because the women therapists in school were awful to each other. They tore each other down, always bitching and griping.”

My clam chowder slowly disappeared as he talked about the things the female students did to each other. I loved his fake, high-pitched voices, and when he almost hit the waiter with his flailing arms, I choked on my soup.

“Danny and I never understood why they acted that way, but decided we didn’t want that shit in our place.” The words spewing from his mouth may have offended most females, but not me. He was spot on about the cattiness between women.

When he finished his story, he tilted his head to the side, and stared at me for a second before gently swiping the corner of my mouth with his finger.

“You have something right here.” He brought his finger to his mouth and licked off the drop of chowder. I watched his movement like it happened in slow motion. Such a simple gesture should not have had me so turned on that I had to cross my legs a little tighter.

“Thank you.” I picked up my napkin and blotted my mouth. “Have you tried the oysters yet? The little ones are really sweet.” I added some horseradish, a dab of cocktail sauce, and the mignonette to one before offering it to him.

“Not yet. I’m not sure partaking in an aphrodisiac is a wise choice right now. You are drop dead gorgeous, and watching your sweet mouth while you eat has done nothing to help my hard-on.”

“Come on, Luke. One oyster isn’t going to make you want to jump my bones.” I slipped my shoe off under the table, and slid my foot up his calf, teasing him even further.

“Fighting with fire, Lex. Give me that oyster.”

Raising the shell to his parted lips, he grabbed my wrist to steady it. I tilted it and watched the oyster slide into his mouth. Fuck, that was hot. After swallowing the tasty delicacy, he turned my wrist over, baring the sensitive flesh, placed a small kiss on my pulse, and groaned.

“God, I want to devour you,” Luke mumbled as he took a sip of his water.

I smiled at his confession, wanting nothing more than have him do just that.

For a few minutes, we ate in silence, letting the sizzling air around us settle a little bit. However, I kept up my game of footsies.

“Tell me about Dress Me Up. How did you get into it?” Luke asked, bringing us back to safe territory. He captured my foot, and held it against his thigh.

“Addie and I graduated from Mass Art with fashion degrees, but we had no idea what to do with them. I didn’t want to go to New York City, and Boston’s fashion industry isn’t nearly as booming.” I smiled, thinking back to how Dress Me Up came to be. “One night, after a healthy amount of wine, Addison came up with the idea of personal shoppers slash fashion coordinators slash dressing up rich people. Then voilà, a business was born.”

When I talked about my passion for fashion, Luke listened. He didn’t ask to be nice, but because he actually wanted to know. In the past, my boyfriends would be looking around the room, or out the window at the passersby, but not Luke. His attention stayed focused on me, and he made me feel like I was the only person in the room.

I was so engrossed in our conversation, the waiter startled me when he brought the bill and cleared off the empty dishes.

“Do you want to go to my place to hang out? We can order chocolate cake from room service.” Once the server was out of ear’s reach, Luke whispered in my ear. “Maybe make out a little?”

Chills traveled up my spine. “Now that sounds like an excellent plan,” I replied while reaching for my jacket.

We couldn’t get out of there quick enough.

Alexa

When we arrived at Luke’s place, he ordered room service, while I made myself comfy on his big, luscious couch. The cable knit, ivory throw was the perfect size to snuggle under and get warm. It didn’t matter where I was or if it was ninety degrees out, I curled up in a blanket. The smell of worn-in leather and Luke’s cologne lingered throughout the space. The family pictures on the walls made his house feel like a home. But Luke was the biggest reason I felt relaxed and content. He put me at ease.

Our peaceful conversation carried on over delicious chocolate lava cake. Until…

“Do you feel like you’re ready for the race?”

What a loaded question he threw at me.

“Physically, I feel great. The running I can do.” My voice trailed off, and I focused on the city lights outside his window. As the race grew closer, the feelings gained more and more headspace, and I didn’t want to deal with, much less talk about them.

“Good. I’m glad your body feels great. But,” he gingerly grabbed my chin, bringing my eyes back to his, “what are you not saying?”

Tears welled up, threatening to spill over, and I closed my eyes for a moment. When we went for our first run, we touched on where we were, like our parents talk about where they were when Kennedy was shot, but we never really talked about the bombing itself.

I didn’t want to tell him, to show him my weakness. If I opened myself up, he’d see the fears I refused to share with anyone. Not Addison, not my parents, not Jeff. Maybe if I let the words out, I wouldn’t be a slave to them anymore.

