Worth the Wait (Kingston Ale House) Page 8

  “Sorry,” she said. “I just wish this hadn’t happened, is all.”

  He shrugged. “I never told anyone I was in any pain. It’s not like you knew I had a preexisting condition. I didn’t know I had a preexisting condition.”

  “So you’ve never been in any pain?”

  He laughed. “I don’t know. Maybe? I run. I use my upper body a lot for work. Of course shit’s gonna bother me, but it’s easy to ignore. Focus on what makes me feel good rather than what doesn’t.” He cleared his throat. “Okay, that sounded better in my head—”

  Grace shook her head. “No. It’s okay. I get it.” Because she used to live like that, too, maybe not quite burying pain, but she did ignore the red flags. She chose what felt good over what she should have known was wrong for her.

  Something in her heart tugged at the thought of how much this guy, who played the part of Mr. Open Book, must actually keep hidden.

  “Well, I can’t just put you in a cab like this. You’re coming home with me,” she said, and as if on cue, his grin turned playfully wicked, and he raised a brow. “For a massage,” she added. “Dr. Lang said it can help loosen the muscles, which can help with whatever is pinching that nerve.”

  As quickly as he put on the Jeremy show, his smile fell. “You said you had clients this afternoon.”

  She shrugged. “My calendar just opened up, and I’m getting us an Uber car as we speak.” She opened the app on her phone and saw there was a car less than a mile away. “And before you even think of offering me money, I’m doing this as a favor, from one friend to another, so you can either accept that or go home alone to a heating pad.”

  His eyes widened.

  She hadn’t meant to sound so harsh, but she needed him to know this wasn’t about her clients or getting paid. She wanted to help him and knew she could, which meant she needed him to say yes. “I guess you’re in charge, then,” he said with a pained grin. “You do seem like better company than a heating pad.”

  Their ride pulled up against the curb, and Grace held the door open for Jeremy.

  “Ah, but a heating pad won’t make you drink kale.”

  He laughed, then winced, and she winced back in sympathy as she followed him through the door and helped him lower himself into the car. Then she made her way to the other side and slid in next to him.

  “I’m at the corner of Belden and Geneva Terrace,” she said to the driver, who nodded and got back on the road.

  She settled into her seat and looked at him. He had his head against the headrest, and his eyes were closed. She imagined an hour’s worth of treatment had worn him out. He could nap at her place. That wouldn’t be weird, right?

  His auburn hair lay tousled against the seat back and over his forehead. A slight dusting of freckles ran along his cheeks, so light you could miss them if you didn’t look close enough or stare long enough. But she was both close and staring.

  “Like what you see?” he asked, his eyes still closed but his mouth quirking into a grin.

  “What?” she asked. “Yes. I mean no! Shi—oot. Shoot.”

  He opened his left eye, the one on her side, and raised his brow. “Did profanity just escape those sweet lips of yours?”

  Grace’s eyes narrowed to slits. “No. If I catch myself before the word is complete, it doesn’t count.”

  “It’s okay, you know,” he said. “I get that it’s hard to look away from all this.” He motioned to not just his face but his whole body. And as much of a cocky bastard as he was, he was also right. When they were this close, her eyes were drawn to him and him alone. “Just remember: you can look, but you can’t touch.”

  “You’re impossible,” she said, rolling her eyes and forcing her gaze to the driver’s headrest as she crossed her arms over her chest. “You’d think a painful injury would humble you or something.”

  “I can’t help my irresistible charm.” He chuckled, then grimaced. “Dammit. I can’t even laugh without it hurting.”

  She let out a breath and turned back to him. “It’s because that part of your spine is too close to the diaphragm. When you laugh, you’re upsetting the muscles around the sciatic nerve, which in turn are aggravating the injury. It’d do you some good to stop cracking jokes, especially if you’re the only one laughing at them.”

  “Ouch,” he said, though he was still grinning. “That hurts more than my back.”

