The Boxer (Modern Love Book 2)

by Piper Rayne

  He chews, swallows and I place a chip in my mouth, testing my stomach.

  “I like you. Although I appreciate the fact that you’re inexperienced in the casual sex department because I’m not looking for a fuck buddy right now.” He smiles, bringing his straw between those delicious lips and sucks up some soda.

  “Oh,” I say like a moron who can’t string together two words.

  “Anything you want to say?” he asks, placing his cup down and picking up his sandwich again.

  “I like you, too.” The way it comes out of my mouth is prim and proper and I curse myself internally.

  “Gee, thanks, Mary Ellen. Can we go to the malt shop after school and share a shake?” One side of his lips ticks up.

  I pick up a chip and throw it at him. It hits him square in the nose and drops down to his shirt. He plucks it up and tosses it in his mouth.

  “I ran out of the diner because I thought I was just another conquest for you. Like maybe you had a system where you get girls to sleep with you and then move on. I overreacted.” I look down to the table where I’m playing with the chips. “Which my friends told me, by the way.”

  “The one with the unicorn van?” he questions, taking another bite of his sandwich.

  “Yeah, and Whitney.” He nods, remembering them. “They thought I needed a rebound guy. Someone to make me forget Chase.”

  He finally pushes his sandwich to the side and rounds the booth over to my side, placing one arm along the top of the booth seat. His other lies on the table, blocking me in. He leans in close. “And what do you want, Tahlia?”

  Shivers run up my neck and I’m thankful my hair isn’t pulled into my usual ponytail today.

  “I want you,” I say more to my sandwich than Lucas.

  I watch as his hand leaves the table and rises toward my face. He places it on my cheek and turns my head to face him.

  “For another night?”

  “More.”

  He smiles wide. “And Chase?” he asks.

  “Chase who?” I answer back and his smile reaches his eyes.

  “That’s what I want to hear.” He moves forward, placing his lips gently on mine.

  I’ve never been in to the whole public affection thing, but with Lucas it’s as though we’re in our own little bubble secluded from the world.

  A half hour later, my belly is full, my heart is warm and Lucas walks me to the doors of Santora Sausage.

  “Thanks for lunch,” I say and he cages me against the glass door, his face millimeters away from mine. Not exactly appropriate behavior for a vice-president.

  “You’re welcome. What are your plans for tonight?”

  I want to meet his family to see if they all have his gorgeous green eyes because I think I’d kidnap him and force him to marry me just to have his kids.

  “Nothing I can’t cancel.”

  “Good. I’ll pick you up at seven.” He leans forward, kisses my cheek and steps back. “Text me your address,” he says over his shoulder as he walks away and then turns the corner out of my vision.

  I fumble in my purse to reach my phone. Once it’s in my hand, I text-message Whit and Lennon.

  Me: SOS

  Lennon: Did you steal a cinnamon roll again?

  Me: I’m serious. HELP! I need a hook-up.

  Lennon: Tahl, they don’t have those special massage places anymore.

  Me: Where’s Whit?

  Lennon: Working for the man.

  Me: ugh, I needed Webber-type connections.

  Lennon: What for?

  Me: I need a wax and a pedicure NOW.

  Lennon: I know a place my friend recommended.

  Me: Where? I’ll call right now.

  Lennon: I’ll pick you up. You at headquarters?

  Me: You don’t need to go with me. And headquarters? Really!?

  Lennon: I need to go anyway, I have a hot date tonight.

  Me: They’ll be able to fit both of us?

  Lennon: I’ll be there in ten.

  Having dealt with Lennon’s crazy behavior for half my life, I know to let the topic go and just wait. Sometimes it pays to be the boss because you can do things like skip out on work for an hour to make sure you have a pretty pussy for your date later that evening. No, that’s not in the employee handbook.

  A half hour later, Lennon rolls up to the curb, completely disregarding the line of traffic she’s blocking. Her old van is wrapped with a picture of a unicorn throwing up and shitting rainbows and I hold my purse in front of my face as I slide into the van, not wanting anyone who works for me to recognize me.