“I’m starting to get anxious,” I stuttered. “Both mentally and emotionally.”

“How close were you to the finish line?” Luke asked, knowing exactly where my head was. His fingers caressed my jaw, and I pressed into his hand.

“I was one of the first people stopped at Mass Ave. Less than a mile away. So close.” The first tear trailed a path down my cheek, and I despised it. I wanted to be as strong as the survivors were. As strong as the runners who completed the twenty-six point two miles, crossed the finish line, and then ran another mile and a half to Massachusetts General Hospital to donate blood.

“Wow, you were minutes away.” Luke’s face grew soft, and I could tell he was remembering that day with me.

“I. Was. Terrified. At that last turn, as I headed down the final stretch.” A bitter laugh escaped. “My adrenaline was pumping so hard through my veins that I couldn’t even feel my legs anymore, but at the same time, they hurt like hell.” I sniffed and rubbed my nose on my wrist. “And then to be completely stopped? Hearing sirens all over the city heading to the same place I’d dreamt about, worked to get to for months?” Tears slipped down my cheeks, and I gave up trying to hold them back. Luke moved closer and drew me into his arms.

“But then I get pissed that I have these feelings. What do I have to be upset about?” I looked away to gather myself. “Yeah, I didn’t finish. So fucking what. Innocent people, out for a fun day in our amazing, safe city, cheering on their friends, no longer have their legs. While I’ve been training to run again, they’re trying to learn how to walk on prosthetics. Fuck, three people didn’t even survive the blasts.” My voice grew louder. I hated feeling sorry for myself, but I couldn’t help the overwhelming emotions.

“Shhh, sweetie. That day was horrific. For everyone. Not just the people in the blast zone, but the people sitting in their homes, watching the city we all love get terrorized. For people who were done with the race, enjoying a congratulatory beer with friends down the street. And definitely for people like you so close to the end. Just stopping to tie a shoe or nurse a small cramp was the difference between being a part of the explosion or being stopped. You have every right to your feelings.”

I closed my eyes, letting Luke’s words wash over me. He pressed kisses to my closed eyelids, offering me comfort.

“I’m so scared I’ll freeze up when I get to the starting line. That I won’t be able to start. Or worse, I’ll get to Mass Ave and not be able to finish. That every sound, every picture from that day will flash in my head, and I’ll be paralyzed with fear.”

Luke lifted me into his lap so I straddled him. He wrapped his palms around my face, wiping my tears with his thumbs.

“Lex, you’ll do great. You have to find your happy place out there. Focus on you and your race. You can’t think about last year.”

That was easier said than done. The news would focus on the tragedy for the next week. Pictures of bloodied bodies. The chaos that ensued after the bombs went off. The medical personnel scrambling to help. The police trying to regain order in the face of pure terror.

“You need to focus on the happiness the survivors have found since that day. Focus on their strength, and draw from it. Those people are the heroes. Don’t give the assholes who terrorized us for days any more of your headspace. They don’t deserve to be in this gorgeous head of yours.” He bent down and kissed my forehead to emphasize his point.

After the bombing was equally as horrible. The city went days without knowing who was responsible or why it happened. That area of the city was closed off as investigators combed through wreckage, videotapes from spectators’ cell phones, security cameras from businesses, and false accusations and leads. The Thursday following the race, the two terrorists were identified, and their images released to the public. By Friday morning, they were on the run, and rained terror on the city and suburbs again, while the FBI, Boston, Newton, and Watertown police tried to capture them. One terrorist was killed, while the other hid in a boat somewhere. After hours and hours, he was finally captured, ending the nightmare.

I buried my face deep into his chest, drawing as much comfort as I could from him.
After a few minutes, I leaned away and looked up into his kind face. “What a buzz kill. I’m sorry for ruining our date.”

“Don’t think for one minute this has ruined anything. I wouldn’t have asked if I didn’t want your truth. You gave it to me, and I’m grateful for your honesty.” Luke placed his lips to mine, pouring his sentiment into his motions. He held me tight, rocking and soothing me until my tears stopped.

He pushed me away, giving me a sly grin. “Still wanna make out?”

I didn’t think I had ever laughed so much after crying so hard. We had just had a deep, serious, emotional conversation during what was technically our first date. I was spent from crying, but the twinkle of mischief in his eyes was hard to ignore. So was the hard-on he was sporting under me.

“I’m a hot mess. I probably look like Alice Cooper on a good day, and you want to make out?”

