“If it’s not Seattle’s finest.” Victoria’s sarcasm rings loud and clear.
“Vicky,” I state matter-of-factly. “Funny, we keep running into each other. I’m beginning to wonder if it’s intentional.”
“I would say we're scouting you, but I don’t want to give off the impression that you have a chance at beating us.”
“You’re in the tournament?” Caroline asks with a wide smile, as if she’s attempting to break the tension. “Didn’t know that. Which team?”
Victoria bursts with that hideous laughter that makes my skin itch. “The one and only Bellini Babes.” Lauren meets her fist bump. “Three-time champions. And as of 9 a.m. yesterday, the official PR agency for the Blakemans. You know them, correct?”
What? I squint a glare. “You won't win a fourth. I guarantee you that.” Herheadhas inflated times three since we’ve last seen each other. She’s acting as if I didn’t just tie her Gladiator Strike record on my first try. The thought of being remotely connected with her in any way irritates me. I recall Hazel telling me she forgave Victoria years ago, following it up with some lofty speech about closure, but I believe some things shouldn’t be forgiven.
She huffs. “I couldn't hear you over the sound of your mediocrity.” She seems amused with herself. “It’s cute you think you're playing in the same league.”
"I'd love to hear more about your accomplishments, but I don't have a magnifying glass handy."
Victoria crosses her arms over her chest. “Try not to be apesto-misticbitch when you lose. Better yet, drop out of the tournament. It’s your only way to avoid becoming a bigger embarrassment than you already are.”
My jaw clenches. I hand Caroline my to-go coffee and search for as careful of words as I can when I’m eye-to-eye with a malicious woman wearing a sundress.
“Look here, Bellini Bimbo,” I growl, despising that I’ve let her get underneath my skin. “Keep talking. Eventually, you might say something intelligent.”
“Okay,you two. Let’s be adults,” Caroline intervenes, gently tugging at my arm. Meanwhile, Lauren looks baffled beyond belief. “Our massage starts any minute now. Come on, Basil.”
“Enjoy your massage. Perhaps when it's over, you'll have acquired a touch of civility.” Victoria flashes an exaggerated fake smile. Walking past, she pauses her footsteps and lowers her voice. “I’ve been watching you, Jones. I’d be careful unless you want your little secret to reach the Blakemans. Quit the tournament or else.”
Lauren opens her mouth to speak, but hesitates, a pained look on her face. “I’m sorry…for her.”
They’re gone.
The air escapes my lungs, and my nails dig into my palms, forming tight fists. Blackmailing me over atrophy? Would she stoop so low as to use my heartbreak against me to make herself look good? I cannot believe the Blakemans hired that vile woman’s PR company. She clearly has them fooled. I mean, I’m no saint, lying about my marriage, but still, I’d never—
“Hey.” Caroline’s soft hand touching mine halts my train of thought. Her voice is a low hum. “Are you okay?”
When I meet her calming brown eyes, I feel a tear well up and turn my body before it falls. I wipe my cheek. “I’m fine. God, I cannot stand her.”
“Can’t say I’m a fan myself. What happened between you two? You seem to hate each other.”
My glare points down the hallway. “It’s old news. Nothing she didn’t deserve.”
Caroline slowly nods. Thankfully, she gets the hint to drop the topic and exhales a breath. “We can reschedule the massage for another day if you don’t feel up for one.”
Victoria’s words invade my mind. Should I give up and drop out of the tournament? None of this would be happening if I hadn’t lied in the first place—to myself, to the Blakemans, to Caroline. I had always seen myself as ruthlessly ambitious, not caring about what others thought of me, but maybe it’s the opposite? Do I care too much? I’ve wanted to be the perfect businesswoman, wife, and daughter, and right now, I feel like I’m failing at all three.
“Today’s fine,” I say eventually. “A relaxing massage is what I need to rid myself of the stench named Victoria Miller.”
After checking in, we’re escorted inside a dim, minimally decorated room. Soothing rainfall music whispers alongside the tranquil ambience. I face the center and freeze. Caroline matches my open-jawed expression at the sight of only one massage table. I glance toward the door and check the sign. That's my last name. How’d I miss such a critical word on my itinerary? There’s a substantial difference between a couples’ massage and a couples’ massageclass.
Twenty minutes later, I’m hovering above Caroline’s naked body, which is covered by a blanket. My hands, slick with oil, gliding across her warm, toned thighs isn’t quite how I pictured my day going, but I’m not complaining. I recall how long she teased me with her tongue on our first night together. How wild she drove me in a matter of seconds, and here’s my chance to repay the favor. Remembering we’re not alone, I fight my mind to stay present, avoiding letting the instructions fall into the background with each stroke, knead, and tap on her muscles. Based on the soft moans slipping from her mouth, she seems quite pleased with my efforts. The way she’s expressing that pleasure is doing things to my neurons. Admittedly, I think I’m enjoying this more than she is.
After she flips onto her back and closes her eyes, I retrieve more oil, then smile at the sign on the wall.Couples who massage together, stay together. Noted.
I position myself behind her head and study the contours of her face. It’s the first time I’ve slowed down and taken in her beauty since the morning in Seattle. Her body is breathtaking, and her skin is vibrant and rich as a vineyard in full harvest. As if sensing me staring, her eyelids lazily flip open, meeting mine. I want to kiss her, but it seems inappropriate. As my thumbs knead the full length of the sides of her neck, she murmurs how good it feels, sending a heat wave throughout my body. Ireallylike pleasing her.
When the class is almost over, the massage therapist advises us that the remaining time is ours. She quietly exits the room, leaving us alone.
As I continue rubbing Caroline’s top half, my mind goes back to her “accidentally” swatting my butt with the pugil stick yesterday. She’s fun to be around, even when we disagree.
We remain quiet while I return to her shoulders, then sensually slide my hands closer, teasing the line of the linen across her chest. Her skin is heating up against my fingertips as desire courses through my veins.
