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“You have a backup if this being a hockey god thing gets old.” Dalton hits a tight spot in my rotator cuff, his fingers masterfully supporting my arm while working. I have to focus on getting the words out. “Holy shit, you’re good at this.”

I crack an eye to find him smiling, and the heat spreading through me isn’t from the warming table.

“Thank you. You don’t have to entertain me, forty-eight.

You can relax if you want. Sleep while I finish working.

” Dalton offers, but I enjoy talking to him.

Besides, the idea of sleeping right now while this man’s hands are on my naked body is nigh impossible.

I want those hands everywhere, touching every part of me.

Dalton pulls a stool over, then starts on my neck, cradling my head as his fingers find every angry tendon.

His face is so close that I need a distraction.

“Does it bother you? Chatting while you’re working?” I close my eyes, focusing on steady breaths.

“With you? No.”

“What’s the most awkward conversation you’ve had while giving a massage?”

“That would have to be Mrs Robinson. Not her real name, by the way. She always wanted to talk about her husband’s erectile dysfunction. It was a downer.”

“Pun intended?

“Pun intended.” I can hear the smile in his voice.

“Okay, no flaccid talk. Got it. Funniest conversation then?”

Dalton barks out a low laugh, “Easy. More like conversations. One of my regulars was this huge MMA guy. Total badass in the ring. But on the table, he loved—and I mean loved—to talk about his two cats. Ittsy and Bittsy. Dressed them up in little outfits and would always pull out his phone to show off his latest photos. Guy had an entire secret Insta dedicated to those furry fashion mavens. Huge following too, it was impressive. Kinda loved the guy for it. Badass by night, fluffy cat stylist by day.”

I laugh, then let the conversation lapse back to an effortless silence.

I’m melting into the table when a thought takes shape. “Would you still do this if you couldn’t play hockey?”

“Probably not. This was great when I was younger, but now, I’d rather coach. I love being part of the team. Becoming Captain has shown me that most of the younger guys need guidance. Hell, I was a mess when I first got drafted. Made stupid money and stupider decisions.”

“Like hooking up with girls who leave undergarments as calling cards?”

Dalton chortles, moving to my legs. “Exactly like that - except I’m still learning that one, apparently.”

As his fingers kneed my thigh, it’s hard to forget how they felt inside me earlier. I clutch the white sheet covering the table to keep those thoughts in check as he continues to my calf. I must tense because he eases the pressure.

“This okay? Tight spot?” Concern laces his words, and I try to relax.

I give him a reassuring glance. “It’s perfect, just thinking about something else, sorry.”

The pinch of his lips tells me he knows what I’m thinking about.

Mercifully, we both recede into our own thoughts, or we might break that promise of no happy endings.

When Dalton finishes, it feels both like a blissful eternity and far too short.

I immediately miss his hands as he steps back, toweling off the excess lotion.

Dalton squeezes my toes through the sheet.

“And this is where I leave you for a few hours.”

I sit up on my elbow. “You bailing on me, Ward?”

“You’re the one who tried to bail this morning, remember?” He tosses the hand towel at me. It flops directly on my face.

I roll my eyes, pulling the sweet smelling cloth away. “Not going to let me live that down, are you?”

“Nope.” He tugs on my big toe. “I rarely get ditched. That little show this morning could earn me sympathy points with the ladies in the future.”

I toss the towel back, which he catches one-handed. He’s about to say something more when there’s a light knock at the door. With a glance to make sure I’m still covered, Dalton opens it a crack.

Marissa’s voice carries in. “Just wanted to make sure you’re doing okay.”

“Doing great, thank you, Marissa,” Dalton says, still blocking me from view.

“Gerald is ready for you across the hall.” Her voice gets a little louder as she talks over Dalton’s shoulder.

“Miss Phillips, your next appointment is in twenty minutes. Please take your time getting ready. Rinse off, but please don’t wash your hair.

The stylists will take care of that. Fresh towels and a robe are hanging next to the shower.

I’ll meet you out here whenever you’re ready. ”

“Thank you,” I call as her ballet flats tap back down the hall, then lower my voice. “Still going with Miss Phillips?”

“Anonymity, forty-eight. You picked that name. I’m just sticking to it.” Dalton opens the door wider to step through. “Well, that’s my cue to GTFO.”

“Dalton.” He pauses, turning back. “Thank you. That was… I, uh… appreciate it. I feel like I should tip you or something.”

“It was my pleasure. And I might just call in that tip later tonight.” He winks. “I’ll see you for the next part of our date, forty-eight. Enjoy the rest of your pampering.”

By the time the spa’s team is done, I’m polished, buffed, trimmed, and styled like I could walk a red carpet.

Even though finances have never allowed for this kind of pampering, I can now officially appreciate why so many people prioritize this in their budget.

I can’t remember the last time I felt or looked this good.

Although a large portion of that is also because of Dalton’s outfit choice.

And damn if he wasn’t right. The second I slip on the dress he picked, all I can think about is the orgasm that was equally freeing, intoxicating, and addicting.

When I emerge from the dressing room, Dalton’s in the lobby talking with Marissa, whose admiration has turned from professional to something closer to longing.

It’s the same look our waitress had last night, and I wonder if she googled him or if it’s a natural attraction.

I bite the inside of my lip. Dalton must feel that way every time a woman shows interest. How many women see the amazing man and not the athlete?

Dalton is mid-sentence when he notices me, and the world stops.

Placing a hand on Marissa’s shoulder, he excuses himself as he strides over, taking in every inch of my body.

When he reaches me, Dalton grabs a hand, pulling our arms high and forcing me to spin in a slow circle so he can admire every angle with a low whistle.

“Damn, you look amazing, forty-eight.” He says when I’m done twirling, then reaches up, toying with one of the curls expertly placed to escape the loose French twist at the back of my head. “We clean up, you and I.”

“Yes, we do, Ward.” I smooth a hand down his already perfect collar.

I have to remind myself there is no future with this man. And despite that being my choice, there’s a tiny fissure that rips across my heart.

He looks fabulous in the blue suit I selected. The white button-up open at the collar shows a tease of his throat and the muscles cut just below. The pants must also make his ass look great because Marisa is staring like a lioness checking out a gazelle’s tasty hindquarter.

“That dress…” Dalton growls under his breath.

An arm sweeps around my waist, drawing me closer.

I grab his shoulder and let the other hand fall to his chest. A fingertip finds the bare skin at the base of his thorax.

He presses against me and I can feel that he’s growing hard.

It’s like we’re right back in that dressing room.

“Ready to get out of here?” Dalton lowers his mouth to mine, stopping shy of my painted red lips.

“Let’s see where this night takes us.”