Jake
I hung up and threw my cell phone onto the counter. Leaning forward I rested my head in my hands and waited for the pain to pass. But it didn’t. Because I missed her.
When my phone had rung, I’d seen her name appear on the screen and had answered in a moment of weakness.
I was desperate to hear her voice. But like a well-sharpened harpoon it had augured another giant hole in my heart.
Jesus Christ. I had to keep my head in the game. I couldn’t afford any distractions. The team were counting on me.
“You alright, buddy?” Cowboy asked, walking into the kitchen and heading straight for the refrigerator. He pulled out a box of leftover to-go food and sniffed it.
“Yeah, fine.”
“Doesn’t sound like it,” said Casanova from behind me.
They were both dressed in sweats and based on the way Cowboy shoveled leftover Chinese noodles into his mouth, I guess they’d both been at the gym.
They were both staying with me while the house they shared was being fumigated.
“Just the usual.” I sighed and tried to rub out a knot in my left shoulder blade. “How was gym?”
“Man, it was packed with babes,” Cowboy gushed with a mouthful of noodles. “You’re missing out, buddy. Told you, you should’ve come. Nothing like a training session to smooth out the pain of a broken heart.” He swallowed deeply. “Except sex. Now that is better. Waaaaay better.”
“Thanks. I’ll take that under advisement.”
Casanova dropped down next to me and opened a bottle of water. “Hey, did you know Candy from the Well-being Team has left? I went to make an appointment with her for today. But she’s gone. Pregnant.” He shook his head. “And here I was thinking we’d get married once my career was over.”
The Well-being Team consisted of a physical therapist, dietician, counselor and housekeeper for both the major and minor teams. Candy was our physical therapist.
And Casanova had a crush on her because of her hands.
“Damn, that girl was good at her job,” Cowboy said. I watched as he tipped the container upside down and then scooped the remaining contents into his mouth.
“Tell me about it. I swear to God her hands were like magic. Once, I had such a knotted hamstring I didn’t think I’d be able to skate for a week. Candy puts her hands on me and boom, I’m on the ice in twenty minutes.” Casanova shook his head and took a sip of his water. “Damn, I wanted to marry that woman.”
Noticing me rub my shoulder blade again he said, “Looks like you could use a massage.”
“Since Tex got me against the boards yesterday my shoulder has been crying like a baby,” I replied, rubbing it again. I’d done what I could to get the knot out. Stretched it. Taken a hot shower. Laden it down with ice packs. But nothing had worked. I needed to get it sorted between now and Wednesday’s game.
Cowboy clicked his fingers. “I met a guy the other day—”
Casanova leaned closer to me. “You know, nothing good ever starts with Cowboy saying ‘I met a guy the other day’.”
Cowboy flicked him the bird. “You’re so fucking funny, Cas. Seriously. But do you want to hear my story or not, motherfucker?”
“Please, by all means, keep going.”
“So I met this guy the other day. He owns a mobile massage therapy company. Sends massage girls to you. How good is that? I can’t believe I haven’t heard of this before now.”
Casanova and I looked at each other, barely holding back our laughter.
“Cowboy, they’re called hookers and somebody did think about it, way before your friend did.”
“They’re not hookers!” Cowboy looked surprised that we would even think it. “They’re totally legit.”
“Sure. And this friend of yours, he’s totally legit, too?” Casanova asked.
Cowboy grinned. “A total stand-up guy.”
Casanova and I shared a very dubious look, while Cowboy stretched his arms above his head and yawned.
“Well, do you guys want me to organize this massage or not?” he asked, dropping his arms to rub his chest.
As I shifted on the stool my shoulder twinged and a bolt of pain shot through me. Yeah. It needed some TLC, and a massage might just be the answer.
I looked at Casanova. “What do you think?”
“Can’t hurt.” He shrugged.
I shot Cowboy a look. “Fine. Make your call. But if they turn out to be six-foot-two, hairy, lady boys I’m throat punching you.”
Cowboy threw his hands up. “Like I said, dude, it’s a totally legit business.”
I was a little nervous about who was going to turn up. But when the doorbell rang and three very professional and normal looking women turned up, I had to admit I relaxed a little. Dressed in conservative uniforms and looking every inch like the professional sports massage therapists they were, they conducted themselves less like hookers and exactly how I imagined mobile massage therapists would conduct themselves. I even felt bad for doubting Cowboy in the first place.
Cowboy, Casanova and I helped them carry in their massage tables and set them up in our bedrooms.
That should have been my first red flag.
