Crossed lines

Chapter five

Bryce’s POV

What the f**k did I just agree to?

I stare at the woman standing in one corner of the room , then glance at Bruce, who’s looking far too pleased with himself.

A massage.

We’re actually going to give this woman a massage.

I don’t even know what possessed me to agree to this. I could have laughed it off, sent her to one of our actual masseuses, and gone about my day like a perfectly sensible human being.

Instead, here I am, staring a beautiful stranger down like I’ve lost every ounce of common sense I’ve ever possessed.

And the worst part?

I’m excited.

Actually, no. Excited doesn’t quite cover it.

There’s something embarrassingly boyish about the way my stomach flips whenever she glances back at us. I catch myself wondering what she’s thinking, whether she’s nervous too, whether that little smile she keeps giving us means she’s as curious about us as we are about her.

I need to get a f*****g grip.

“She asked for a massage, not your hand in marriage,” Bruce mutters beside me.

I turn to him. “Are you talking to me or yourself?”

He grins. “Whichever one of us needs to hear it.”

“Then shut up and let’s get this over with .”

He laughs, and I shake my head.

Fucking i***t.

Although, to be fair, he’s not entirely wrong. We’re both acting like we’ve never seen an attractive woman before.

I’ve seen plenty.

But there’s something about this one that has me interested in ways I don’t particularly want to examine.

And then there’s the other problem.

Mason.

Just the thought of his name is enough to put a dent in my excitement.

I should turn around.

I should tell Bruce this is a ridiculous idea and leave the actual massage to someone who gets paid to do it.

Instead, I look up and find her standing at the entrance of the bed in a massage robe , waiting for us.

She smiles.

And just like that, every sensible thought in my head goes to hell.

Fuck.

I’m so screwed.

Joan’s POV

I stared at the massage bed for a moment before climbing onto it, suddenly very conscious of the fact that I had absolutely no idea what I was doing.

“Lie on your stomach,” one of them instructed.

I looked over my shoulder.

The serious one.

Of course.

“Bossy, aren’t you?”

His mouth twitched, almost like he was fighting a smile.

“Would you prefer I ask nicely?”

I laughed, shaking my head as I settled onto the bed.

“No, thank you. I think I can manage.”

I arranged myself on the bed, resting my head against the cushion and trying very hard not to think about the fact that two men I’d met approximately ten minutes ago were standing behind me.

This was fine.

Everything was fine.

I was simply getting a massage.

A massage that I had specifically requested from two men because apparently, my survival instincts had decided to take the afternoon off.

I closed my eyes.

Maybe if I stopped looking at them, I’d stop thinking about how attractive they were.

“Comfortable?” the playful one asked.

Perfectly.”

“Convincing.”

My eyes flew open.

“Excuse me?”

“Nothing, sweetheart.”

I turned my head just enough to glare at him.

He grinned.

Oh, I was going to regret this.

I could already tell.

“Are you always this annoying?” I asked.

“Only when I’m enjoying myself.”

“And are you enjoying yourself?”

There was a brief pause.

Then he laughed.

“Very much.”

I rolled my eyes, but I couldn’t stop the smile tugging at my lips.

At least he was honest.

I settled back onto the cushion, taking a slow breath as I tried to relax my shoulders.

Behind me, I heard them exchange a few quiet words. I couldn’t make out what they were saying, but the sound of their voices was oddly distracting.

I wondered which one of them would actually be giving me the massage.

And why, despite all my earlier confidence, the thought suddenly made me nervous.

I could still change my mind.

I could sit up, laugh, and tell them I’d decided to stick with the original appointment.

There was absolutely nothing stopping me.

Except, perhaps, my pride.

And the fact that I was ridiculously curious about what would happen next.

So I stayed where I was, pressed my cheek against the cushion, and told myself to stop overthinking.

I’d asked for this.