Bright Side – deleted scene (unedited)

This scene was originally in Bright Side until my editor, Monica Parpal, and I decided Keller needed to be a bartender, instead of a … well, read on and find out. 🙂

Thursday, October 20

(Kate)

                  It was sweet of Clayton to gift me this massage, but now that I’m here for the appointment I feel uneasy. I’m not a spa girl. I’m out of my element.

The woman at the counter is ultra-manicured: trendy hairstyle, tasteful but heavy make-up, spray-on tan, and bright red fingernails. I can’t help but think that she must take advantage of every service they offer here. God, I hope she gets an employee discount.

She takes her job seriously. And her job seems to be to test my unease with the haughtiest goddamn attitude I’ve seen in Grant so far. This woman could be related to my mother or Maddie. Don’t ask me, “Have you ever had a massage before?” and when I respond, “Nope, first time,” promptly walk out of the women’s dressing room after handing me a robe with no further explanation or instruction. Whatever. I can figure this out.

I decide to leave my panties on under the robe because I feel weird about going commando, especially if the masseuse is a dude. I’d also feel like a complete jackass if I strip down to nothing and freak them out because I’m supposed to keep my goodies covered.

The unfriendliest spa employee on earth returns and leads me to a small room in the back. Then she leaves again without a word. Damn, I hope she’s just having a bad night, or she just doesn’t like me, because her life must be miserable if she acts like this all the time. At this point I’m almost dreading the next hour in this room if the last ten minutes have been any indication.

I strip off my robe and slide under the sheet. I lie on my belly and sigh embarrassingly loud when the warmth of the obviously heated table hits my skin. My body’s still a little sore and the heat feels so good. The room is dimly lit and cozy, intimate even. It’s relaxing. I close my eyes and before long a knock at the door rouses me from drifting off to sleep. Because the door is behind me, I don’t bother opening my eyes. Footsteps enter and then silence. I count to twenty before I offer, “Hello?”

The first thing that registers is the voice is low and male. “Hi.” The second thing that registers is I know this voice. “Katie.”

His deep voice, the dark room, and the fact that I’m practically naked should have a different effect on me, but the honest to God truth is … I’m nervous as hell now. My heart is racing and my palms are sweating. You’d think I’ve never been around a guy before. I chase away the shallow breaths as he washes his hands and go for humor. “Keller, I really hope you work here and you’re not just stalking me, dude.”

He laughs. “You didn’t know I worked here? I thought you knew?”

“Nope, had no idea.” Nervousness is subsiding. Thank God or this hour would be so uncomfortable.

“I usually work Monday-Thursday evenings. The tips are good and I need the money.” He’s holding a bottle of oil up to my nose. “Is this okay?”

I inhale and it smells heavenly. “Yeah, it smells really good actually.”

The crooked smile emerges. “It’s my favorite.”

“Well, by all means, you’re the expert. I’ve never had a massage before.”

“Really?”

“Yeah, this visit is a gift from a friend.”

“Nice friend. Remind me to thank them.” He winks at me and brushes the hair back off my cheek … the hair that was covering the fading bruise on my face.

He sucks in a breath. “Christ, Katie, what happened to you?”

I’m thankful for the low lighting; it diminishes the intensity of the bruise. The bruises on my stomach and hip are yellowing spectacularly and I’m grateful they’re hidden beneath me and not on full display. “Would you believe me if I told you I fell down a flight of stairs?”

His lips are pressed together so tightly they’re a thin, white line; there’s both fear and rage in his eyes. He shakes his head.

“Took up bull riding?”

“Nope.”

“Underground fight club?”

“We’re getting warmer. Who’s the bastard that did this to you?”

Why is it that when a woman has bruises, especially on her face, people assume they were put there through domestic violence? I’m guilty of jumping to the same conclusions myself. It’s a societal assumption unfortunately born out of too frequent reality. “It’s not what you’re thinking. There was a disgusting mixture of ignorance, hatred, and alcohol unleashed on my friend Clayton very early Tuesday morning.” I point to my face. “This was a little spill over. I’m fine, Keller.”

The fear and anger has vanished from his eyes and protectiveness floods in. At least it’s not pity. “This is not fine.” His hands are gripping the edge of the table so tight his knuckles are white.

I place my hand over his and lower my voice, “Hey, I’m here for a massage, remember? And just so you know, I’m setting the bar high with my expectations. I’ve got sixty minutes, I hope you’re up to it,” I tease.

His face softens and his smile goes crooked. I love it when he does that.

He pulls the sheet slowly down my back until it’s completely revealed. I may be imagining it, because I’m so turned on right now I can’t stand it, but I swear I hear a low rumble escape from deep in his throat and then his lips graze my ear as he whispers, “Oh, I am so up to it. Just relax. You’re in good hands, Katie.”

And for the next sixty minutes I find out just how good. There are no words spoken. My eyes are closed and without the aid of sight my sense of touch is heightened. His hands are strong, but gentle at the same time and though his fingers never stray even close to “forbidden” areas, it is without a doubt one of the most erotic things I’ve ever experienced. When his touch lands on my skin mid-thigh my body aches … in such a good way. I don’t think I’ve ever been so aroused in my life. The sexual tension in the room is … high. My imagination is running wild and somehow I know he feels it, too. A year ago I would’ve propositioned him right here and now, but life is different now. I can’t. For both of us I can’t. So I endure the sweet torture and vow to take a cold shower when I get back to the dorms.

The walk home is too damn long considering my level of sexual frustration has reached an all-time high. To hell with the cold shower … I opt for a long, hot shower filled with fantasies of Keller instead. I return to my room thoroughly satisfied in all ways, but as soon as I crawl into bed and close my eyes I feel his hands on me again.

Shit. I’m never going to get any sleep.