by Lisa Suzanne
The bartender swings back a couple minutes later. “Need more time?”
She glances up at him. “Yeah. Which is better, the cobb salad or the southwest salad?”
“Southwest,” he says impatiently.
“Hm,” she murmurs, eyes returning to the menu.
“I’ll just take a cheeseburger,” I say while she keeps studying the menu.
“Fries?” he asks.
I nod. “No salt.” She glances at me like it’s an odd request. Salt makes my hands swell, and there’s nothing worse than fumbling with the strings on my bass with swollen hands. The competition is a few days away, but I’m not losing focus.
He looks at Lexi from Nashville again, and she glances up a little nervously, like she’s on the spot while she decides between which of her two rabbit food choices is better, and then she says, “Make it two burgers. But no tomato.”
I laugh when she chooses something other than the salads she was debating between, and the bartender huffs out an annoyed breath.
“Salt on your fries?” he asks.
She nods. “I am human, after all.”
“Why no tomato?” I ask once the waiter stalks off.
Her nose wrinkles. “I hate the taste.”
“You hate the taste of tomatoes? Tell me you eat pizza. If you say you don’t eat pizza, I may have to leave right now.”
“Of course I eat pizza. Extra salty with no tomatoes.”
“Tomato sauce?”
“Yeah, sauce is fine. Why no salt?” she counters.
“It makes my hands swell up when I eat too much of it,” I say.
“Isn’t pizza salty?”
“That’s different. It’s worth it then. I just mean no extra salt.” I change the subject because now we’re riding a line a little too close to why I need my hands unswollen. “So you do make-up in Nashville, and you’re here visiting friends. Why aren’t you with them tonight?” I ask.
Her eyes widen at my random question, and she grabs her drink to take a sip like she’s trying to come up with the right answer. When she swallows, she says nonchalantly, “Oh, you know. I just got into town this evening and we’re getting together tomorrow.”
“They didn’t come get you at the airport or want to see you tonight? They seem like bad friends.”
She shakes her head. “No, it’s not that. They, um...it’s a surprise. They don’t know I’m here.”
It sounds like a lie—and a blatant one at that—but I don’t care why she’s here. I’m just glad she is.
“What about you?” she tosses back. “Don’t you have, like, sales meetings or something?”
“Long day of them,” I lie. “And a few more booked tomorrow and Saturday.” I toss in the second lie for good measure.
“When do you head home?”
“Sunday,” I say.
“Me too,” she says. “Just a quick weekend to get away and then it’s back to work.”
“I suppose you have plans with your friends tomorrow night, then.” I’m hoping she says no.
She takes another sip of her Long Island, and then it’s empty. She picks up the godfather.
“You may want to slow it down, Nashville.”
She giggles a little sheepishly. She’s clearly not used to drinking like this.
Our food comes, and we eat as we get to know one another.
Once we’re done and finishing our drinks, she asks a question. “Can I be honest with you?”
I nod.
“I’m not really here visiting friends.”
“Oh?” I raise my brows at her honesty.
She shakes her head. “I just wanted a weekend getaway in Los Angeles. I decided to treat myself to a luxury hotel.”
“Nice gift to yourself,” I murmur, and I almost think that would’ve been a better lie than the sales thing. “Why’d you lie about the friends?” I ask.
She shrugs. “I didn’t want to seem like a loser.”
I laugh. “You don’t. I love that you’re treating yourself.”
She presses her lips together in a thin smile, and then before I lose my nerve, I throw out a question.
“What would you say to spending the day with me tomorrow? We can tour LA together. I can show you some of the sights."
“Don’t you have meetings?” she asks.
“I’ll blow them off,” I say. “I think you’re worth it.”
Her brows dip down. “I don’t even know you. How do I know I can trust you?”
“Well, for one thing, I just tried to get you to slow your drinking. If I was an untrustworthy fellow, wouldn’t I be pushing to get you drunk faster?”
She narrows her eyes at me. “Wouldn’t an untrustworthy fellow say that to appear like he’s a good guy?”
I lift a shoulder. “Maybe. Probably. Look, you can’t deny there’s an attraction between us. I want to kiss you. I want to take you up to my room and show you what a good time is. But I won’t do any of that unless it’s what you want, too. You’re in charge. Tomorrow, too—you can choose our Uber driver, you can choose where we go. You can be in charge if that’ll make you comfortable.”
“Well, for starters, I’d choose a Lyft.” She shrugs, and I laugh.
She’s feisty.
And even if this just lasts for the next few days, I think we can both give each other some great memories of Los Angeles.
“Thanks for the offer,” she says. “I just don’t think it’s a good idea.”
The sting of rejection bites at me. “All right.”
I drain the rest of my Miller Lite, my drink of choice to get rid of that God-awful godfather drink. “I’m going to head out. If you change your mind, I’m in room twenty-two-seventy-one.”
And I don’t look back at her as I stand and leave even though I feel her eyes on me all the way out of the lobby bar.
CHAPTER 11: LEXI
Two things hit me in the morning.
First is the headache.
Second is the regret.
Aside from my nine o’clock massage, it’s not like I really have anything to do today other than get nervous for what’s awaiting me on Sunday.
