by Carr, Suzie
She laughed. “Yeah. Yeah. You’re a good girl. I remember.” She refilled my glass again.
I chewed on my straw. “Jessica asked me if I read the bible passage she emailed to me.”
Shawna plucked a shot glass down from the back counter and poured some Sambuca in it. “Girl, you need this.”
I picked it up, eyed it and tossed it back. It burned and tasted horrible. “Another please.”
She refilled it and watched as I downed that one too.
“Careful, too many of those and you might do something wild and crazy like get a massage that you won’t run away from this time around.” She winked and walked away.
An hour later, back in my hotel room, numb from three shots, I decided I wanted to enjoy this great night.
I deserved a great night.
I deserved to relax after all I’d been through over the past year.
I deserved a massage.
People got massages all the time.
I worked hard.
Her hands could certainly help put some of my stress at bay.
It was just a massage.
She was a masseuse.
She massaged people.
I needed a massage.
Fuck it. I called her.
“Have you left the building yet?”
“I was just getting ready to close up for the day.”
“Can you take on one more?”
“Depends,” she said.
“On?”
“Is it you?”
My insides rolled. “Yes,” I whispered.
“Are you coming down now?”
I lingered on her question, telling myself to go down to the foyer. I closed my eyes for reason to set in. I only saw her long blonde hair tickling my back as she leaned over it, pouring her attention onto my skin, into my soul. “I was hoping you’d come up.”
Not more than ten minutes later, I paced my hotel room, sobering up and wondering what the hell I had just done. I should cancel. I should not bring a beautiful girl into my hotel room and let her massage me. This was wrong on so many levels. I imagined her soft hands kneading my tired muscles, oil slick between our skin, her lovely, fresh scent sprinkling the air, her petite body all curled up around mine to get a good balance, a good grip.
My head swirled. My inner thighs moistened. A most delicious dance stirred in my tummy.
And then Ruby knocked, and my heart pounded clear out of range.
It’s just a massage, I repeated in my head as I stood staring at the door. I envisioned her silhouette on the other side, curvy and well-balanced, her long hair waving around her shoulders and her breasts, and her soft curvy hips, hugging the air.
How would this play out? We’d greet each other with easy smiles, hearts pounding, imaginings of bare skin slicked with oil and gentle breezes filtering through the window? Would we be able to restrain ourselves? Would our self-control disintegrate before us like cotton candy on a wet tongue? Would emotions flow in and rupture the dam of mental fetters and moralities, increasing our heartbeats, causing our breaths to levy against our lungs in a fight to stabilize?
Ruby knocked again.
What the fuck was I thinking?
Chapter Eight
Ruby
Golden accent lamps adorning the outside of each door lit the hallway, adding a cozy, sophisticated vibe. I knocked on her door with a skip in my heart. I shifted my portable massage chair higher up under my arm. I knocked again, staring straight at the peep hole, smiling in case she was staring back at me.
At last, Nadia opened the door.
She curled up against the door looking sexy, teasing me with her cat-like eyes. “Thanks for coming.”
I wrestled with my massage chair until it fell to the ground. “The pleasure is all mine.”
She stooped down to pick up my chair and handed it back to me. “Please go on in.”
I entered. The room smelled of roses and carnations, transporting me to a tropical island where romance and beauty soothed reckless nerves. The suite was bigger than my old attic apartment. A flat screen television hung on the wall above a credenza that housed all the necessary fixings for a relaxing evening: a corkscrew, a crystal ice bucket, two glass tumblers, and a set of napkins folded up like fans. On the TV, a news reporter’s hair blew in her face as she stood on the side of the road recounting details of a horrific car crash on Interstate Ninety-Five.
On the opposite end of the room sat a blue suede couch and a matching recliner, complete with a coffee table adorned with Overture, Rhode Island Monthly magazine and the Providence Journal undisturbed, still cocooned in its delivery plastic wrap.
A harmonica, black, silver and shiny, gleamed on the arm of the recliner, along with a half-filled glass of red wine. Two cushy slippers snuggled up to the leg of the recliner, and a knitted coffee brown blanket was balled up in the seat.
Her laptop sat unopened on the coffee table alongside a leather portfolio with notes scribbled on the memo pad.
A beautiful oil painting of a wooded pathway going nowhere draped the wall above the blue suede sofa. Fresh flowers sat on an end table on the side of the couch, and they bathed the room in a light summer scent and brightened up the cherry wood furniture.
A small kitchen sat at the far end of the living room. A full-sized, white refrigerator and a full-sized stove filled its small space leaving barely enough room for the small, round table. It held a basket of apples, oranges, and grapes.
Past the living room, a long hallway with a mirrored closet led into a bedroom. A silk robe draped over the edge of a King-sized bed.
I dropped my chair, and my pocketbook followed. I walked into the space mesmerized. I’d never been in a hotel room this extravagant before.
Nadia walked into the kitchen and plucked up an apple. “Hungry?”
I followed her. She leaned against the door opening. Her erect nipples, bare of the shelter of a bra, stood firm against her pink t-shirt. The shirt clung to her taut waist, hugging it and going on forever down to her curved hips. A perfect silhouette. I crawled my eyes back up to meet her amused eyes. I took the apple from her and bit into it.