  “Does not,” she said with a mild pout, but she could already feel the corners of her mouth turning up. She didn’t like that he caught her staring, and what’s more, she didn’t like that she felt a magnetic pull to turn back to him.

  “If it’s any consolation,” he said, “I like looking at you, too.”

  No. There was no consolation in that. Because with looking and liking came wanting, and she was in no position to want.

  “Grace…”

  She let out a breath and turned to face him again. “What?”

  “Can I ask you something and not have you thinking I’m pushing your buttons or messing with you?”

  She chewed on her lip. “Okay.”

  “What Lisa was saying…about the, uh, the Pink Bullet?”

  Heat rushed to her cheeks, but not because she was ashamed of him knowing. There was something else happening here. She liked that he knew.

  “What about it?” she asked just as the driver came to a stop on her corner. “Does it surprise you that I like to pleasure myself?”

  The driver coughed. Loud. But Grace didn’t falter, and surprisingly, neither did Jeremy.

  “No,” he said. “Of course not. I was just wondering how that fit into the confines of your man fast.”

  “Man cleanse.”

  “Potato, po-tah-to.”

  She thanked the driver and hopped out of the car, walking around to Jeremy’s door to help him out. Maybe she should have warned him that this would be almost as bad as getting him off the floor in the shop. But then again, giving him time to anticipate the pain would probably have been worse.

  She offered her arm for support, but he refused it, gripping the frame of the car door instead and pushing off the seat with his other hand. He groaned but made it to his feet. Once the door was shut, though, and he had nothing left on which to rest his weight, she saw all the color drain from his face.

  “Shit,” he said through gritted teeth. “I am a fucking mess.”

  There was an unexpected bite to his tone that made her wonder if he was talking about more than just the present moment. Instead of trying to appease him, she wrapped an arm around his waist, giving him no choice but to rest some of his weight on her. He wore nothing but a fleece pullover and a T-shirt, and despite the chill in the air, he felt warm against her hand.

  “Thank you,” he said, and they started their slow trek toward her building. “But please tell me you live on the first floor.”

  Grace let out a genuine laugh, and something lightened in the air between them.

  “Today is your lucky day, my friend.” She felt him exhale, and the tension in his muscles eased. “And no,” she added. “The book is about abstaining from outside influences that might cloud my judgment. I can touch myself all I want.”

  She kept her focus on the door ahead as a smile spread across her face. Because she knew that Jeremy was now the one staring.

  Chapter Ten

  “Where do you want me?” Jeremy asked, once inside the apartment.

  Grace pointed to her already-set-up massage table in the middle of her living room. Right. She had clients this afternoon. Would they have come here? Did strangers disrobe for Grace in her own apartment?

  He knew she was a professional, but somehow being here, in her personal space, made it feel anything but.

  “Take off your shirt and pants and lie facedown on the table,” she said, throwing her coat over a stool at her small breakfast bar. “You can keep your underwear on. I’m going to leave you undraped if that’s okay since I’ll be working on your lower back and leg.” She rounded the
corner into the kitchen and washed her hands while he just stood there for several seconds.

  Usually when a woman told him to lose his clothes, she was about to do some pretty R-rated things to him. Sometimes even X. But this was a fucking massage.

  Get it together, man, and stop thinking about what she said before she told you to strip down.

  I can touch myself all I want.

  He swallowed. “Sure. No problem.”

  He lifted his fleece and T-shirt over his head and dropped them on her couch. His jeans would have to be next. Simple enough. Other than his dick misbehaving. He was hard as a rock, and if he didn’t move quickly, Grace was going to see. But if he did move quickly, he knew it was going to hurt like hell.

  He weighed his options. Slow, controlled movement that would take several minutes, which was far longer than it would take Grace to dry her hands and make her way over here. Or, whip the fuckers off his legs, bite back any audible agony, and get his sorry ass on the table where his dick would be hidden. Uncomfortable, but hidden.

