“Jamie, a professional massage therapist isn’t going to give you a happy ending,” I blurt out. He stares at me, equally confused. “I fucking hope not.” His eyebrows knit. “The massage is for you.” “Oh.” I let out a high laugh, and my face burns. “Sorry.” He tilts his head, eyes narrowing. “What?” I ask, turning to hide how red I’m going, but his hands land on my shoulders and he turns me back around. “You’re jealous,” he says, studying my face with a twitching mouth. I roll my eyes. “Stop it.” “You are.” His eyes are so bright. Smug. So fucking smug. “You’re jealous because you thought a woman
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