The man scrutinized me for a beat, his expression somber, then said, “My wife died. Six months ago. Brain tumor.”
“I’m so sorry,” I said, giving him a subdued, sympathetic smile. It was possibly similar to the one he’d just received from his cuddler.
He nodded, a flash of pain sparking behind his eyes. “We didn’t have any children, never wanted any. She was it for me, more than enough. She was my soulmate.” His eyes misted over, his words trembling. Clearing his throat and blinking away the moisture, he continued. “I miss holding her hand, hugging her close as we fell asleep. That’s what I miss the most. Without her, I feel lost, and I don’t mind saying so. I heard about this place from a psychologist buddy—or maybe he’s a psychiatrist, who knows—but he said maybe it would help me cope with my loss. So I gave it a try.”
I made mental notes about the cadence of his voice, the color of his shirt, the way he nibbled at his bottom lip and paused between thoughts.
“Does it help?” I asked softly.
“It does. I don’t think people realize how lonely it is, after having someone alongside you half your life. And then suddenly, she’s gone. Giselle is a really nice young lady, very compassionate.”
I assumed Giselle was his cuddler.
“What do you do, specifically, with her? Do you hold hands?”
“Yes. We always hold hands. Even if we do nothing else.”
“Anything else? Only if you’re comfortable sharing, of course.”
He scratched his neck. “Sometimes she holds me while we’re lying down. Sometimes we hug standing up. It’s nothing to be ashamed of, at least I don’t think so. It’s a crutch, for me. I don’t have anyone else on this earth. What other choice do I have? Other than being lonely.”
“What about dating? Finding another person?”
He shook his head, his mouth a resolute line. “No. I’m not ready for that. I don’t know if I’ll ever be ready. I can’t betray Patty that way. And doing that wouldn’t be very kind, would it? To another person? When I could never love them.”
I nodded, seeing his point.
“Anything else you need?” The man’s sad eyes moved between Matt and me.
“No. Thank you. I appreciate your time.” I shook the man’s hand again, moving out of his way so he could leave, and turned to Matt once he was gone.
“Hmm.” Matt was nodding, very slowly, a thoughtful expression on his features.
“How are those judgy pants fitting now, Professor?” I cocked an eyebrow at him.
The side of his mouth hitched, his tone somber as he said, “Point made.”
“Marie?”
We both turned at the sound of my name, finding the aforementioned Giselle glaring at me with barely controlled irritation.
“Yes?” I turned to face her, prepared to explain that Rebecca—the owner of the studio—had given me approval to interview customers when we’d spoken on the phone earlier in the week.
Her gaze slid to Matt and lost some of its hardness as her eyes moved over him. “Are you the walk-in?”
He nodded, extending his hand toward her. “Yes. I’m Matt.”
She gave him a small but genuine smile, accepting his handshake before her gaze moved back to me. Like a switch, her features arranged themselves into a mask of intense irritation.
“Come with me,” she said, spinning on her heel.
Matt and I glanced at each other, but did as we were told, following the woman down the hall, past a series of doors. I glanced into the three rooms we passed, finding one was a break room and the other two looked like bedrooms.
Giselle was waiting for us at the end of the hall, her frosty gaze moving over me as she opened the door to an office, revealing a man with long black hair speaking on the phone. He was also shirtless and barefoot, wearing red loose-fitting pants that resembled a billowy sarong. And he was impressively muscled. With tribal tattoos.
He looked up at our arrival, did a double take, then frowned at Giselle, holding his finger up as he said to the caller, “Okay, we’ve got you down for Monday at three. Thanks for calling. Okay. Bye.”
Upon hanging up, his attention lingered on Giselle and then skipped to me. “Marie?”
I nodded. “Jared?”
“The owner, Rebecca, isn’t here right now, she had to go pick up her son. But she’s going to try to return before you leave.” His face split with a smile as his eyes moved over my body. “So nice to meet you.”
“I’ll bet it is,” Giselle mumbled, crossing her arms.
Jared’s attention shifted to Matt, and he blinked. “You’re the walk-in?” Jared was looking at Matt askance, making no effort to hide his displeasure.
“Yes. I am.” Matt looked at my cuddle partner and then glanced down at himself, as though searching for what offended the man.
Jared scoffed, blinking rapidly and turning a plainly furious face to Giselle. “Well, that’s just great.”
She crossed the threshold into the office, saying to us, “Give us a minute, would you?” and then pulled the door mostly shut behind her.
“Really? You’re giving me grief about him?” we heard her ask. “Look at her. She’s all tits.”
Matt and I shared another glance, his eyes flickering to my chest and then back up.
“Real nice, G,” Jared said, sounding equally furious.
“And her hair? She’s exactly your type. I should know.”
Matt grimaced, but it looked like he was trying not to laugh.
“I’m not the one who has a history of being unprofessional,” Jared could be heard saying in a hushed tone. “Keep your hands out of his shirt.”
“They like it when I stroke their stomach.” It sounded like she was speaking through clenched teeth.
“You only stroke stomachs with six-packs and we both know it.”
Matt’s eyes widened almost comically, a mixture of shock and panic behind his gaze as he pointed to his torso and mouthed to me, I don’t want her touching my stomach.
I gestured to my chest and mouthed back, I don’t want him touching my tits.
A hastily repressed laugh erupted from Matt and he clapped his hand over his mouth to stop it. Despite his valiant effort, the sound drew their attention and the door opened, revealing a furious Jared.
“Is something funny?” Jared was now aiming daggers at Matt.
“No.” Matt shook his head as though to strengthen his denial. But then abruptly began nodding, his eyes swinging to me and narrowing. “Actually, yes. There is something wrong.”
My lips parted, maybe to refute his claim, maybe to agree with him, I’ll never know. In the next moment, Matt had wrapped his arm around my shoulders and addressed our would-be cuddlers. “The truth is, we’re cuddle virgins. And I think—no, I know—I speak for Marie when I say that we’re nervous. So we’ve been talking and we think maybe it would be best if Marie and I cuddled with each other—”
I snapped my mouth shut, my gaze dropping to the floor.
“—and you two could take us through the positions. Teach us how to cuddle. Be our cuddle sensei,” Matt finished, his tone beseeching.