Page 39 of Raff
“I did. Now go strip down and throw on your robe.”
I rushed to do just that, mentally trying to calculate what these kinds of treatments would cost at this kind of place. But I started to get a stomachache at that figure, so I went ahead and left that for future me to figure out and add to my list.
Right then, I slipped into a robe and shower shoes, double-checked for my key card, then rushed to follow Raff down to the treatment center.
Where, as I was led to a room, I saw Raff having what seemed to be a serious discussion with the woman at the desk, who nodded profusely at whatever he said.
I fretted over that for all of ten seconds. Until I was on a table and someone was massaging the tension I’d been carrying for weeks out of my shoulders, back, and hips.
I nodded in and out during the back and foot massages, so relaxed that I couldn’t even keep my eyes open.
By the time I’d had a scrub, mud bath, and facial, I was feeling more like myself than I had in a long time.
The lashes and nails were just icing on the already very decadent cake.
It wasn’t until my nails were done that I panicked, my stomach dropping as I realized I hadn’t been tipping anyone who’d been working on me.
“Don’t worry,” the woman, a pretty brunette with short, blunt nails of her own, said as she inspected mine. “Your man made it very clear he is handling tips. You aren’t supposed to spend a penny.”
Of course, that was what he’d told the woman at the desk.
“In that case, thank you so much. I haven’t had my nails done in a long time. I’ve been feeling naked without them.”
I didn’t even do anything crazy.
I did a mid-length almond shape with neutral shades, so they always went with my outfits. But I loved the longevity. How I would never have to worry that my polish was chipped before I left the house.
When I finally made my way out of the spa, I found Raff waiting for me, relaxing in his robe and reading a women’s magazine.
“Looking at bikini pictures?” I teased.
“An article about the side effects of hormonal birth control,” he said.
“Wait… really?”
“It’s almost as informative as the one about the new research on the mapping of the clit. Or the one about how autoimmune conditions mostly affect women. The takeaway of that one was: be a bitch so you don’t get autoimmune issues.”
“How’d you get there?” I asked as we made our way to the door.
“Chronic stress raises cortisol. Cortisol blunts the anti-inflammatory response. And that dysregulation can trigger a misfire, making your body attack healthy tissue. So… be a bitch. Stay healthier.”
“I feel like I should gift you a women’s magazine subscription for your next birthday.”
“Dunno if I can keep hearing about how you all get the short end of the stick biologically. Though, you do get the multiple orgasm thing, so it’s not all bad.”
I didn’t remember the last time I had a single orgasm, let alone multiple.
“Speaking of orgasms…”
“Must we?”
“There is a new lemon-shaped sucker sex toy that came highly recommended by the staff of that magazine. Gave it five out of five water droplet emojis. There’s a great sex toy store in Miami if you want to hit it up and get one.”
“You want me to go to a sex toy store with you?”
“Why not?”
“That’s not typically a group activity.”