Sweet juice filled me. “Amazing. Even the apples taste decadent.”
Nadia rolled out a soft chuckle, the kind that curled my toes and sent delightful ripples through my system.
I walked out of the kitchen and headed back into the enormous living room.
She strolled over to my pocketbook and picked it up off of the floor. “You should never leave a pocketbook on the floor.” She placed the strap over my shoulder, tucking it in close to my neck. Her fingers tickled my skin. “It’s very bad luck.”
I cradled the strap to my shoulder, watching as she leaned against the credenza, admiring the perfect profile of her perky breasts, her lean waist, and the soft curve of her butt. “I never worry about bad luck.”
Nadia bent over and picked up my chair this time. She revealed to me her bare breasts as they dangled behind the curve in her t-shirt. She placed my chair on the couch and paused before it. Her shoulders rose and fell hard, her breath determined and strong.
“So you stay in Rhode Island all by yourself?” I asked.
She placed her hands on her hips and spoke to my chair instead of me. “I do.”
“So no girlfriend or boyfriend?” I bit into the apple again.
She rolled her eyes off to the side, towards the television, confusion blanketing every square inch of her face.
“It’s not that difficult of a question.”
“No, I suppose it’s not.” She still planted her eyes on the television, twisting her mouth a bit. Then, with a dismissive shake of her head she said, “No, I’m not dating anyone.” She crossed her arms over her chest, stretching her long sleek neck and showing off her beautiful skin, not taking her eye off of me.
We stared in silence, our eyes reflecting a rising passion. The room curled in around us, enveloping us in a sweet, private moment where we silently confessed a mutu
al attraction. I loved independent women. They seemed less crazy, less complicated, and less scary to be around. They knew what they wanted, got it, and called it a day. I admired that— a woman who knew what she wanted. Right then, her eyes bore into mine and told me she wanted more than a massage, more than this nonsense talk about dating and apples. This woman was hungry, and not for fruit.
I cooled us down by pitching a banal statement. “So, you must be some star sister-in-law to have the hotel grant you this sweet place.” I looked around the room feigning interest over the artwork and furniture, but could only reflect on how beautiful her nipples looked against the pink of her t-shirt.
“My sister upgraded my room this week.”
“Oh?” I dared closer.
“She sometimes digs a little too deeply, and when she does she always swings into savior mode. She goes all extreme, sending me fruit baskets, flowers, and booking me the executive suite when it’s available.”
I rested on the intensity in her eyes. “I’d get her to piss me off more often. Is she the reason you looked upset that first night I met you?”
Nadia arched her eyes at me and walked over to the credenza. “My sister attempts to overpower me. She needs to stand tall against me. I let her have fun with this most times, but not always. That night you and I first met, she took things a little too far.” She opened up the ice bucket and spooned some ice into each glass. “Sangria?” She picked up the full bottle. Her cheeks reddened like little apples of their own. Her lips were dewy and pink.
She caught me staring at them, and a tease played out on her face. So I just kept right on staring.
The wine filled the silence with a refreshing, cascading, flowing sound, adding to the sexy vibe swirling around us. My mind wandered, imagining the two of us bathing underneath a waterfall, clinging to each other’s naked bodies, and kissing each other like two famished virgins in need of nourishment.
Nadia handed me my glass. We clanked them together and downed them like water. I handed mine back to her, and she refilled without a question. We drank three glasses just like this. After the fourth and final, I followed her over to the couch. She sat first, in the middle seat. I reciprocated this bold move by sitting close to her, facing her, facing those lovely, perky breasts smiling at me from under the thin cotton.
We lingered over our wine. “So,” she said, her lips dark pink and full. “Where was I?”
My head spun, dancing with the vapors of the Sangria. “I’m your massage therapist,” I said, my words slurring, my body moving in even closer. “Tell me your worries.” I toyed with my hair, enjoying the flirt in her eye.
Our eyes sealed into this moment, exchanging an energy that magnetically pulled me to her. “I don’t think you want to hear my worries.” She lowered her eyes like a shy damsel, innocent to her power.
“Sure I do,” I whispered.
She inhaled. “Well, my family drives me crazy.”
I braved my arm against the back of the couch so it rested near her shoulder. “Go on.”
“My sister and I pretend to get along, but I don’t think she really likes me.”
“How can she not like you?”
“You don’t have a sister, do you?”
I shook off this question with a quick tilt. “I would’ve loved a sister.”
Nadia resigned to this on a sigh. “She’s got her good side.”
“But…?”
She rubbed her fingers together. “But, she’s also got her not-so-good side.”
“Like how?”
“Well, she can’t handle when something good happens to me.”
I studied the small patch of burden on her face. “So she’s the jealous type.”
Nadia looked at my arm grazing close to her shoulder. “The fact is that we get along better when I’m the one failing and she’s the one rising. She can’t stand as number two, ever. She’s always counted on me to be the number two. It’s like attention breathes life into her, like if she doesn’t have it, she’d die.” She folded her legs underneath her. “I find it easier to just let her step up and take the front stage. I just sort of blend to mend.”