The bedroom. Who comes to your house and massages you in your bedroom?
My therapist was called Imogen and she had a killer Ukranian accent that made every word sound sexy. She was very cute and young, and I guessed she was either a student or freshly graduated from college. She told me to strip down to nothing and then lay on the massage table. Face up.
That should have been my second red flag.
A little suspicious, I did as she told me to do and reclined back on the massage table making sure my towel covered the region of my body I didn’t want her massaging.
Because I was still a little apprehensive.
But whatever reservations I had quickly disappeared as soon she began massaging my arms, shoulders and hands. For a tiny girl she had amazing fingers. They kneaded and loosened my muscles until I was in complete submission.
Somehow I sank even lower into the massage table and drifted further and further into a relaxed, blissed-out state.
Right up until her hand brushed over my cock.
And if there was any doubt that she did it deliberately, it was pretty much confirmed when her fingers slid beneath the towel that covered my groin and grabbed onto my junk. My eyes flew open and I launched off the massage table so damn fast she yelped.
And that nice, conservative uniform she’d had on earlier? Yeah, it was gone. She was completely and utterly naked.
“What the hell? Where are your clothes?”
Imogen looked confused. “I can’t give you the type of massage you want in my uniform.”
Oh, Christ. I should’ve known.
“Honey, you should be able to wear a Hazmat suit while giving me the massage I’m looking for.”
“You don’t like it?” she asked, looking crestfallen. “Am I not pretty enough for you?”
Well, wasn’t I the biggest prick in the world? She was gorgeous. In-your-face gorgeous.
I tightened the towel around my hips.
“Doll face, you’re beautiful. Stunning. But this wasn’t what I was looking for.”
“You ordered a massage.”
“Yes.” I nodded slowly. “Just. A. Massage.”
By the look on her face I had a feeling she wasn’t used to being turned down.
“But this is what we do. This is what men want.”
I grabbed my wallet from my jeans, which were slung over the chair in the corner of the room.
“Not all men, honey,” I said. “Here, take this.” I gave her fifty dollars. I don’t know why. I guess I felt bad and that somehow fifty bucks might alleviate the inconvenience.
Inconvenience for what, I wasn’t quite sure.
I just wanted to throw money at the situation and make it go away. Then pretend like this never, ever happened.
Like, ever.
“Please, put your clothes back on and let’s call this even,” I pleaded.
Piercing blue eyes threw a thousand knives at my face before she snatched the fifty bucks from me.
“Fine,” she huffed.
I turned my back on her to let her redress with some privacy.
“You can turn around now,” she said flatly. Then muttered, “pussy.”
To say it was awkward as I loaded her massage table into the back of the car she and her friends arrived in, was an understatement.
“Ah, I suppose this is goodbye then,” I said, opening the car door for her.
Imogen climbed into the car and then closed the door behind her without a word. When I looked back she was lighting a cigarette and doing the best version of resting bitch face I’d ever seen. And, let’s face it, I’d seen a lot over the years.
As I climbed the steps to the front porch, Casanova’s therapist came stomping down the stairs with Casanova and a massage table in tow. He threw me a ‘I’m in so much trouble’ look as he rushed past me and I couldn’t help but chuckle.
Once in the safety of the kitchen I made myself a coffee and sat down at the kitchen counter. Within a few minutes Casanova came in and grabbed a bottle of water from the fridge.
“What the hell?” He took three deep gulps of water. “I should’ve known.”
I shook my head. “I’m going to kill Cowboy.”
“For a minute there I thought I was getting a really good massage. Then bam, she’s naked and climbing on the table.”
I couldn’t help but laugh. “What did you do?”
“Are you kidding me? I stopped her. Chloe would put my dick in a vise and tighten it closed if I didn’t.”
A little while later, Cowboy walked in grinning like a goddamn Cheshire cat. “Well, that was surprising.”
“I swear to God, Cowboy . . .” Casanova threw his bottle cap at him.
“Hey, I was just as surprised as you,” he said, raising his arms at his side.
I looked at Cowboy who, now that I thought about, had taken a while to emerge from his room. “Tell me you didn’t.”
He looked sheepish. And when he grinned he basically confirmed what I had already suspected—that he’d ridden the whole way into happy town.
“Well, hey!” He grinned. “I figured, why the hell not?”
“Dude, if Hookers R Us appears anywhere on my bank statement I am going to kick your ass from here to New York City,” Casanova warned him.
Cowboy winked, looking pleased with himself.
I stood up. I needed a shower and a good night’s sleep.
And to never think of this incident ever again.
* * *