  The second my butt hits the seat she hits the gas and I fly back into the seat.

  “Jeez,” I say, but she’s too busy flipping another driver off to pay attention to me. “Where are we going?”

  She glances over at me and smirks. I now know nothing good is going to come out of her mouth.

  “It’s a surprise.”

  “Surprises from you are never good.”

  She raises her hand to my face. “Just relax and enjoy the ride.”

  Trying to take her advice, I relax as much as I can with her barreling down the 101 going eighty while her hands rest at the bottom of the steering wheel.

  We arrive outside the city to what appears to be more of an industrial area than the downtown high-end spas I’m used to.

  “This is not what I was thinking,” I say, not unbuckling myself.

  “I know it’s not posh, but believe me, you’re going to love the mud bath.” She undoes her seatbelt, grabs her shoulder bag and leaves me in the van.

  I sit and stare at the grey building with a neon sign that reads SPA in red lettering. Flashing, I might add. Flashing as though we’re on the Las Vegas Strip and it’s fighting for attention. There’s no one in a five-mile radius to alert of their services.

  My phone buzzes in my purse and I pull it out to see a text from Lucas.

  Lucas: Address? You aren’t trying to ditch me, are you?

  I chuckle to myself and then send him my address.

  Me: I’ll be ready for seven. That’s if my body hasn’t been chopped up in little pieces by then.

  He responds right away.

  Lucas: Should I send the cavalry!?

  Me: It’s possible. You should see the spa Lennon’s dragged me to on Industrial Ave…let’s just say the word shady doesn’t cut it.

  Lucas: LOL If you go missing I’ll be sure to take a drive down Industrial Ave and look for the unicorn van. At least I’ll be able to tell the cops your last known location.

  Me: Gee thanks. Such a hero.

  Lucas: Are you implying that you’d like to see me in a pair of super hero tights. I might be able to swing it. ;)

  Lennon bangs on the glass window of her door and I startle then turn to look at her.

  “Come on.” She’s smiling as though it’s every day that you go to some strange building on the outskirts of the city and spread-eagle for some stranger. I can envision it now, me unwilling to undress for Lucas because layers of skin have been ripped off me. I shake my head, gripping my purse in my hands like an old lady in a bad part of town.

  “Don’t be a priss, Tahl.” She jogs around the front of her van, and I quickly lock my door before she can open it.

  She rolls her eyes, holds up her keyset, unlocks the door and opens it before I can argue.

  “I promise it will be fine,” she says. Her eyes hold her ‘you can trust me’ look that you don’t see very often. The last time I saw that look was when she told me my life would continue after Chase. In her most honest form, the true Lennon appears. The caring side, the one who would hunt down and kill anyone who hurt someone she loves.

  Me: Gotta run. Lennon’s harassing me to get going. See you tonight!

  I toss my phone back in my purse and climb out of the car. Lennon’s smile grows wide, as does my own until we’re walking past the glass door inside the building. Once the door rattles shut behind us, I almost run back out once I see who’s wait
ing for us.

  19

  “What are you doing here?” I say, not moving from my spot by the door in case I need to flee.

  “Should I ask you the same thing?” Whitney says, sitting in a chair next to her co-worker, Kelsey, who I’ve met a couple of times before.

  I point to Lennon. “She brought me, what’s your excuse?”

  Whit glances at Lennon, who’s ignoring our conversation and is checking us in with the receptionist.

  Whitney and Kelsey exchange a series of serious looks and then Whitney stands and nods for me to meet her by the plant in the corner. I’m not sure why since we’re the only customers in the room. We’re probably the only customers today.

  “We’re here for a story,” Whitney whispers. I’m not sure what my face must morph into but Whitney immediately pushes her hands through the air, insinuating for me to calm down. “It’s not a huge thing.”