I wish I could remember what he said his room number was but all I have is his first name and the fact that there was definitely a seven somewhere in his room number.
I think.
The Long Island and the godfather were a bad combination. My head is throbbing, but at least I slept okay.
I think.
Saying no was probably the right thing.
I think.
God, I’m not usually this indecisive.
I think back to the great salad debate of last night.
Okay, so maybe I really am this indecisive.
It’s just been a long while since I’ve had such a fun night with a guy. I’ve been so focused on Electric Red Summer for so long that I haven’t taken the time to meet someone new. Instead, my most recent prospective love interest was...Danny?
The last guy I could really call my boyfriend was Bobby, who I was with for six months and split when he realized I was more focused on ERS than him. I’ve only slept with two guys in my entire life. Bobby was one, and the other was the guy I lost my virginity to...if you can count ninety seconds in the back of a Honda as losing my virginity.
I grab my room key after a quick shower and stick it in the secret compartment of my phone case, tuck my phone into my pocket, and open my door.
And just as I do, the door to the room next door opens, too.
Out steps a freshly showered Gage wearing black mesh shorts and a gray t-shirt. His hair is still wet from the shower, his stubble is even more grown in, and his eyes are positively dancing as they land on me.
I can smell that soapy, sexy, man scent all the way from here.
My stomach flips with nervous anticipation.
He’s here.
He’s next door.
And holy cannoli, he’s de-freaking-licious. Even hotter than my hungover mind remembers, that’s for sur
e.
“Well would you look at that? It’s Lexi from Nashville,” he says, a hint of surprise in his tone.
“And it’s Motley Crue from Vegas,” I grumble, and he laughs.
The sound seems to echo in the small hotel hallway as his door clicks shut behind him, and something in my chest flutters.
“Where are you off to at such an early hour, Nashville?” he asks as we trek together toward the elevators.
“I have a massage appointment,” I say. “And it’s not that early.”
“Well isn’t that a coincidence?” he asks.
My brows draw together. “You have one, too?”
He nods. “I figured there isn’t a better way to start my day of sales meetings than to work out the tension.” He reaches up and kneads his own shoulders. He flashes me a smile. “The happy endings are always a bonus, too.”
I give him a look of horror, and he cracks up laughing. I purse my lips and narrow my eyes at him.
“You should see your face right now,” he says, still laughing.
“You do you,” I mutter as the elevator doors open and we step into an empty car.
He presses the button for the third floor. “Someone’s not much of a morning person.”
“I usually am when I don’t have a headache from drinking all night.”
He laughs again. At me. “You had two, babe.”
I raise a brow. “Babe?”
He cowers just a bit. “I like you with no make-up,” he says softly.
My cheeks turn pink and heat creeps up my spine at his compliment. “Thank you,” I murmur. “Your mesh shorts are nice.”
He laughs, and the doors open to the third floor. The spa is directly in front of us, and he holds out a hand to indicate that I should go first.
When we walk in, the receptionist smiles at him first as her eyes flick down his body and she flips her hair over her shoulder. “How can I help you?”
“We have massage appointments,” I say.
“Name?”
“Lexi.”
She nods. “Yes, I see it here. I don’t have you down for a couple’s massage, but we do have availability this morning.”
I think that same look of horror must cross my face, but Gage speaks up before I get the chance to. “That would be great,” he says. “You can add Gage to the reservation, but please charge it to twenty-two-seventy-one.”
“No,” I say sharply. I came down here for a relaxing massage, and the very last thing a massage will be with Gage right next to me is relaxing. “That’s not necessary.”
“Oh, it’s no trouble at all.” She clicks a few buttons before I get the chance to protest further and then points to a door. “Go ahead into our locker rooms. Take off as much as you’re comfortable with, and slip into one of the robes you’ll find there. Then exit the locker room and wait in our quiet room until your masseuses call your names.”
“Thanks, Marcy,” he says, reading her nametag. He places his hand on the small of my back. “This way, babe.”
I huff out a breath of protest, and as soon as the door closes behind us, I turn to him. “Why’d you do that?” I snap.
“Figured it’s my only shot to see you naked.” He says it so flippantly, so casually, that I’m pretty sure smoke starts pouring out of my ears.
“I hardly know you. Don’t you think it’s a little forward of you to assume I want a couple’s massage with you?”
He lifts a shoulder. “I see the way you look at me. You can’t pretend like your eyes didn’t roam right for the promised land in these shorts that don’t hide much of anything.”
I purse my lips as my face absolutely burns. “This is not okay. I came here to relax, and instead I’m being bullied into a morning with you when I already told you no.”
“Oh yeah, that’s right. Why did you say no? I can’t remember.”
I didn’t give a reason. I just said I didn’t think it was a good idea.
Because I’m not the kind of girl who just spends the day with a stranger.
Except...maybe, just for today, I want to be.
Maybe this is my chance to reinvent myself. To try something new. To shed the innocence of my past and take a chance on something that could be a lot of fun.
He could be my one-weekend LA fling. I’ve never had one of those before, and let’s face it, I’m twenty-five. I deserve the chance to really relax as a man as hot as him works over my body so I can gear up for the competition coming my way.
