I was getting myself worked up again. In fact, I was about two minutes away from telling him to get off the table and get the hell out, or at least explain what his deal was. I was already regretting having opened up to him. All that stuff he knew about my mom, my dad . . . about me. I turned the music up on my phone. Banks. Let her tell Kael that I was tired of his waiting game. I made sure that the music was loud enough for him to hear the words, but not loud enough to disturb any other patrons. See—still professional.

Kael’s black sweatpants weren’t torn at the hem, or faded to purple like most of mine were. Black cotton can do that, turn the color of eggplant. And it always happened to my clothes after a few washes. Another problem I had with purple. And today, the purple glow of everything in the room was annoying me.

In that moment, I felt fortunate to have seven brains in my head, all thinking different things at the exact same time. Again, the flash of us alone together. Kael dropping his emotional armor. Leaving those invisible bodyguards outside. It was my own little streaming service, and thank goodness I could switch between channels so that the next fifty-five minutes wouldn’t be awkward, for either of us.

Comedy? Drama? Home improvement?

Take your pick, Karina.

It was good for me to think about other things while I rubbed the balls of his feet, while I ran my palms up his left calf. Tylenol. I’d drop by the drugstore after work and pick some up. What else did I need—shampoo? I tried to push the leg of his pants up a little, but it was tight at the bottom. His phone started to ring in his pocket, but he didn’t answer. I couldn’t bring myself to be nosy enough to ask who it was. I’ve never seen anyone ignore so many phone calls.

I was about to tell him that most clients prefer to turn off their phones, that they find the interruptions jarring. But who was I kidding? Kael wasn’t like most clients.

I moved up the back of his thigh, around his hips, gliding my hands along his bare back. I tried to think of what movie I’d watch when I flopped down on the couch after work, but it was hard to think of anything other than the muscles along his shoulders, so prominent under his soft, dark skin. Right under his shoulder blade, there was a spot so knotted that it had to be giving him some kind of pain whenever I pressed into it.

“Does this hurt?” I asked him.

“Yes,” he replied.

“Like all the time or right now?”

“Aren’t those the same thing?”

“No.” I pushed the side of my thumbs into his muscle.

“Oh, yeah. That hurts all the time.”