by Sarina Bowen
“I’m with Hank at that hour. But I’d have to leave halfway through our session. I don’t know what that does to your data, but I was thinking he wouldn’t mind cutting it short.”
“Okay, Tiny. That’s fine. Maybe I’ll find someone else to take over for you. Leave it to me.”
* * *
When Hank rolled into the locker room the next afternoon, he found another parody of an inspirational poster stuck to his locker door. This one was a picture of a meadow full of daisies. The caption was: “BLOOM WHERE YOU’RE PLANTED. Because that’s what plants do. And I’ve never heard one complaining.”
Hank chuckled to himself. Maybe Callie had decided that she wanted to be buddies again. And that was a good thing, even if glimpses of her gave him an ache in his gut.
In the therapy room, Hank noticed that Tiny was taking it easy on him today. The dreaded walker had been stashed in a corner, and the weight bench took center stage. “I thought we’d do some chest and back,” the big trainer said. “I don’t want you blaming me if your bench press suffers.”
“Uh huh. Listen, Tiny. If we work on walking today, I swear I won’t lose it.”
“I know you won’t. But I have to leave in fifteen minutes, and I don’t know if Doctor C. found someone to replace me.”
“Nobody could replace you, big guy,” Hank drawled.
“Aw, now you’re laying it on a little thick. Do you want to press, or should we fool around with some pull-ups?”
Hank gave his shoulders a circle or two and eyed Tiny. “Do you do pull-ups, big man?”
The trainer grinned. “I’ve been known to chin that bar a few times. Why?”
“How about a little wager? The longest series wins.”
Tiny crossed his arms and chuckled. “What do I win when I best you?”
“Let’s keep it simple, because I don’t want to hurt you too bad. Subtract the loser’s reps from the winner’s, and the difference is the number of beers he owes the winner.”
“Fine. But you go first.”
Hank rolled over to the bar, realizing that he had no clue how he was going to get up on it. But Tiny walked over and knelt down in front of him. “Come on. Piggyback.”
Huh. Hank tipped forward and wrapped his arms around Tiny’s neck. The trainer rose into the air, catching Hank’s bent knees and rising to a standing position. A second later, Hank was eye level with the bar. He grabbed it, and Tiny stepped away again.
Not wasting any time, Hank adjusted his grip and pulled. “One,” he said, lowering himself.
“Two,” Tiny counted for him. “Three.” The big man used the toe of his sneaker to kick the big crash mat underneath Hank. “Four. Five. Six…”
Hank tried to set a pace that he could sustain. He hadn’t done pull-ups in a long time. But he did plenty of curls, and used his upper body all day long. It felt good to heave his carcass into the air just like any chump.
“Twelve. Thirteen. I may be in trouble,” Tiny chuckled.
“Hi guys! What’s happening?”
At the sound of Callie’s voice, Hank clenched his jaw. Now he had to win this thing. It was a matter of dignity.
“Sixteen… oh, he’s slowing down! Hallelujah. Seventeen… Eighteen. Shit.”
Hank’s arms were shaking like crazy. He was going to pay for this tomorrow, but it would probably be worth it. The bar was slicked with his sweat now. So this would be over soon.
“Nineteen… Twenty. That’s plenty, right? Twenty-one…”
That was all he could take. Hank let go, reaching for the mat with his forearms. He landed with a bounce and a laugh. “Batter up!”
“What are you hooligans up to, anyway? Don’t you have to leave?” Callie asked Tiny.
“I’m not leaving until I win this thing. Just a friendly little contest. Move that ass, Hank.”
He rolled to the edge of the mat and sat up. Tiny locked his chair in front of him, so Hank pressed down on the armrests and hauled himself up. His arms were like jelly.
“Good thing you don’t need your arms to count. Unless you count on your fingers?” Tiny kicked the mat out of the way and wiped down the bar.
“Can I leave my shoes on?” Hank asked. “If you’re only going to do ten, I won’t need to count my toes.”
“Smart…” Tiny said, gripping the bar for his first pull-up. “Ass…” he let out on the second one.
