Pucked Off (Pucked #6)(49)

As soon as I round the corner he’s out of his chair. “We’re good? You’re ready now?” he asks.

“I am. You can come with me.”

He’s right on my heels, practically mowing me over to get to the room. As I close the door, he’s already got the hem of his shirt in his hands. He pulls it up, over his hard, incredibly toned abs.

I drop my eyes to the floor. “I’ll give you a minute.”

“I’ll be naked in thirty seconds.”

I have to bite my lips together to stop from laughing. “Okay. I’ll be right back, then.”

I still knock a minute later, just in case.

“I’m ready,” he calls.

And ready he is. That mountain of muscle is stretched out across my table. The sheet is pushed down to his waist.

I need to keep the ogling in check. I feel like I should go to confession or something, and I haven’t been to church since my cousin’s wedding last year.

“Would you like me to work on the same areas as last time?”

“Yeah. That’d be good.” He shifts a little, and the muscles in his shoulders jump. His fists clench and release a few times as I cross over and pull the sheet to cover his back.

He lifts his head. “Why’re you doing that?”

“It’s how I start. Would you prefer me to leave it the way it is?”

“Yeah. Please.”

“Okay.” I fold the sheet back down. Once again I have no underwear to tuck the sheet into, so I push the edges in around his hips. He jolts a little, then settles again. “I’m going to get started, okay?”

“Yup.” More fist clenching follows.

Usually when I drag my fingers along his spine, moving up to the top of the table, the sheet acts as a barrier. But this time I watch the shiver run through his body and goose bumps break along his arms, the same reaction echoed in my body. When I settle a palm on either side of his broad back, he groans.

I freeze and try to keep my tone professional, rather than breathy. “Are you okay?”

He clears his throat. Twice. “Yeah.” It still sounds like he swallowed the contents of a gravel truck.

“Do you want the heating pad?”

“No. I’m good.” More gravel.

“Take a couple of deep breaths for me, okay?”

He does as I ask, his back expanding with each full inhalation. I do nothing but keep my palm on the center of his back, right in the middle of his cross. When he’s a little more relaxed, I grab the oil and make a few easy passes, moving down his back, gauging where he’s the tightest. When I reach his lower back, he jolts. It’s red, but not bruised. “Is this where you landed when you went down?”

“Yeah. It’s a little sensitive.”

“I’ll be careful around there, then.”

“’Kay.”

“Are there any other tender areas?”

“Other than my back and face, nope.”

“Okay.”

Lance doesn’t say much during the massage. Apart from the occasional grunt when I hit what I assume are sensitive spots, and the fist clenching, he doesn’t complain at all about the pressure.

I don’t even ask about his glutes this time, because it’s already after eight, and Bernadette will be gone from her desk, even if a sexy hockey player is here. Lance was right, though, he’s all knotted up again, and there’s no way I’m going to be able to sort it all out with one treatment. He needs at least one more this week, and I’m fully booked.

“I still have some time left. Would you like me to work on your neck and shoulders again?” I’ve done what I can for his back.

“Uh…yeah, I think that’d be okay.”

I’m relieved he doesn’t have the same problem as last time. Mostly.

I get him to lift his hips so I can take the pillow out from under him. Lance makes a sound of discomfort as he rolls over.

“Everything okay?” I ask.

“Oh yeah, just managing the aches. Good to go.”

“Great.”

I won’t be touching his face this time because of the bruising and the fresh fly bandage, but he keeps his eyes closed while I work on his neck and shoulders, so I can study his gorgeous, pummeled features.

No matter how hard I try not to, I can still recall—rather vividly—how prominent Lance’s issue was last time. I must make a sound because his eyes open and flip up to mine. I decide it’s a good time to end the massage.

It’s eight thirty, and I’m alone in the clinic with Lance. I give him some privacy and wash my hands in the bathroom before going to the reception area so I can prepare his invoice, which I find already waiting for me. Sometimes Bernadette can be so sweet.

It takes a few minutes for him to come out—longer than it did the last time he was here. I consider what might be happening in that room. When Lance appears, he looks groggy and disheveled.

I put on what I hope is a natural-looking smile. “Feeling a little less tense?”

His eyes go wide before his expression flattens. “Uh, yeah. A lot less tense.”

He pulls his wallet out of his back pocket and drops it on the counter. Flipping it open, he pulls out his card. “I need to get you for last time, too.”

“Huh?”