  “Well, you should expand if you don’t want me to start hyperventilating right now,” I say and she bites the inside of her cheek and glances back to Kelsey, who is stuck in a conversation with Lennon now.

  “It’s a story about a disgruntled employee who claims certain favors are received here.”

  “Favors?”

  She widens her eyes.

  “Okay, but…”

  “They only hire men to service the spa customers.” Whitney says each word slowly, as though I wasn’t magna cum laude at Stanford and can’t understand what’s being implied.

  I place my hands out in front of me. “Let me get this straight. Lennon brought me to a brothel before a date with Lucas?”

  Whitney nods and I glance to Lennon in disgust.

  “I’m not even sure she knows,” Whit says and follows my vision back to Lennon and Kelsey. “I might have mentioned this place to her in passing a few months ago when we were first thinking of doing a story, but I didn’t give her any details. She must have checked it out on her own.”

  A slow smirk forms on my face. “Well, I’m not saying anything.”

  “Me either.” Whitney smiles and we each go back to the chairs to join the other two.

  “Shouldn’t you be with a bunch of hot football gods?” Lennon asks Kelsey.

  Kelsey is the sports newscaster at the TV station where Whitney works and every time we see her Lennon is constantly asking her questions about the locker rooms.

  “It’s not football season,” Kelsey says, smiling over at Whitney.

  “I know it has to be some sports season. Wouldn’t you rather be with naked dudes than here with a bunch of chicks?” Lennon continues to pry and the three of us laugh, Kelsey understanding Whitney has filled me in.

  “Whitney and Kelsey,” the lady calls them and they stand, Whitney’s hand resting on my shoulder briefly before the two walk over.

  “See you in there,” Lennon says, grabbing a magazine and reading.

  On the cover is a naked woman with a man blocking any views of her lady parts as his hands massage her. The title reads, The Art of Sensual Massage. I laugh and Lennon turns down the cover to look at me.

  “I’m not sure how long I can read this before I’m completely turned on.” She hands it over to me. “Take this with you to show boxer boy. Maybe he can get some tips.”

  I take the magazine from her hands and place it down on the table between us. “I think I’ll let boxer boy figure me out all on his own.”

  She reaches over and slaps my knee. “That a girl. Your kinky side is coming out.”

  I remain quiet because I could never compare to Lennon and the things she’s told me she does in the bedroom. Santora women weren’t built to use a sex swing, or anal beads, or nipple clamps…

  Five minutes go by and finally a guy appears from the back and calls our names. He’s about our age and shirtless and if that’s not a dead giveaway for what Whitney said this place is I don’t know what is.

  “Man service?” Lennon cocks her eyebrow my way. “Me likey.”

  She’s quick to follow the guy down the hall. He’s attractive and he knows it by the way he swaggers in front of her.

  “Madam Scarlett will be right with you.” He signals for me to sit in the chair and then points to Lennon. “You, follow me.”

  “Okay.” Lennon shoots me an ‘I just won the lottery’ look and practically skips after him. Knowing her, she might not mind the extra benefits this spa offers if Whitney’s source is correct.

  Madam Scarlett is actually a fifty-five-year-old woman with candles on every possible surface of her room, but she does a bang-up job on my bikini wax. She barely hurt me and I feel a little guilty for judging way too fast based on outward appearance.

  After Madam Scarlett’s painless wax job, I’m taken to Madam Alexandra for a mani-pedi. I’m trying not to be offended that I haven’t had a man’s hands on me this entire time and wonder if there’s a camera somewhere where the men all vote on who gets who and no one’s choosing me.

  Madam Alexandra is younger, probably in her early twenties and very enthusiastic about her job. After my nails have set, she approaches me. “Your friend Lennon has purchased a massage for you. If you’ll follow me.” She slowly saunters down the hall, seemingly in no rush, while I scramble to find a clock that will tell me what time it is. Madam Scarlett had me disrobe and lock all my belongings in a locker, including my phone. She didn’t seem like someone you argue with, so I abided.

