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Chapter 6

Melena – All About the Benefits

Istared at the originalproposal message from Jimmy a few hundred times throughout the day. ‘Will you marry me?’ Would I? The stress of not knowing how big a hospital bill I’d be getting was weighing on me. I didn’t need any financial surprises. The holidays were around the corner and always took a toll on my bank account; I sold a lot of gift certificates, which helped my cash flow, but clients slowed way down. I’d called the hospital billing office in between clients and the total made me choke. I’d been in the hospital for only a few hours and had racked up a five-figure bill. With my deductible, I needed to scrape together more than five thousand dollars. I spoke with them about financial aid, which was helpful. But it didn’t solve my pharmacy problem. If I needed medication every month that cost more than my rent, how would I survive? It’s not like insurance ran in perpetuity. Deductibles reset every calendar year. January was fast-approaching, and I’d need another five thousand dollars to get me through the next year. And the year after. I’d researched other medical plans for the new year, but either the premium or deductible blew my budget out of the water.

I could find another job outside of massage, one with better benefits. But I loved massage therapy, and I was good at it, dammit. It’d taken me a few false starts before I found my path. I’d done my time in retail and food service, and I didn’t want to go back. I shuddered. I still couldn’t look at a Black Friday ad without wanting to break out in hives. I loved working for myself and enjoyed the freedom of making my own schedule.

I stared again at Jimmy’s text before my fingers started to type.

Melena: Let’s talk more tonight if you’re off work? Dinner at my place?

He didn’t respond before my next client arrived. I tried to focus on Meredith, the woman I was massaging, and not on the night ahead. My stomach churned. I hoped Jimmy would be available.

“Ow,” the older woman complained, the sound muffled by the head rest on the massage table.

“I’m so sorry. I’ll reduce the pressure.” Crap. Meredith was a regular who didn’t like deep tissue massage, but I didn’t realize how deep I was pushing, trying to relieve my own tension. If only it worked that way. Lisa and I traded massages to give each other relief, because some days I absorbed my client’s knots and pain into my own shoulders, back, and neck. However, I needed to back off or risk losing Meredith as a client.

We chattered away about inconsequential things, and I focused on our conversation instead of the decisions looming ahead of me. The rest of the hour flew by, and I was thankful to see a response from Jimmy as I checked my phone before my next client.

Jimmy: Why don’t I cook for you? You haven’t seen my place yet. Does 7 work?

Melena: Sure, sounds great. What can I bring?

Jimmy: Just your appetite.

He texted his address, and I laughed. I was contemplating accepting a proposal from a man whose apartment I hadn’t seen. He could have anything in there. Maybe he was a closet taxidermy fan. Dead things would be a dealbreaker. I shook myself. Who was I kidding? For Jimmy, I might be able to put up with the odd set of antlers. On the hot/bad habit scale, his forearms and sexy smile distracted me enough to overlook at least one oddball hobby. His overall sexual distraction score was a ten if we didn’t live together. Downgraded to an eight with proximity. It was a lot easier to ignore dirty socks abandoned in a corner when I couldn’t see them.

I dressed with care for our dinner. I generally wore leggings and a tunic-length top at work; it was comfortable and easy to move in. If I was accepting Jimmy’s proposal, I wanted to look nice. I chuckled and glanced down at my cleavage as I applied my makeup. If Jimmy was a boob man, I was delivering with a deep V-neck. The freckle on the curve of my left breast was on full display.

Jimmy’s complex was off the beaten path, but it wasn’t hard to find. His unit was on the second floor, and I minced up the steps carrying the bottle of red wine I’d brought. I double-checked the address on my phone before knocking on his door.

When he opened the door with a smile, I was not prepared for domestic Jimmy. Wearing an apron over a collared shirt, Jimmy stood there, backlit in all his six-foot plus glory, tanned skin gleaming. Mr. Clean was immediately booted from my hot men doing chores fantasies and replaced by Jimmy. The apron had a stylish pattern and the quote: “I’m not saying I’m Martha Stewart. I’m saying no one has seen me and Martha in the same room.”

He glanced down at his chest at my surprised laugh and gave a sheepish grin. “Yeah. Inside joke. My friend Chase got me this for Christmas last year. Come in.”

He stepped aside and gestured into his entryway. The apartment smelled like roasted chicken, the faint aroma of sage and lemon clinging to his skin as I passed. I focused on his smiling mouth and the full lower lip that begged for a nibble. Even if dinner was a bust, he looked delicious. I debated kissing him in greeting, but he was already moving to shut the door behind me.

“Thanks for coming tonight,” he said formally. I watched his Adam’s apple bob as he swallowed.

I smiled. Was he uncomfortable? Worried I’d judge him? It was too cute.

“Thanks for having me. I’ll admit, I’m more than a little curious about where you live.”