  “I’m just going to change into something more comfortable, if that’s okay,” she said, making her way into the room with him. Her eyes widened as she took in his bare torso. Then she averted her gaze. “I hate working in jeans,” she added.

  This was where he was supposed to tease her for staring again. But the man who had a comment for everything was suddenly at a loss for words. Instead he nodded, and she slipped down a short hallway and into what he assumed was her bedroom. Interesting things probably happened in that room.

  Shit. Stop thinking about her touching herself, Denning.

  Right, like that helped. Telling himself not to think about it meant he actually was thinking about it, and the more he thought about it, the more he pictured it, and Christ, this was going to kill him.

  At least he had time now to gingerly lower his jeans to the floor. He eased them down to his knees, wincing as he tried to lift a leg and pull them the rest of the way off. Instead he stayed straight, using his feet to tug at the bottom of each frayed end of his pants. Inch by inch they lowered over his calves as he did a ridiculous dance to free himself. Grace should come back out now and see him in all his pathetic glory. That would knock his ego down enough notches to soften him up again.

  “Can I help?”

  He heard her voice over his shoulder, soft and sweet. But it didn’t have the predicted effect. Instead he felt that same tightening in his chest that had been there in the smoothie shop.

  He let out a bitter laugh, grateful his back was still to her. “I’m good,” he said. His voice strained as he took the last couple of steps out of the jeans.

  “Okay,” she said. “Then I’ll just grab my supplies from the kitchen. Unless you want help getting on the table.”

  He groaned. It was going to hurt whether she helped him or not. Better he save the last shred of his dignity remaining.

  “I got it,” he said, his voice more firm than he intended. He just wasn’t used to being this helpless. To have to rely on someone else, putting his own care in the hands of another. It had been three years since he’d felt this vulnerable, and that was a giant step backward.

  He didn’t do vulnerable. He already got crushed once.

  He knew she was waiting now, giving him the courtesy of a few minutes alone. He heaved himself onto the table, which was no small feat. It didn’t matter that he was the only one in the room. He was sure she heard each curse leave his lips as he used his core to lift himself and then roll to his stomach.

  He lay facedown now, his erection long gone. A few minutes later, the familiar scent of eucalyptus and spearmint filled the air. It should have relaxed him. It should have evoked the same calm it did when he first met Grace in the spa. Instead, all it did was remind him that he was at her complete and utter mercy.

  Now it was only his body. She had the power to ease his physical pain. But what would happen if he got to know her more? If friendship wasn’t enough?

  The answer was simple. He’d never let it get there. Because the last time he gave someone the power over his heart, she told him he wasn’t enough. And he already knew it would obliterate him to hear something like that from someone like her.

  “Can I ask about the tattoo?”

  Jeremy blinked his eyes open. He’d dozed off. Grace had begun working quietly, warming up his muscles. She started gently at first, slowly increasing pressure to a point that he could handle without it being painful. How many minutes had gone by? Ten? Fifteen?

  He laughed quietly. “Are you sure you want to know?”

  Her hands paused briefly, and he could tell she was considering.

  “Are you afraid it will make me think differently of you?”

  He smiled even though he knew she couldn’t see him. Her hands were warm on his skin, and he realized that for the first time since they left the scene of his ridiculous fall, he wasn’t feeling any pain.

  “Depends. Do you think I’m devastatingly handsome and irresistibly charming? If so, that probably won’t change.”

  There was a momentary silence, and he was afraid he stepped over some boundary even though it was a joke he’d make to anyone. Apologizing would just add to the awkwardness if that’s what the pause was for, so he waited her out, hoping he hadn’t just ruined a day that was finally getting better.

  “The tattoo,” she said, her voice firm. Well, at least she was still talking to him.

  “Freedom,” he said plainly. “Free as a bird. Not tied to anyone or anything.”

  “Hmm,” she said, her tone appraising. “I get it,” she added. “Freedom is good. I’m experiencing it for the first time in a long time.”

