“Not a thing!” I turn and sit on the edge of the chair. Actually, sit isn’t the right word. I perch one butt cheek on the edge of the cushion.
But the memory comes back, anyway. I was sleep deprived on that March day, and really stressed out. I’d taken the red-eye from San Francisco to Toronto to take care of Jamie the first time he’d been released from the hospital. When I’d knocked on the apartment door, Blake Riley had answered.
He and I had clashed immediately, fighting over every little thing—who would get Jamie’s glass of water, what we’d feed him for lunch. And the whole time I was all too aware of how gorgeous he was and how much space his muscular body took up in the room. It was too distracting, and I didn’t like it. I asked him to leave, but he refused, that dickhead.
After I tucked Jamie into bed to sleep off his illness, things got a little weird.
I sat down on the couch feeling teary. I was worried for Jamie, and anxious about a bunch of things in my life. My sister Tammy had just had a new baby. I’d just broken up with my boyfriend. And only a few weeks into my new career, I was already having second thoughts about party planning.
Tired and vulnerable, I’d sat there trying to disguise my unhappiness, surreptitiously wiping my eyes on the sleeve of my T-shirt.
Blake was onto me, though. And that dude is a lot like a big, drooly dog. Doesn’t matter if he just met you, he wants to lick your face and hump your leg. Three seconds after I started crying, he was clucking over me, bringing me a cup of water and dabbing my face with tissues.
When that didn’t work, he picked me up like I weighed as much as a throw pillow and scooped me into his lap. “Shhh,” he’d said. “J-Bomb is gonna be fine. He’s tough.”
I sniffled and pulled myself together. But the all-nighter I’d pulled to get to Toronto took its toll and made me unusually emotional. I told Blake all my problems. How I’d broken up with Raven because he’d been pushing for us to move in together and I couldn’t see that ever happening. How my career choices were always wrong.
“You are a big ol’ ball of stress, Jessie,” he’d informed me. “I have just the cure.”
“You do?”
“Scotch whiskey.”
As it happened, accepting a single tumbler of single-malt was a major tactical error.
I drank and watched a movie with Blake. I got sleepier and even more sentimental. Blake went to check on Jamie, returning to tell me that my brother was sleeping like a baby.
“He was such a cute baby,” I’d hiccupped into my glass. “I’ll never have babies because I can’t stick with a man for more than ten seconds.” The tears began to leak from my eyes again.
“Shhh,” Blake said again. “Time to call in the big guns.”
“What?”
“Try this,” he’d said, scooping me into the air. We landed a moment later on the massage chair. It was built for one, but Blake didn’t care. He reclined in the usual fashion, positioning me on his lap. “Here we go,” he said, his voice smokier than I wished it was. There was a click, and then the chair began to hum. “Now that’s what I’m talking about,” he’d drawled.
It was…different. A wave of harmony swept down my frame. Big hands landed on my shoulders and began to massage me.
“Aauuughhhg,” I moaned.
“I know, right? I think I need one of these in every room of my apartment.” He kissed the back of my head, and it didn’t even seem weird. My tired, tipsy eyes flickered over to the TV, where the movie we’d put on had advanced to a make-out session between the action hero and the starlet he was trying to protect from the mob. He pushed her down on the bed and climbed on her body.
“Ugh,” Blake grunted from behind me. He was watching the movie, too.
That’s when I realized his lap had firmed up. A lot.
Sitting here again six months later, my memory of that night seems a little questionable. Because the hard length that had been pressing against me in the chair had been so ridiculously sizable that it almost seemed impossible. From that moment on, I could think of nothing else. In fact, I’d arched my back a little just to see if it would still be there when I returned…
As I close my eyes to try to sink deeper into the memory, Jamie’s apartment door flies open, hitting the wall with a bang.
“Wesmie!” Blake calls out. “Whatcha watching?”
I leap to my feet as if the massage chair had just delivered an electric shock.
Blake stops, his body freezing into position in the doorway. “J-Babe. Welcome to Toronto.”
“Thanks,” I squeak. A glance at my brother and his husband calms me only a little. The game is back on, so they haven’t noticed my odd behavior. And Blake’s presence is so routine that they seem not to have registered him, either.
Blake stomps into the kitchen to toss the six-pack he’s brought onto the counter. He takes one of the beers, pops off the top and then crosses the room again.
I’m still standing in front of the chair like a dork.
He nudges me aside. Then he sits down in the chair, reaches down and slips the switch.