Page 55 of Playing Mr. Perfect

I finish massaging his face and begin massaging his scalp. “Like your grandfather says, nothing easy is worth a damn.”

“Why are you doing it after hours?”

“Because I have to work on the projects that are funded, and this isn’t one of them.”

“Are you going to develop it eventually?”

“That’s the dream.”

“Why not the reality?”

“Because it takes money and time I don’t have, and getting funding is hard. I’m glad you’re interested in my work, but please stop talking.”

“I’m okay. You took the edge off. Thank you.” He starts to sit up.

I stop him with a hand on his chest. “I’m not done. Can you scoot down a little?” When he does, I massage the base of his skull.

He winces. “That hurts. Like my skull is bruised.”

“That’s because you carry a lot of tension there. I’m going to try a pressure point release. It may hurt a little at first.” I place my index and middle fingers on the pressure points at the base of his skull and hold them there. “Relax your head and neck. Just let your head fall back.”

He groans as his head falls back, and my fingers press against the pressure points.

“I know it’s uncomfortable, but the pain you feel is the release.”

“How do you know how to do this?”

“I studied reflexology. You’re a difficult patient. Please stop talking and relax.” I release the pressure and run my fingers lightly over his forehead.

“That feels really good,” he says just above a whisper.

“Shh.” I do the pressure point release two more times, and he exhales with so much relief, I can feel it. When he opens his eyes, he looks half-drunk, and I know he’s on the mend. I gently massage his head and shoulders again. “I want you to close your eyes and just breathe. Let any remaining tension bleed out.”

I expect him to fight me on it, but to my surprise, he says, “Can I put my head on your lap?”

“Of course.”

He repositions himself, moving out from between my legs, and rests his head on my lap. He pushes one arm around my back and drapes the other over my hip, holding me like he doesn’t want me to get away. “That’s better,” he murmurs.

It is better.

“See? It’s okay to be not so perfect,” I say softly, and run my fingers through his hair. He makes a humming sound of appreciation. I love the friendship we’ve developed and the incredible sex we have, but I also really like this togetherness, and taking care of him. I realize I’ve never seen him simply relax. He’s always on, upbeat, making sure I’m okay and happy. I think about the latte he got me when we were with my family yesterday. He noticed my yawn, for Pete’s sake. Even the two mornings we woke up together, he was energetic from the moment he opened his eyes. I wonder if he knows it’s okay to just be sometimes.

His hold on me eases, and his head becomes heavier in my lap.

He’s fallen asleep, and I love that, too. I continue stroking his hair, listening to the peaceful cadence of his breathing, and I’m overcome with a sense of contentment I can’t ever remember feeling. It makes me want more.

But this isn’t real life. This is a fling.

A dull ache forms in my chest. As exciting as it is being with him, the person I am when we’re together isn’t me. I’m not someone who shirks her responsibilities and blows off work on a whim for a whirlwind day in Paris. This is some altered version of me that reacts solely to Clay’s energy, his touch, his voice, the things he says.

The thought of our time together ending brings a wave of longing, and I have to force myself not to give in to it. I know better. I turn my thoughts inward, searching for the real me.

I know she’s there. She’s always at the ready.

But this time she’s been pushed back to the shadows. I try to will this altered version of myself to retreat. It’s not easy, but eventually she takes a step back, leaving sorrow in her wake. It takes a few minutes for the real me to find her way forward and settle in. When she does, I do what I need to in order to keep her there.

I pick up my phone and scroll through work emails, but there’s no fire in my belly to handle them like there usually is. I open a report from Min and try to concentrate, but after reading the same paragraph three times and comprehending none of it, I know the effort is futile.