I mirrored her position, folding my legs. Our knees brushed one another’s. “Blend to mend. I love it.”
She smiled, and her eyes sparkled. “Listen to me ramble. I’m sorry. Let’s talk about you.”
I touched her knee. I couldn’t help myself. “I’m enjoying this. Keep talking. Tell me all about this sister of yours.” I wanted to hear it all. I didn’t want her to stop talking.
She plowed right in. “She’s a show-off. That’s why she hated me for a while before I learned that stealing the front stage hurt more than helped me. It set me up for one torture session after another.” She paused and dropped her hand near my leg.
I brushed up against it. She blinked heavily and gulped.
“Go on.”
“So, being a few years younger, I always wanted her attention. I thought if I impressed her she’d let me hang with her friends or invite me to walk to school with her or something, you know?”
“You were feeding the fire.”
Nadia tilted her head and gazed into my eyes. “I fed that hungry fire, yes.”
Fire sparked in her eyes. The blend of Sangria and soft lighting added to the chemistry igniting around us.
“So, here I was this scrawny ten-year-old kid trying everything to get my sister to congratulate me, take me into her social circle, and introduce me as her friend. I tried everything to make her like me. I bought her little bottles of nail polish and stuffed animals. I made her bed for her. I folded her laundry. I shared my games with her. I let her have the top bunk bed. Still, nothing. She hated me.”
I traced my fingers along the couch just inches above her shoulder, wanting so badly to land on her skin. “That is so sad.”
“I would try extra hard to impress her with knowing all of the lyrics to hard songs or getting high grades on school tests that most of the kids failed. I just wanted her to look at me and say, ‘Hey, great job’.”
“She couldn’t.” I repositioned myself to lean against the couch, closer to her.
“Exactly. The more I bragged, the more she hated me. Then, one day I won a short story contest. I couldn’t wait to tell her. I had worked so hard on it. Mine won first place. She couldn’t even bring herself to say congratulations.” She flipped her hair, and some of it landed near my fingers. “It hurt.”
I inched closer to the piece of hair, finally playing with it, rubbing it between my fingertips, intoxicated by the intimacy of the moment. “Keep talking,” I whispered.
“She said to me, ‘What do you want from me? Do you want me to tell you Mom and Dad view you as the golden child? Do you want to hear how pretty you are? Do you want me to follow you around and do everything you do because only you know how to do it best?’ I had hurt her.”
I twirled her hair around my index finger. “You didn’t mean to.”
“Up to that point, I wanted to outshine her thinking she’d respect me more. Yet, my successes turned into her failures.”
“But, they were your successes.”
“I didn’t need to flaunt them in her face. One-upping my own sister proved the worst thing to do. No wonder she hated me so much.”
The more I heard Nadia speak, the more my desire to stay in this moment intensified. “Hmm.”
She leaned into my hand.
I massaged her hair.
“My sister is vulnerable,” she said, sinking into the massage. “She needs to shine. This is what defines her. So, one day when she dressed up for a school dance, I told her she was so much prettier than I was. I’d never seen a smile light up a face like that before. After that she accepted my help in fixing her hair and makeup. Next thing I knew, she invited me to the movies with her friends and even treated me to some popcorn.”
“Blend to mend,” I said.
“Blend to mend,” Nadia murmured, staring at my lips and scrolling up to meet my
eyes. “I like when she’s happy. She’s a better person that way. If I’m not a threat to her, we get along better. However, the minute something good happens, she turns right back into that little ball of jealousy. It drives me crazy.”
My fingers continued to get lost in her hair. “You want her to like you, and you’re willing to sidestep your glory to make that happen?”
She clicked her tongue. “She needs the glory more than I do.”
“It must really eat her alive that you have this cushy job with her husband at the helm, no?”
“Quite the opposite. If I worked for someone else and shined, she wouldn’t know what to do with that. At least with me here, she retains a certain level of control. We discuss a lot. I bring her in on decisions. She’s a stay-at-home mom with the fringe benefits of power and creativity.”
“Do you let her take credit for your ideas?”
Nadia shifted and clenched her jaw. “Ninety-nine percent of the time, yes.”
“And the other one percent?”
“That’s why we had a fight that night. I hired a different caterer for a big event, and instead of going off on me, which would be much healthier, she turned all inward and sad. I hate it when she does that because she makes me feel guilty for—”
“—for being a success?” I massaged her scalp deeper.
She cupped her hand over mine. “Why am I telling you all of this?”
“Because you need to.”
“I didn’t realize what a mess I created until now, you know? I just wanted to build a better relationship.”
“You like to know you’re needed.”
She exhaled.
I propped up on my knees. “Turn around, darling. Let me work out this stress.” I guided her around and swaddled her in deep massage. “You are so kinked up back here.”
Nadia bowed her head and groaned.
“So she married this wealthy guy?”
“Yeah. We met him at a friend’s wedding.”
“We?”
“He came up to us and he asked me to dance, and when I saw my sister’s face drop, I bowed out, feigning a headache. So he asked her to dance, and they hit it off. He’s creepy to me.”
I softened my touch, leaned in close. “How so?” I whispered.