Page 3 of Worth Loving You

“Chastity Lou!” she croaked, covering her cheeks. “The things you say. Mm mm.”

I grinned, shrugging my arm out. “No time for dicks, no time for subtlety.”

Her lips pursed. “You okay? You gonna be able to sleep?”

“Yeah, I’m good now. Thanks.”

“I ain’t gotta be to work until second shift, if you want me to stay in here a little while longer.”

“No, I’m good. I have a new client pretty early in the morning. I’m just going to go back to sleep. I’m fine. Thanks.”

“All rightie. If you change your mind, lemme know. Goodnight, sugar.”

“Night.”

She closed the door and I rolled onto my side, my stepfather’s words haunting me back into my nightmares.

Chapter 2

Chastity Monroe

Every room at the spa was decorated individually. Some were fancy, some over the top, and some flat-out gaudy, which completely defeated the purpose of offering a calming, relaxing environment.

Mine was based in neutral tones of tan walls trimmed in cream baseboards. There was fake, marble tiles that were really just stick-on squares that could peel up if I decided to move on to another masseuse company one day.

I had a tall, thin waterfall on one wall, the trickling of the stream over a variety of rocks soothing. Another wall was covered with opened cubbyholes set in a diamond formation. Some had flickering votive candles, a couple had incense burners, one had a speaker where my iPod was hooked up, playing lulling music, but most were filled with neatly rolled towels and cloths, or my collection of oils for the clients.

I had accent lights on the wall for those who preferred to not have the bright, florescent glare of the fixtures on the ceiling, and a couple of ferns hanging in the corner of two, the vines sagging close to the floor.

Other than an assortment of mirrors in different shapes, sizes, and frames, there were no decorations on the wall, leaving a blank space for the client to come into and clear their heads of whatever stressed them.

I waited in the back of the room, behind the curtain, while the man got comfortable on the table. When several minutes ticked by without any movement from him, I pulled the white linen aside and stepped forward.

He wasn’t lying face down with the towel draped over his waist like he was supposed to be. He was sitting on the vinyl padded table, his ankles hooked, tapping on his phone.

The man had shaggy blond hair that fell to the tips of his ears, a few curls hanging over his low brow. His skin was tanned, his frame between lean and muscular. A five o’clock shadow darkened his squared jaw, almost hiding the cleft in his chin.

“Oh, I’m sorry. I…thought you were lying down. I’ll come back when you’re ready.”

Normally, the clients weren’t supposed to see us, unless they specifically requested. It helped them give in to the massage and relax when all they could do was feel hands without having a face to picture in their minds.

He shot a sideways glance my way, paused, and then tipped his head, his light gray eyes raking over me.

This is why I preferred they not see me. What if he requested someone else? I would be mortified if he decided he didn’t want someone who looked like me putting my hands on him.

“Uh…ahem. It’s fine.” He cut off the screen and waved the phone in the air. “Done. Uh, you…are the masseuse?

My lids narrowed, my nostrils flaring. “Yes, sir.”

His brows shot up at my combative tone. “Oh. Well, here.”

He handed me the phone. When I took it, he groaned and shifted his weight to lay down on his stomach, placing his face in the padded opening.

“Show me what you got,” he huffed, wiggling his legs around until he was comfortable.

Relief flooding me, I set his phone on one of the empty cubbies, went to the oils, and scanned the labels. “Any requests? Do you have a preferred scent?”

“Nope. Just don’t make me smell like shit, and I’m cool.”