  “Um. I don’t need a massage,” I say to Madam Alexandra’s back, but she shakes her head and keeps walking.

  “She said you might be shy, but she insisted.” She never even glances back at me.

  “She’s persistent, I know, but I really don’t have time. I have another engagement.”

  She stops at a door labeled ‘Tantric number five.’ Her hand rests on the doorknob as the word ‘tantric’ flashes red in my head like their neon sign outside.

  “Really, I’m fine. I’d like to go.” I take a step back, clutching my robe in front of me.

  She opens the door. “I promise, Miss Santora, it’s a very relaxing experience.”

  I stay on the outside of the door, peering through to find it similar to any massage place—a table in the middle, low light, warm air. I’m not sure if I was expecting ropes suspended from the ceiling or maybe a wall of crops or what, but there’s no toys, no fetish stuff, so maybe my mind is in overdrive.

  “Just a massage?” I clarify and her face remains cold stone, no smile like she’s had with me the entire time she was working on my nails.

  “Just oil and hands, Miss Santora,” she clarifies and, trusting a woman I met only an hour ago, I step forward into the room.

  She shuts the door immediately and I scope out the room, until I find a note on a table that asks for me to disrobe and lie on my stomach. Not any different than every other massage I’ve had since I was fifteen.

  I take off my robe, hang it up, and lie on the table, positioning the sheet over my backside, and wait.

  I should get up.

  What am I doing?

  What if I get a man?

  I’m just about to get off the table when the door to the side opens and I hear footsteps enter the room. Soft music starts playing and the scent of jasmine fills the room.

  I’m afraid to look and since I’m not sure if it’s a male or female, I lie there stiff as a mannequin.

  “Calm,” a male says with a voice so low I barely register it. His oily hands land on my thighs and run along my muscles, soothing and relaxing them.

  He explores my body with a professionalism and politeness that’s expected from a masseuse and my eyes drift shut. I’m thanking Lennon for being the persistent nag she is and buying me a massage, and shaming Whitney for thinking the worst of this place. I relax into the experience and put my issues and fears aside while the man pulls and tugs on each of my toes.

  Heaven. This man’s hands are heaven. A little rough, but I’ve never had a male masseur before because I’ve always been fearful of feeling uncomfortable that
his hands might venture into the no-no zones.

  Every muscle slowly loses its usual tension and I want to get this man’s name and come here every day. I’m close to drifting off when his two hands slide up under my towel and grab each of my ass cheeks.

  “Hey!” I flip over and two green eyes reminiscent of grass in the middle of spring stare back at me. “Lucas?”

  He holds his hands up in the air, a devilish smile on his lips. “I didn’t think you’d mind since I’ve already been thoroughly acquainted with that part of your anatomy.”

  I grip the two-by-two towel, trying to cover both my breasts and my vagina. Not happening.

  He steps forward and slowly loosens each of my fingers until the towel drops to my lap. His eyes lock with mine with a promise of much more than a massage. I want to lock my legs around his waist and feel him push inside of me. If only the fear of someone walking in didn’t occupy my mind.

  “What are you doing here?” I ask, allowing him to lean toward me and press his soft lips to my collarbone.

  “Exactly what I said I was going to do. I drove down Industrial Avenue. Your friend’s van isn’t exactly subtle.”

  He licks up the side of my neck until he sucks my earlobe into his mouth. God, this man makes the rest of the world fade away.

  “That doesn’t explain how you got into this room,” I say with blatant need in my voice.

  He places his body weight on me, so I lean back on the table. “I slipped the girl at the front a hundred-dollar bill, and here I am,” he says and for some reason I ask no more questions. Maybe it’s the distraction of his lips, or the pressing of his erection between my legs over the roughness of his jeans.

  He picks his head up, peering into my eyes once again. “The thought of you at a spa—naked, with someone else’s hands on you... I hope it’s okay.” Then his head disappears between my breasts, while his hands knead each one. I nod as his tongue swirls around my nipple before his attention switches to the other and then back again without favoring either one.