Page 123 of So This Is War
Her unconvinced eyes meet mine as she asks, “You’re going to give me a massage?”
“Yeah. Problem with that?” I hold up my hand and say, “Look at how big my palm is, how long my fingers are. I can’t imagine you’d get a better massage from someone with smaller hands.”
“Probably not,” she says. “But isn’t that crossing the line?”
“I’m not going to do anything inappropriate. Just ease the tension in your shoulders.” I shrug. “It’s fine if you don’t want one, but the offer is there.” I set the lotion down on the dresser and move toward the bed again while she stands in the middle of the room contemplating.
After a few seconds, she says, “This is so weird.”
“What is?” I ask as I pick up my phone and see a text from the queens. I ignore it and go on TikTok, looking for highlights of the game.
“This whole thing. I didn’t think I’d see you for a few days, and now I’m here, sharing a room with you, and you’re offering to give me a massage. It just seems so odd.”
“Well, that’s what happens when you’re a bologna lover. You shoot for the unexpected. By the way, did you grab a book about Maine?”
“All they had was Washington state. But I grabbed it anyway.”
“Eh, I’ll give it a try.” When she stands there still, I glance over my phone and ask, “Are you going to get on your cot, or do you plan on running away in the middle of the night?”
Her teeth pull on her bottom lip as she says, “Well, I was looking forward to the massage.”
Ha, she can’t resist. I fucking love it.
“Then lie down,” I say. “Promise, it’ll be worth it.”
Still slightly hesitant, she takes a seat on the bed but doesn’t lie down. “You know, actually, I think I should just go to bed.”
“Up to you,” I say as I set down the lotion one more time.
“Yeah, I mean, it might be weird, you’re paying me and all . . . unless . . .” Her eyes meet mine. “Are you asking because it will help release some of your adrenaline?”
Look at her looking for a way for this to be okay in her head. Here I am, ready to go, and she’s trying to justify it.
“I’m asking because I feel bad that you didn’t get your massage today, and I want to make it up to you, but if I make you uncomfortable, I get it.”
“You don’t,” she says. “But I’m just trying to, you know, not cross that line.”
“I get it. You can keep your shirt on if you want.”
Her eyes widen. “You were going to have me take my shirt off?”
“That’s usually what happens with massages.”
“But I’m not wearing a bra.”
I smirk at her. “I wasn’t planning on giving your tits a rubdown, Wylie. That would cost you extra.” I nod at the mattress. “Just lie down.”
She chews on it for a second but then gives in and lies down on the bed.
I grab one of the flatter pillows to rest her head on, and then I ask, “Can I move your shirt up?”
“Um, I can just take it off, but can you turn around?”
“Sure,” I answer as I turn away and hear her take her shirt off.
Deep breaths, man. Don’t be the fucking creep with a boner over a girl taking her shirt off.
“Ready,” she says.