Hank watched as the trainer did eight pull-ups in a row, very fast. He cleared his throat and then did his best imitation of Tiny. “Aw, that’s looking good, man! Real good! I knew you could hang with the big kids.”
Tiny gave a half laugh and tried to ignore him.
“Work it, baby,” Hank said on the tenth rep. “They want to see it in the back row.”
Callie began to giggle. “Jeez, Hank. You sound just like him.”
“Don’t slow down yet, man!” Hank kept up the commentary. “Give it some more gas. Yeah! That’s how we do it in Georgia.”
Callie howled, and Tiny gave a frustrated snort. His arms shook on the fifteenth rep. Slowly, he did three more, and then hung there a second. That pause—that was the death of pull-ups. As Hank watched, Tiny pulled one more time. And then failed to clear the bar. “Damn,” he said, putting his feet down, dropping his hands in defeat. “Rematch next week?”
“Hell yes,” Hank agreed. “But I’ll be practicing.”
When the trainer walked out, Callie turned to him. “You do a mean impression of Tiny,” she said, her smile genuine. It tugged at his heart to see it.
“I’m just here to amuse.”
“He had to go to the dentist. I didn’t get anybody to fill in, because I thought you could use a break from playing Simon Says with the training staff.”
Hank hesitated. She had his number. She always did. And what’s more, he couldn’t stop noticing the V her blouse made, or the way the buttons strained gently across her bust. Quit looking, asshole. You don’t get to see that again. He dragged his face up to her eyes. “I may have lost my cool yesterday. But it’s all right. I’m good now.”
“Still,” she said, licking her lips. The sight of it made him want to kiss her. “Everybody needs a day off.”
“So…” He hesitated. “I should just go home early?”
“You could,” she said. “But I had a better idea.”
He waited for her to say what it was, hoping his face wouldn’t flush and betray the naughty place those words made his mind go.
She smiled at him. “Yesterday Tiny gave me the most amazing shoulder massage, and it changed my life.”
Hank couldn’t help but chuckle. He dropped his eyes, though, because it hurt too much to look at her pretty face. He couldn’t name another woman who had ever gotten so far under his skin.
“I thought I’d pay it forward. If you’ll let me.”
He probably did a poor job of keeping the surprise off his face. “Why?”
She shrugged, her cheeks pinking up. “You wanted us to be friends. I’m being friendly. Lie down on the table, would you? And take your shirt off.”
Damn. Even though he’d hurt her, here she stood, trying to make things better between them. She was so strong, and Hank felt like a heel. He wanted to say no, because he found it excruciating to be so close to her. But that would only offend her more.
She sighed. “Or you can just go home early instead. But do you get regular massages?”
“No.” He shifted in his chair. “I’ve thought about it. But I’d need to find someone who knows not to handle my transition area. It’s uncomfortable.” Callie would know what he meant.
She frowned. “I understand. But I think you would really benefit from massage. If you’re not comfortable with me touching your back, I can call around and try to find someone else with SCI experience.”
He grabbed his T-shirt with both hands and lifted. “We’ll give it a try.”
“You don’t sound sure,” she pressed. “If you’d rather go home, or go soak in the whirlpool, that’s all good, too.”
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He pressed his hands onto the table and transferred with a twist of his hips. “Well…” He attempted a laugh. “You’re not going to punish me, are you? Not that I don’t have it coming.”
“I guess you’ll find out,” she said, her lips twitching. “Why don’t you just take it like a man.” She pointed to the end of the table. “Lie down. Let’s see how tight you really are.”
How tight? Plenty. He maneuvered into position, lying on his stomach and bringing his arms up over his head. He used to get massages all the time, before his accident. There was a place in Park City he particularly enjoyed. The girl’s name was Hella. Once she’d figured out that he was an excellent tipper, the massages got even better.
It hadn’t even seemed like a big deal back then. Just another cheap thrill in his hedonistic life. But now the memory only made him feel hollow.
Callie began by placing her smooth hands on his neck, working her fingers into his muscles. He closed his eyes, trying to think of nothing else. Although, maybe she was waiting for him to apologize one more time. “Callie…”
“Hush, okay?” she interrupted. “Unless you want to tell me something about what I’m doing right here, it can wait. Just relax.”