It’s not me, and it’s a scary thought, but so far I’m having a lot of fun getting to know him.
And he’s right.
My eyes did roam right for the promised land.
I saw the outline there.
I liked what I saw.
“I don’t know why I said no,” I admit, and then I relent. “Because it seemed like the smart thing to do. Let’s just see how this massage thing goes, and then we can revisit the idea of spending the day together...if the offer’s still on the table.”
He grins. “I’ll have to see if I can get out of my meetings, but yeah. The offer’s still on the table.”
“I’ll see you in the quiet room,” I mumble, and I push open the door to the women’s locker room.
I lean back against the door and draw in a deep breath.
God, the things he does to me—to my body—with just one glance or a few words.
I don’t think I’ve ever felt this sort of ache between my thighs or buzzing in my chest around any guy before. Certainly not Danny or Bobby, and not with the sex in the backseat boy from high school.
This is either going to be a really fun day or I’m going to end the day with a whole bunch of regrets.
CHAPTER 12: GAGE
I’ve never actually had a massage before, but I strip down to nothing and set my clothes in a locker with my shoes. I pull on the plush, navy robe along with the matching slippers and head out to the quiet room.
The room is completely empty except for me and some scented wax.
She’s not there yet.
I slide into a chair and glance through a pile of magazines. They’re all ones I’ve never heard of before. One has cats on it, one is titled simply Contemplation, and the last one appears to be some sort of photography one. Apart from the cats, it seems like they’re trying to extend the theme of relaxation even to their magazine titles.
Cats, though, don’t tend to relax me.
Likely because one clawed my arm when I was six and it was so deep I had to get stitches. I still remember the fear of not knowing how to make it stop. To this day, I tense up every time I’m in a room with cats.
The door opens, and Lexi walks in, her hair drawn up on top of her head in messy disarray. She’s wearing a white bathrobe, and I need to know what she has on underneath.
Suddenly I’m not thinking about cats.
But I am thinking about a certain pussy.
My imagination is running wild.
My first thought is that, like me, she’s naked. That would be quite a treat.
But, knowing what I know about her, I somehow doubt it...which leads me to my second thought, which might be even sexier than the first—some sort of bra and panty set. I can’t decide whether a virginal white or a devilish black or a seductive red is the hottest.
What are you wearing under that?
My dick twitches.
Fuck.
Now I have to go get on a massage table with a boner.
She eyes me a little warily and steps toward the end table with the magazines. She picks one up and flashes it at me. “Cats?”
I chuckle and do my best to hide my wince at the sight of the furry critter on the cover. “The other options seem a little more relaxing.”
“You don’t find cats relaxing?” she asks, sliding into the chair next to the end table rather than one a little closer to me. She opens the magazine and starts flipping through it.
“Not particularly.”
“But look at this!” She holds up a p
hoto of a kitten playing with a ball of yarn. Sure, it’s cute...but relaxing? Not really. “Isn’t it adorable?”
I lift a shoulder. “Yeah. Adorable.” I don’t hide my sarcasm.
“You don’t like cats?”
I shake my head. “I’m allergic,” I lie. I don’t know why I lie. I guess telling her one scratched my arm makes me feel a little like a pussy. On the other hand, it’s also letting her in...and that’s not my goal here.
This is just supposed to be fun. A little banter, touring the city together, maybe some sex if she thaws a little toward me...and that’s it. A fun weekend for us both to blow off some steam before she heads back home after her solo weekend getaway and I head to the house to battle it out for the chance to play permanently with one of the biggest bands in the world.
A door opens and a woman says, “Lexi and Gage?” We both stand. “Right this way.” She motions for us to follow. We walk into a dark room with quiet instrumental music and two massage tables set side by side.
“I’m Laura and I’ll be massaging Lexi right here.” She indicates one of the tables. “Gage, Audra will be massaging you over there. We’ll give you a minute to slip out of your robes and get onto your tables face down. Cover yourself with the sheet.” The two masseuses leave, closing us into privacy.
I gaze across the small space at Lexi. “You first,” I say, and my voice comes out a lot deeper than I mean for it to, but fuck if I’m not turned on as hell right now.
“Uh, I don’t think so, pal,” she says, shaking her head like I’ve lost my damn mind. She sets her hands on her hips. “You crashed my massage, so you can get on your table first, stick your head in the hole, and close your eyes. No peeking.”
I chuckle. “All right,” I say, and then, because I have zero fucks to give, I pull the robe off with her still looking at me.
Her eyes widen as they flick down my body. My arms, inked with tattoos and strong from weightlifting. My chest, firm from push-ups and benching. My abs, carved into a six-pack from a combination of crunches, running, and good genes. And then, a little lower, right on my cock, thickened almost to midnight as I think about her getting naked and lying on the table beside me, all slicked up and oily.
I watch her look at me for a beat, and then she turns away like she didn’t totally check me out. I hang the robe on a hook on the back of the door and try to ignore the feelings suddenly warming my chest. It’s just because there’s a nearly naked chick in the room with me. Nothing more.