  Huh. She didn’t give him the tired response he got from others who asked, Aren’t you lonely? Do you have any meaningful relationships with anyone? Maybe she thought those things, but she didn’t say them. She didn’t judge him.

  “But if you ask my sister, Annie,” he said, “she likes to spin it another way.”

  “Oooh, I want to hear this,” she said.

  “Annie owns the bookstore with Brynn, right? So of course she’s this ginormous book nerd. Her fiancé is even an author—and my buddy from high school, but that’s beside the point. She loved this Emily Dickinson poem in high school. I only remember the first line because she says it anytime she glimpses the ink. Hope is the thing with feathers.”

  Grace was working out a knot in his right shoulder. Her hands had somehow drifted higher than their intended area, and Jeremy guessed it was because she was looking at the tattoo.

  “Freedom is good,” she said. “But hope is better. That’s how I know I’m going to get that shop. I might have lost my savings—and some of my willingness to trust—but I’m not out of hope, yet.”

  He smiled even though she couldn’t see him. He got it, especially the trust thing. But the hope was something he’d long ago pushed aside. Freedom was fun. And safe. And for three years, he’d found a way to enjoy safe.

  “I think you’d like Annie,” he told her. “She’s not as ruggedly handsome as me, but I could see you two hitting it off.”

  He heard her let out a long breath.

  “Okay,” she said.

  “Okay?”

  “Okay, I’m sure I’d like your sister, too, but… Let’s just get it out in the open. It doesn’t change anything, but I guess in the vein of honesty between friends—yes, I do find you attractive.”

  Ah. So she was still thinking about that, huh? About what he looked like even though at the moment she could only see the back half of him. He liked that. A lot. But he was waiting for her to go on. After all, he was used to attention from women. He was bracing himself for a discussion on all his best qualities. Was it the hair? More than once he’d been told he was a woman’s first redhead. He liked that—being the sole ginger in their lives. Maybe it was his runner’s physique. Though he knew now his running had exacerbated an injury he didn’t know was there.

  He realized nothing else w
as coming after her initial statement.

  “That’s it?” he said. And he heard her laugh.

  “Me finding you attractive isn’t enough? Okay. How about this? Jeremy, you are a beautiful man, but that changes nothing about our friendship. This is a hands-off relationship.”

  Her slow, controlled movement against his skin came to an abrupt halt.

  “Except for, you know, when my hands are all over you in a professional manner.” She groaned, then mumbled, “Son of a preacher man.”

  She went hurriedly back to work, and while he was slightly satisfied with flustering her, he didn’t want to make her uncomfortable. So he decided to level the playing field.

  “Grace?” he said.

  “What?” she answered back, and he could tell she was mildly chastising herself.

  Her fingers slid over his lower back while the heel of her hand pressed deep into the muscle.

  “I find you attractive, too. If we weren’t just friends, I might even say you were the most stunningly beautiful woman I’d ever met.”

  She cleared her throat. “You do? I mean, you would?” He could hear her smile, and it was contagious. He smiled, too.

  “Yeah. I’m only committing to attractive, though. For the sake of our friendship. And you’re really good at what you do, Grace. Thank you—for taking care of me.”

  The words were thick in his throat, not just the thank-you but the admittance of what he’d let her do.

  “You’re welcome,” she said, and he heard a tinge of surprise in her words.

  “You know you’re talented, right?” he asked, wishing he could see her expression.

  “It’s…it’s just nice to hear sometimes.” Her voice was soft, and he could tell she was holding something back. But he wouldn’t push. “But I think you’re going to change your mind in a minute,” she added, the playfulness back in her tone.

  “Why is that?”

  “Because this part is going to hurt.”

  Before he could respond, her hands slid down over the right side of his ass, her fingertips firm as she followed the route where the white-hot pain had surged from his back. And there it was again, a burning that shot down the length of his leg, and he swore through gritted teeth. But almost as quickly as it began, it dissipated as her hands worked their way down the trail of fire.