Fuck it. Her hands were strong, and his neck was tight. He sighed, allowing his body to melt onto the table. She rolled her thumbs in small circles on the back of his skull. “Shit, yes,” he said.
“There you go,” she murmured.
He floated under the pressure of her hands. Inch by inch, she worked her way down his neck, onto his shoulders. There was a pause while her hands briefly left him. When they returned, her fingers slicked more freely on his skin. The massage oil felt like heaven. He heard himself groan.
“How do you feel about your punishment now?” she asked quietly.
“Punish me, Doc.”
She worked slowly down his back with strong strokes. His eyes were closed, and as he drifted, relaxing images flickered through his mind. He thought of sunshine, and saw the slope of a snow-covered mountain where it met the blue sky. His old life was always there, waiting behind his eyelids to remind him of all he’d lost. He sighed and tried to think of nothing at all but the pressure of Callie’s touch.
Inevitably, she approached his waistline with her hands. As she got nearer to the awkward place where normal sensation altered, changing abruptly to something foreign and uncomfortable, he tensed.
She paused, leaving her hands in place, pushing firmly against his skin. “Is this too far down?” she asked.
He cleared his throat. “You’re okay right there,” he said. “But no farther.”
“Gotcha. Turn left at the dragon’s tail,” she said, referring to his tattoo. “Don’t tense up, okay?”
He melted back onto the table, and she worked her hands higher up. When she was safely out of the way of his transition band, she changed her touch to a lighter one. She feathered her fingertips down his sides. It felt damn good. In fact, he felt his nipples began to tingle in a sensual way.
Hank lay very still. Was she trying to excite him? Even as he wondered, her hands went back to a more traditional stroke, fingers stroking the muscles beneath his skin. He let out a shaky breath. How long had it been since anyone had touched him in a loving way? Eleven months, give or take. Making out with Callie had been the only time anyone’s hands had been on his body without adjusting his posture or listening to his heart with a chilly stethoscope.
Jesus. He was fucking starved for it.
Happily, those tricky fingers of hers came back. Again she caressed his sides with a sweet sweep of her hands. He was in serious danger of begging for more. Maybe she knew that, or maybe it was just her idea of relaxing him. Either way, it made him feel like a lightning rod in a thunderstorm.
Again her fingers were light and lovely, grazing the sensitive skin on his sides. Hank kept his breath even and decided that Callie knew exactly what she was doing. She was showing him exactly what he could have had if he hadn’t run away. Fine. I get it, lady. He almost said it out loud, but when she made another sweep down the edges of his pecs, he decided to just go with it. She was free to make her point, and he was free to enjoy it.
Callie’s fingers strayed down his torso again, still feathery and light. He was enjoying himself too much to panic as she worked her way down toward his transition area. But as those fingertips went lower, he wondered if he would have to remind her. All at once, she swept her thumbs through the very top edge of that unruly band of skin, and the sensation caused him to stop breathing. Because instead of discomfort, he felt a tingle so deep and so fine that he had never experienced anything like it.
What the…?
Before he could process his reaction, Callie’s fingers retreated to safer territory up his spine. She pressed gently on either side of it, her thumbs trailing along behind. This was the oddest massage he had ever received, and he didn’t know what Callie was playing at. But it kicked the snot out of another sweaty session on the parallel bars with Tiny.
Hank took a steadying breath and relaxed into her touch. But, holy hell. She was back, teasing his lower waistline, sweeping her fingers through the top of his sensitive area. And the effect was just the same, if not more intense. This time her touch rounded his sides, too, ending near his belly. And he felt such intense pleasure that he was reminded of the first time a girl ever slid her fingers past the elastic of his underwear and slowly onto the skin of his groin. The single sweep of Callie’s fingers had the same effect—the shock and awe of an intimate touch. Unbidden, the image of sixteen-year-old Hannah Smith’s face flashed in his mind, and he bit his lip to keep from laughing. “Shit…” he mumbled.
