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“Ansel, I’m ready for you.” She glances at Carly, the receptionist, and smiles.

I probably shouldn’t be here. She might take my appointment as me pushing her for something she’s not ready for. In reality, I just want to check in and make sure she’s okay. It’s not lost on me that this checklist she’s working through could bring up a lot of shit for her.

Once we’re in her massage room with the door closed behind us, I turn to her. “I hope it’s okay that I’m here.” I thumb over my shoulder. “If it’s not, I can make up an excuse and leave. I’ll just tell the receptionist I’m not feeling well or something.”

She gives me a soft smile that puts me at ease. “It’s fine, Ansel. I’m glad to see you.”

I lean forward but step back before I lose all control and take her in my arms. Almost.

The only way I stop myself is by remembering that this short-term pain will hopefully be rewarded with a long-term gain.

“Is your back still bothering you?” Her head tilts.

“Yeah, my lower back feels strained again.” Another white lie.

“Let me help you with that. You know the drill.” She motions to the table and walks to the door.

A couple of minutes later, her soft knock lands on the door after I’m face down on the table and under the sheet.

“Come in.”

I hear the door open, then she dims the lights further, moving around the room, getting everything set up. My body is acutely aware of everywhere she moves in a way it never has been before. It’s as if the hair on my body is magnetized and she’s the magnet—it moves in the directions she’s in.

“Let me know how the pressure is and if anything is painful as I go.”

I murmur an acknowledgment, then her hands are on me, spreading the warm massage oil over my back. There’s nothing sexual about what she’s doing, but my dick isn’t getting the message. It twitches underneath me against the table.

Willing myself not to behave like some creep, I take my thoughts in a different direction, determined not to get a fucking hard-on. “I heard back from Earl Timbre about the truck.”

She left the keys under the mat for me, and I took it in last week. Picked it up from her place. The hardest drive of my life. It still smelled like him and all his shit was still in the center console. Receipts from almost two years ago and his phone charger cord, but the worst was a note from Collins telling him she loved him and would miss him.

“He said it needs a bit of work done, but nothing major. He actually said he might know someone interested in buying it. Had a customer in a few weeks ago who mentioned looking for a secondhand truck.”

“Really? That would be great.” Though I can’t see her, I hear the appreciation in her voice.

“You might be able to do better on the open market, I’m not sure.”

“I don’t want to drag it out. If your guy knows someone, I’d rather go that route.”

I nod into the circle holding my head upright. “All right. I’ll text him after this and tell him to sell it.”

“Thanks, Ansel. I owe you one.”

Her words are innocent, but my mind makes all kinds of leaps into dirty territory of how she could pay me back. Again, I try to shut it down.

We’re quiet for a while until she tells me to flip over. Collins holds the sheet up, and I move so that I’m face up and position myself lower on the table.

“All good.”

She lowers the blanket, then turns around, meeting my eyes. It’s suddenly very apparent that we’re in a dim room with light music playing in the background, and I’m completely naked. I swallow hard.

I break the silence. “So… one item checked off the list.”

This is the reason I’m here. To make sure she’s good. Not to delve into my fantasies of what we might do in here alone if things were different.

She picks up my right arm and massages my upper arm. “Yup. Apologies for texting you so late that night. The wine had been flowing.”

I open my eyes and meet her gaze. “You don’t have to apologize, Collins. You can text me whenever you want.”