“No roommates?”

“That’s usually what alone means.”

“No boyfriend?”

I raise an eyebrow.

“What? It’s a legit question. I don’t want some dude walking in while you’re digging your elbow into my ass and I’m crying in pain.”

I laugh, because I can’t imagine Lance ever crying. He doesn’t seem the type. “I don’t have a boyfriend right now.”

My internet dating experiences have been lackluster at best, so meeting prospective dates can be a challenge.

“Good to know.”

I’d like to say I ignore the way his eyes move over me, but that would be a lie.

“Follow me.” I lead him down the hall to the living room. It’s the only space in my house open enough for a home massage. “I just need a few minutes to set up. Can I get you something to drink? Water? Juice? I don’t usually have pop in the house, but I can check.”

“I’m all right. Can I help with anything?” He shoves his hands in his pockets and looks around the room.

I’m suddenly self-conscious about him being in my personal space. I’ve been inside his massive home. It’s beautiful and polished, despite the things that happen there. He has expensive taste, and my place is middle-class normal. Most of my decorative touches are knickknacks from my parents’ trips around the US and pictures my sister painted when she went to college for art. She never managed to finish the degree, despite her talent. Since I’m not a developer, I haven’t upgraded to the latest and most fabulous furnishings, like most of the other houses on my block.

“Why don’t you have a seat while I set up?”

“Sure.” He crosses over and drops down on the couch, stretching his arm across the back.

“I’ll be right back.” I run upstairs to the hall closet and pull out my travel massage table, two sets of sheets, and some pillows, lugging it all back down the stairs.

It’s a little weird having Lance sit in my living room while I set up the table and cover it with sheets and pillows.

“Sorry I was early.”

“It’s fine. This won’t take long.” I tuck the sheets in and fold them back enough to make it easy for him to get under. “I’ll be right back again, and then we can get started.”

I make a stop in my upstairs bathroom to grab a lavender candle and my portable speaker. The music they pipe into the rooms at the clinic isn’t my favorite. I can do better here. I bring everything back down and set it up on the coffee table in front of Lance.

He takes up half the couch with his broad shoulders and wide stance. He’s wearing a collared button down and a pair of jeans. He smells amazing, even from across the room. I wish I could stop noticing these things about him.

“Would you prefer music or no music?” I ask as I set up the speaker.

“I’m good with music, as long as I don’t have to dance.”

I pause to check if he’s kidding, but he looks serious. “No dancing.”

He smiles a little. “Then we’re good.”

I look around the room to make sure all the blinds are closed. “Okay. If you’d like to undress in the bathroom, I can bring you a robe or a towel.”

“I’m cool to do that here.” He starts unbuttoning his shirt.

“I’ll just give you some privacy.” I pass the table and run my hand over the sheets, smoothing out a wrinkle. “Once you’re undressed lie facedown under the top sheet.”

Lance pauses in his unbuttoning. I can see the definition in his pecs, and I try to keep my eyes above his neck. “I didn’t do that last time.”

“It’s fine. I wasn’t clear. I’ll be back in a couple of minutes.” I rush out of the living room and cross over to the kitchen. I turn on the water and wait until it’s hot before I put my hands under it. It also helps drown out the sound of Lance unbuckling his belt.

I imagine what it would be like to undress him. To unveil that incredibly strong, athletic body inch by toned, sculpted inch.

“Stop it,” I mutter and shake my head. When my hands are warm enough, I turn off the tap and call out, “All set?”

“Good to go,” Lance says.

I return to the living room and find him lying on the table, his feet hanging off the end because he’s so tall. The sheet is pulled up high enough to cover his butt, the dimples above it dragging my eyes down.

Why the hell does he have to be so damn hot? This would be so much easier if he could just be unattractive and a total asshole, but so far he’s been sweet, apologetic, and funny. I don’t know what to think.

He lifts his head when the floor creaks under my foot. “Did I get it right this time?”

“You did great.”

I turn on the lamp on the side table and turn off the overhead light, choose some music, and pull the sheet up to cover his back and the massive tattoo. The setup isn’t the best because my oil is on the coffee table, which is out of arms reach.

I skim across his back, over the sheet, from one shoulder to the other, as I walk around to the coffee table. “I’m going to start now,” I say quietly.

“Sounds good.”

I begin the way I always do, gauging the tension in his muscles as I press my palms along either side of his spine. He tenses a little when I reach his lower back. “It’s tight here?” I add a little pressure.

“Yeah. It’s sore.”