Callie’s hands froze on his back. “Do you want me to stop?” she whispered. “Am I making you uncomfortable?”
“Don’t you dare stop.” The words came out more harshly than he’d intended. But…damn. He hadn’t felt like this in so long. Pleasure for pleasure’s sake. It was intoxicating.
Callie’s warm fingers worked their way back up to his neck. Then his tricky masseuse leaned over his back until some of her hair grazed his shoulder. She put her lips on the nape of his neck. Her kiss was slow, her tongue tasting him. While he held his breath, she dropped her lips near his ear. “I won’t do that again. But I just need you to know that I care about you. And there’s no hard feelings.”
Hank screwed his eyes shut against a flood of emotion. He loved Callie’s sensual touch, and he was sorry he’d hurt her. And he wished things were different. There was only one way he could think of to tell her. Lifting one arm off the table, he caught her by the back of her neck, bringing her mouth down to his own. He made the kiss wet and aggressive, sliding his tongue into her mouth, leaving no room for misunderstanding.
Callie made a sexy little noise of surprise. For a moment, she kissed him back. But then she gently extracted herself, going back to work on his spine. Hank took another steadying breath. Whether she knew it or not, Callie was taking him apart. He was miserable about his life, and the fact that he couldn’t have her. He had a grim view of his future. But at that very moment, it all mattered a little less. Right now, in this room, under the friction of her hands, all was well. Her generous touch was enough.
He sank into the darkness of his eyelids again. The only sound was the thud of his own blood in his ears, and the sweet sound of Callie’s breathing as she worked. The apple scent of her shampoo enveloped him as she leaned down again, putting her lips on his neck for a second time. Softly, she kissed down his back, her hands sweeping luxurious circles in her wake. When she reached the crazy, lusty erogenous zone formerly known as his waist, she used her fingernails to scratch lightly. And the feel of it almost shot him through the ceiling.
Then, she lowered her mouth to the same area, and began to drop soft, open-mouthed kisses there. And Hank let out a sound that could only be interpreted as an erotic moan.
She picked up her pace a bit, kissing a hot line up his back. When she got nearer t
o his face, she took his earlobe into her mouth and sucked.
“Fuck…” he bit out as she went back to her teasing of his waist. His breathing became shallow and erratic. He found himself rolling his hips from side to side, and realized the urge to do that came from pressure in his groin. The good kind of pressure.
Callie had given him—of all people—a giant woody, and she’d done it by touching his back. It was so trippy. Her fingers were now farther down his waist than he would have thought possible. Whenever a doctor or a rehab nurse had touched him there, it had been monstrously uncomfortable. But Callie’s sneak attack had brought on only intense, uncontrolled arousal—the kind he’d felt when he was a teenager looking at Playboy.
Unbelievable.
And then she did it again, her fingernails dancing across his midsection, stoking the fire. And the sound he made could have been part of the soundtrack for a porn flick.
She bent near his ear again, and he received another slow kiss. Then she said, “You can touch yourself, if you want.”
He hesitated only long enough to convince himself that he’d heard her correctly. Then, rolling slightly to the side, he plunged his hand down into his shorts, wrapping his fingers around the impressive erection he found there. While Callie worked her fingernails down his sides, he stroked himself. His fingers trembling, he reached lower, giving his balls a gentle squeeze. Then Callie nibbled his waist, and he couldn’t stand it anymore. Pressing his shoulders off the table, he dropped his head forward with a shuddering groan. It seemed to happen in slow motion. His hips shook with pleasure, and hot semen began to spill into his hand. For the first time in almost a year.
Callie’s hands stilled.
After two beats of his pulse, he collapsed back onto the table, his exhale a gust into the crook of his arm. There was absolute silence for a moment, and he could hear only his own breathing, and the pounding of his heart. “What the hell just happened here?” he gasped, the words muffled.
She cleared her throat. “If you don’t know, then I feel sorry for all your old girlfriends.”
He let out a half of a barked laugh, but left his face hidden safely in his elbow. He couldn’t show his face, or any of the emotions that were probably written on it—shock, pleasure, relief. And a heavy helping of embarrassment.