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“She left her job all by herself,” I insist. “She knew I wasn’t going to have a thing with an ice girl. And even though I told her that it’s crazy of her to even consider quitting, she decided to hear only a part of what I was telling her. Did you ever consider that she was just sick of the gig and was looking for an excuse? She wasn’t that good at it in the first place.”
Brit looks like she’s about to say something rude, but then she bites back her words. She reaches for my other leg, and the abrupt movement causes my towel to slip off halfway. Since I prefer not to wear underwear when I get a massage, my dick is now partially exposed. She’s too incensed to even notice it.
As I begin to extend my hand toward the towel, a primal, almost childlike impulse to simply let it be washes over me.
So, I do.
She says nothing for several minutes, and the tension between us is thicker than I’ve ever known it to be.
Hating Janice for taking this tiny pleasure from me, I say, “Look at it this way, Brit. Wouldyouquit your job for a guy?”
Her words escape her soft mouth, as malleable as candle wax. “Foryou? Hell, no.”
I’m half-amused, half-annoyed. I do want to point out the ridiculousness of anyone giving up a career to be with someone, but I don’t like her tone, like the only stupid thing about the whole affair was that Janice did it forme.
Though she may have a point. I’m far from being the most palatable item on the menu. Being abandoned by your mother and raised by a morally ambiguous father surely left its mark on my young soul.
I decide to let my annoyance go, especially if it means we can finish the massage in silence.
“Well, then, I don’t see why you’re blaming me for her foolishness.”
Brit digs her fingers into my sore quad. “Yeah,” she mutters. “Right.”
“If you’ve got something to say, go ahead.” I’m already having second thoughts about choosing Britney for today’s session. I’d rather be with literally any other therapist now, most of whom would probably be lightly flirting with me while they work.
Flirting.
A small smile forms on my lips in spite of myself. It is highly unprofessional to sleep with the masseuses, of course, and I’ve never crossed that line. But some of them were incorrigible cock teases, and I would find myself engaging in banter once in a while, out of nothing other than sheer boredom.
Of course, Britney always plays it safe. A part of me has always secretly hoped she might start to live dangerously, even when we were growing up. At ten, my mother decided she had enough of being a wife to an abusive alcoholic, leaving me at the mercy of my boozy dad. I had to grow up fast. Lucky for me, Blake became my refuge, and I practically lived at his place. Britney, still a kid herself, was often our target. We were oblivious to her own battles she was fighting within.
“No one would quit a career without reassurance,” she mutters now, shaking my thoughts back in her direction.
We arestilltalkingaboutJanice?
But I’m not as irritated as I was a second ago. Because I’ve got another play here.
“Well,” I say with a shrug, “maybe she got all the reassurance she needed from the promise of fucking me. Maybe leaving her job was worth getting to bang me a few more times.”
I expect Britney to react with anger at my use of profanity. Or fall silent with embarrassment. Or blush so hard that the roots of her hair turn pink.
What I don’t expect is a complete lack of reaction and a nonchalant shrug. “Sure,” she mutters.
I raise a brow, slightly disgruntled. “You don’t seem convinced.”
“Yeah.” She yawns, covering up her mouth with her shoulder while she continues to work on my leg. “You’re probably not as good of a fuck as you think you are.”
My skin heats up. There’s no reason to be slighted, since Britney and I have not, nor ever will go there. And none of the women I’ve been with have ever complained.
However, the undeniable truth remains that she doesn’t seem the least bit impressed. And the frustrating realization that I’ll never have a chance to prove her wrong gnaws at me, primarily because I can’t bear the thought of jeopardizing my friendship with Blake over a quick romp with his sister, a woman I’ve never once admitted to finding appealing. Not to mention that I owe her father, David, for allowing me to practically live at their house, and eventually leading me down the path of hockey.
But I do have to acknowledge that my annoyance is mingled with curiosity. Britney is deathly shy, and I’ve never even seen her look at a guy before. I am well aware that David’s favorite pastime is watching over Britney like a hawk. Blake had even once told me, half-jokingly, that hisdad might have secured the masseuse job for Britney only so he could keep a close watch on her.
My guess is that Britney is still a virgin. And yet, she has strong opinions about my sex life.
In spite of my bruised ego, I prod further.
“Why do you say that?”
