Page 27 of Stupid Matchmaking Love

I swallow. “You asked for deep tissue. I was only trying to work out your knots.”

He exhales slowly and then releases me. An emotion I can’t place flashes across his face. “Yeah, I did, but I think we’re through.”

His voice is steady, but something raw flickers in his eyes, like he’s angry at himself for feeling anything at all.

I step back, rubbing my wrists. The burn of his touch lingers on my flesh like bracelets made of fire, while he grips the edge of the towel like he needs something solid to hold on to.

“I’ll just, um, leave. Be sure to drink plenty of water.”

He only nods.

I slowly back out of the room, realizing that even though the session has ended, it feels like something else just broke open.

Chapter 10

Cristina

While closing up the spa, I’m still rattled from Rhett—his chest arching, his hands around mine, that look in his eyes.

At least it stops me from thinking about my bio-father. Crap—there I go again.

The one way I’ve learned to stop myself from thinking about unsavory people or events is to work.

It’s always been my answer.

More clients, more massages, more distraction. But even work can’t drown out the voice inside my head whispering that Glen will find another way to contact me.

Thank goodness I don’t have any actual money to speak of, or else he’d really come after me.

By the time I clock out, it’s late and I figure the boss has gone home. My car’s parked near the entrance, and even though we’re supposed to exit through the rear of the resort, maybe this one time it won’t be a big deal—and if it is for someone in reception, I’ll bring them a Bitty Being to sweeten them up.

Soon as I step into the lobby, the hairs on my arms stand at attention because Rhett’s at reception, his head down, scrutinizing something.

He’s wearing a suit, and his hair is perfectly in place. The man doesn’t look at all like he just unraveled on the massage table. Rude. I worked for that glow.

But more importantly, I’ll be in trouble if he sees me.

So I cover one side of my face with my hand and do my best to escape quietly.

At that very moment, the doors open and in step Clarice, Betty, and Thelma—three ladies looking for trouble.

“Where’s the Quilt of Horniness?” Clarice brashly yells.

Her voice cracks through the quiet lobby like a megaphone in church.

She spots me.

Oh no! Before there’s a chance to signal to keep quiet, she says, even louder, “Where is it, Cristina?”

I point to the left. All three ladies follow my finger, and Betty says, “Come on, y’all. Let’s pin our names to it.”

I want to die, so I sprint toward the door. I’m this close to ducking out when Clarice calls over her shoulder, “You in, Cristina?”

My stomach clenches. “No thanks.” I wave her off. “Not me.”

“Why not?” Betty asks, holding a strip of cloth and a pen.

My heart leaps in my chest. Heart, calm down. We’re just sneaking past the boss like normal people do. “Just not my thing. Bye, now.”