“What? Snot soaked shirts don’t turn you on?” He waved his hand down the front of his shirt now stained with my tears.

“Oh my God. I’m gross. I’m so sorry!” I tried to move off his lap. I needed to get away from this awful, embarrassing situation, but Luke grabbed hold of my hips and refused to let me go.

“Oh, no, you don’t. You promised me some making out, and I’m going to cash that chip in. Your tears and snot don’t scare me away. How about this? I’ll take my shirt off, and we can pretend it never happened?” Luke proceeded to slowly unbutton his shirt.

The air in the room changed from tragic, to charged with desire. When he was halfway there, my fingers itched to take over his task, so I brushed him out of the way and finished what he started. Once the buttons were undone, I sat back so I could push the shirt over his shoulders and down his arms. His eyes followed my every move.

With his shirt out of the way, I became greedy for more, and yanked his undershirt out of his waistband and tugged it over his head. Finally, I was able to see the tattoo that peeked out at me all these weeks. An intricate tribal design graced his shoulder and down his bicep, with a deep fuchsia lotus flower in the center of the striking black image. I wanted to trace each line with my tongue.

Luke’s eyes darkened as he stared at my mouth. I licked my lips in response. As much as I wanted his lips on mine, I wanted mine all over his body. I wanted to taste his skin. I wanted to worship the body of the man who had worshipped mine for weeks. His neck, his pecs, his everything.

“You are so beautiful.” Luke didn’t give me a chance to respond or follow through with my plans. He captured my lips with his and devoured my mouth. Our tongues danced slow and seductive. “I need to see more of you.” His voice pleaded as he lowered his hands from the nape of my neck to the hem of my shirt.

I gave a slight nod, granting permission.

Slowly and downright torturously, he raised my shirt over my head, skimming his knuckles over my skin as he went, creating a wake of goosebumps. My shirt wound up in the pile with his. His hands, which had touched my body for the last few weeks, felt different this time. More reverent, more intimate.

“God, I have dreamt of this for so long.” He shifted me down to the couch, and as he hovered over me, he trailed kisses down my neck, across my shoulders, to the cleavage spilling out of my lace demi bra. His mouth felt so good that I couldn’t hold in my moans any longer.

“I’ve had the same fantasies since day one.” I panted, grabbing his face and drawing it to me so I could pour my soul into his mouth. “You feel amazing. Please, don’t stop.”

With that, he moved down to my breasts and sucked my nipples through the lace. Nonsensical words poured out of my mouth when he blew cool air over my sensitive buds. While his mouth laved one, his magical fingers teased the other.

I needed more. Tearing my hands from his head, I arched my back, unclasped my bra, and yanked it out of the way.

Luke shot me a devilish grin. “Thank fuck.”

His mouth directly on my skin was out of this world.

*****

Luke

Remembering that day was hard, to put it mildly. With the spa so close to the explosion, I, too, worked to overcome my own demons. My only hope was that I helped ease some of her worries. Maybe Jeff could talk to her about it too, since he also ran last year. I read somewhere that some survivors were running this year, and to overcome their fears, they trained near the finish line, the epicenter of the bombing.

After discussing such a hard topic, I was grateful I could pull her out of her head and into the present. Alexa was beyond my wildest dreams. The feel of her skin beneath my hands would never get old, but tasting her was my new addiction. She was so soft and silky and sweet. I couldn’t get enough.

“You taste like mangos,” I breathed out as I moved from one breast to the other. My fingers roamed over her stomach and up her sides before teasing her other nipple. Her moans drove me to continue my assault. I needed more skin. I needed everything with this girl. I wanted all her smiles, all her moans, all of her body.

I backed away to stare down at her beauty. I had never seen such an amazing sight in all my years. “You’re so gorgeous. You seriously take my breath away. I want to devour you right here.” As I looked at Alexa, her eyes closed, chest rising and falling to match my own, I had to stop. I needed to follow my rules, bent as they may be.
Nine days
. Nine days before I could claim her as mine. Nine days of pure torturous hell.

After a few seconds of silence, Alexa opened her hooded eyes and stared right into my soul. “Don’t say it. Please. I know. But if you say anything, I’ll be crushed. I can’t hear the words. Nine days left, and I’ll be crossing them off on my calendar like a silly teenager.”

I didn’t want to tell her we had to stop, any more than she wanted to hear it. And that was why I was falling for her harder than a mob rat might fall into the Charles River.