mutual business manager Scott while you were in a coma, and he agreed to everything. You’ll never miss the ten million dollars.”
Dinner arrives. Maybe, I would have been better off staying asleep in a coma. At least past our wedding date.
Zoey
The only good thing about Brandon going out to dinner with Katrina is that I have some time to catch up on the gazillion tweets I have to respond to on his behalf. It’s like every woman in the world wished him—Get Well. I love you! <3—while he was in the hospital. I send the same response back to each of his infatuated fans: Thanks, baby! Feeling good. Luv you back! <3 I can only imagine their expressions when they get a tweet back. Total swoonsville!
I skip over the ones congratulating him about his engagement or asking when he’s getting married. Don’t know. Don’t care. And the truth is I don’t want to be reminded.
Two hours into tweeting, my iPhone pings. A text from Mr. Swoonworthy himself.
Did u say u give massages?
I reply.
Yes.
He responds.
I want one now.
Sheesh. It’s almost ten o’clock. I was about to call it quits with the tweeting and get ready for bed. Maybe I should tell him to give himself a testicular massage and then jerk off. That’ll probably have the same relaxation benefits. He sends me another text.
Well…???
In my mind’s eye, I can see the anger on his face. The furrowed brows, the pinched lips. Let him pout. I don’t respond. He wastes no time texting me again.
Do I need to fire u?
GAH! He wouldn’t. He would! Fucking spoiled asshole.
FINE. Shouty caps. I hope he gets the message. I’m not a happy camper.
Ten minutes later, I’m in his living room after schlepping over my massage table and my special aromatherapy oil. Brandon’s on the couch reading what must be a Kurt Kussler script.
“Why aren’t you ready?” I snap.
He looks up from his script. “Should I strip down?”
His words send goosebumps all over me. I’ve never seen him in the buff though I’ve used my imagination when it comes to his ass and equipment. Pure manly perfection!
“No,” I reply, trying to sound as calm as possible. “It’s in my contract. I don’t do you naked. You’ve got to put on some underwear.”
“I don’t do underwear.”
My eyes unconsciously shift to his crotch. That big cock of his (at least I think it’s big) is one zip away. I wonder how really big it is. Nine inches? Ten?
He interrupts my mental calculations. “Fine. I’ll find a pair of boxers. I must own some.”
“Perfect.” I pause. “By the way, in case you don’t remember, I only do vanilla massages.” Unfortunately.
His brows shoot up. “What do you mean?”
“I’m not going to rub your cock and give you an orgasm.”
His brows furrow. “That’s too bad.”
A flutter of heat stirs between my legs. “What do you mean by that?” After asking the question, I’m sorry I did.
He looks at me earnestly. “My cock’s pretty stressed out.”
No more questions. “Ask Katrina to de-stress it.” My voice is thick with sarcasm.
His mouth twists. “Yeah, right.”
I detect attitude. “By the way, how was your dinner with her mother?”
“Stressful. That’s why I need a massage.”
Don’t ask. The less I know the better. “Get ready. I’ll set up my massage table in the meantime.”
Five minutes later, he’s back, clad in adorable purple and white polka dot boxers that hang sexily low on his hips. My heart beating fast, I soak in his bare-chested body. My eyes travel down his gorgeous chiseled chest and land on his crotch. His cock is just a handful away. One could just reach inside the slit of his boxers and own it.
“Get on the table, face down,” I tell him, trying to act professionally. These lewd thoughts are disturbing me. But it’s hardly the first time I’ve had them.
He does as requested, setting his head on the headrest attachment. His long, muscular legs reach almost to the very end of the padded table. I admire his beautiful sculpted back and his broad swimmer’s shoulders. The burning urge to run my hands over every glorious ridge and contour has my heart racing with anticipation.
“Good. I’ll be right back. I’m going to put on some relaxing music. It’ll help you loosen up.”
I tread over to his sound system and make a selection. A vintage compilation of Kenny G’s Greatest Hits. “Loving You” is first up. The sound of the saxophone is slow, smooth, and soothing. Pure perfection. On the way back to the table,