“What’s done is done, brother.”
“It’s not done.” I stare intently at him. “This shit is far from fucking done.”
*
Axelle
“Make sure to double up on your water tonight. I went pretty deep to loosen that spasm in your lower back.” I wash my hands and hear the gentle hum of Cameron’s breathing. I turn away from the sink, wiping my hands. “Cam, wake up.”
His big body jerks on the table, and I quickly turn my back on him again. It’s not uncommon for some of the guys to doze off during a massage, but some of them tend to jump up when they wake, and being naked under the sheet has created a very uncomfortable situation more times than I can count.
“Sorry, kiddo.” The sheets rustle behind me followed by a groan. “You loosened up my back.” The awe in his voice makes me grin. “It doesn’t hurt anymore.”
I make my way for the door so he can get up and dressed. “Don’t forget to drink plenty of—”
“Water. I know.”
The sated sound of his voice fills me with pride. Cameron Kyle is never relaxed, at least, not that I’ve ever seen outside of the massage room.
My fingers hesitate on the door lock. After my short talk with Killian, he stayed, staring at me between clients. Then he was gone. I want to kick myself for wishing it, but a large part of me wants him there when I walk out.
I hold my breath and open the door. My eyes scan the warehouse-like gym, but there’s no sign of him.
He’s gone.
No sign of him or his girlfriend and the man he came here with.
Girlfriend.
The word spoils in my gut.
Why does she have to be so beautiful? And her accent! French is called a romance language for a reason. When she spoke, it was like sex dripped from every syllable. I bet she whispers all sorts of naughty things to him, and it drives him wild—no! No. I refuse to torture myself any more than I already have.
Cameron shuffles from the room and smiles. “Hiring you was the best thing I’ve ever done.”
I stand a little taller under his approval. “Thank you for giving me the chance.”
“You’ve got a gift, kid.” His eyes regain their focus. “How much longer you stayin’ tonight?”
“An hour.”
“Looks like most everyone’s gone home, so I’ll walk you to your car when you’re ready.”
I bite my lips and hold my eyes to keep them from rolling to the sky. I realized fighting the whole bodyguard thing was not only a huge waste of my time, but also a waste of energy. I can barely walk to the bathroom without a damn escort, thanks to Clifford. Asshole. “I’ll come get you when I’m ready.”
“Good.” He slaps me on the shoulder with fatherly approval then ambles off to the locker room.
Finished for the day, my back and arms ache. Too bad there’s not a masseuse for the masseuse. I strip the sheets from the table, disinfect, and restock my products then head to the women’s locker room to change into my workout clothes.
I realized just a few weeks into my new career that lifting weights to strengthen my muscles and stretching them out after my shift lessens the soreness. It’s a pain in the ass when all I want to do is go home and crash in front of the television, but I know once I’m done I’ll be grateful I did it.
It’ll also help for me to work through my conflicting feelings toward Killian. In some ways, I’m happy he’s back. The urge to run into his arms and never leave is nearly irresistible. But then I remember how he took off without a single phone call. For a year, he severed all ties. Now he shows up in his designer clothes with his fancy-talking friends, and I’ve never felt more distant. We used to be so much alike, or at least I thought so. This new UFL star Killer “Quick Kill” McCreery I don’t know at all. Sure, there was a flash of the old him in there somewhere, but it felt like this last year had built an impenetrable wall between us.
One we’ll never get through.
I peel off my black leggings and pull on some spandex shorts along with a bright orange tank that says “Woman Up.” I redo my ponytail, making this one higher and tighter, then grab my phone and earbuds. I have three missed calls and four new texts, all from what I recognize as Killian’s London number.
I pop in my earbuds, hit “play” on my high-energy workout playlist, and then open the new text while moving through the training center to the weight room.
We need to talk. Call me.
Then another one two minutes later.
I’m sorry. Please, call me.
And thirty minutes later.
Can we get together? I need to see you.
And finally.
I talked to Ryder.
My feet become cemented to the floor. “Shit.” Ryder must’ve told him about Clifford. Heat rises to my cheeks.