Kennedy did a slight bow and returned. Sweat beaded her brow. "Thank God. Ming will see us."
"Who is this person? There's no customer service. No nice amenities. And they seem rude. We should leave."
She dropped her voice to a fierce hiss. "You do not make any negative comments. One complaint and we'll get thrown out. Ming is the best, and she'll return you back to normal. Above normal, actually. You'll never be the same."
His unease grew. He pulled at his lab coat and noticed the new stain of mustard on his lapel from eating lunch at his desk. Again. It had been hell getting out on time, but he was looking forward to beginning his journey toward his future wife. Who would've thought it would begin in a crappy underground dungeon with a woman named Ming?
"What is she going to do to me?"
Kennedy pointed a finger at him. "Whatever she wants. You need to follow all her instructions exactly. This is very important."
"I'm not stupid."
"No, but you like to argue, and that will get us thrown out."
He had no time to respond. The door behind the desk swung open without a sound. He caught an impression of an elfin figure dressed in a Japanese robe, shrouded in shadow. One long, bony finger drifted out and beckoned him forward.
"Go," Kennedy whispered.
Crap, why was he scared? A little old lady couldn't hurt him, and if he didn't like anything, he'd just walk out, no matter what Kennedy said. He straightened his shoulders and stepped through the door.
She led him down a dim hallway. The small woman moved lightning fast, practically floating over the ground as they turned right and made their way deeper into a maze of unending hallways. He itched to throw bread crumbs or mark a wall to find his way back, but there was no time. He stumbled twice just keeping up. Finally, she stopped and entered an unmarked door.
A long, flat limestone table took up the center of the room. Towels were placed around the site, and a luxurious open glass shower was set up in the corner. The walls were a pristine white and bare of decoration except for a few shelves that displayed an array of glass bottles. Music drifted softly from the speakers. He caught a flute, birdcalls, and the sound of rushing water. The air was moist and smelled of clean soap and the faintness of lavender. Ming headed toward a small bamboo-type desk with a large white basin and began prepping. Nate watched as she busied herself like a doctor preparing shots, lining up jumbo-size containers and pouring liquid in. Finally, she turned and faced him.
"You get naked."
"What?"
The top of her head didn't even hit his chest. Her bare feet peeked out from underneath the white robe that seemed to swallow her whole. Black hair was cropped close to her head, and her dark eyes snapped impatience and command. "I say get naked. Then lie on table."
Nate held on to his lab coat and shoved down the panic. Naked? In front of her? Hell, no. "Um, can I leave my T-shirt and boxers on? I'm not very comfortable removing all my clothes."
She spit in his direction. Sheer disgust marked her face. "You big baby? You no get naked for old woman? What you so afraid of?"
He jerked back. "I'm not scared! I just don't think I need to."
Ming took a step forward and wagged her finger in the air. "You orange. You look like carrot. I fix you, but you listen to me. Now get naked and lie on table on stomach."
Kennedy's words flashed in his mind. This was his first test. How could he fail already? And he was orange. Even Wayne agreed today that he should do something because it was distracting his concentration. He had hoped it would go away, but after four days, it still hadn't faded. Was he really nervous about a professional seeing him without clothes? No, he refused to let her win this round by acting like a child. Women did this stuff all the time, right?
"Fine." He took off all his clothes, folded them neatly, and placed them on an unoccupied shelf. The table was smooth and cool as he stretched out on his stomach, and his head was cushioned by a soft mat. He turned his head to the right, closed his eyes, and tried not to think of his naked ass up in the air for Ming to view.
He waited a while, breathing and listening to the flute, and began to relax. Steam began to rise up in the room and opened his pores. Maybe this wouldn't be too bad. A massage was something he really needed for his neck and back. Long hours spent stationary had tied him in knots. Maybe he'd even get in a bit of a nap. He figured--
"Aghgh!"
A mass of cold liquid was dumped on his back, trickling down his rear. Before he could process, a thousand stiff bristles worked its way over his skin, the rough back-and-forth motions scraping him and causing a mixture of tickling and pain, until he twisted around and batted it out of the way. "That hurts!"
"Be quiet."
He gasped. She scrubbed harder, completely disregarding his tiny yelps as she worked every inch of his skin, from the soles of his feet, ass, back, shoulders, and even his armpits. His skin tingled and burned, and the tiny beads of gel caused an abrasion that he swore would mark him for life. Dear God, he was going to have scars! She had no idea what she was doing, and seemed to even chuckle menacingly the few times he jumped and tried to wriggle away from the brush of doom.
The torture went on forever, until she muttered something and finally stopped. He dropped his head to the table and panted. Okay, he'd done it. The orange must be off. Maybe he'd get to recover and use that fabulous shower. The worst had to be behind him. He heard a few clicks, the drag of metal, and was just about to lift his head to see what was going on when the spray hit him.
The icy cold, bone-chilling spray, that is.
"Shit!" He jerked up, but she pushed him back down on the table with hard hands. The spray wasn't a gentle rain shower; it was more like a fire extinguisher filled with ice cubes hitting him at full power. He shivered under the stinging nettles and moaned softly under his breath. That's when he knew it was going to be a long night. She hosed him down thoroughly, not missing an inch, the intense pressure of the spray not allowing him any relief.
He slumped over when it finally stopped. He should get out of here. Walk away, call the Better Business Bureau, and bring her up on charges of assault. He thought of all the ways he'd get even with Ming while she clattered around behind him with something else, and he held his breath.
Ah. Warm, fragrant oil dribbled on his back and leaked over his spine. Heaven. His muscles finally relaxed. Maybe it was worth it to get to the good stuff? Nate imagined strong, nimble fingers working out the kinks in his lower back and neck and--
With a wild war cry, a hundred pounds of flesh slammed onto his back. In horror, he realized she'd jumped on top of him, and was stomping on his back with her bare feet.
"What are you doing?" he yelled, but she ignored him, doing some crazy dance routine and grinding her toes and soles of her feet into the sensitive skin of his ripped-up back. She worked her way up and down his body, her heels hard and demanding, twisting deep into different muscle knots until he bit his lip to keep from screaming in agony. Nate bit his tongue and silently cursed her and her children, prayed for revenge, and begged for mercy. He swore she wouldn't win, wouldn't break him. He'd survive this with his head held high and then he'd laugh at her for thinking she could destroy him.
As seconds turned to minutes, he got lost in a daze. Finally, she jumped gracefully off him, her robe flapping, and leaned over him. Her bright smile reminded him of the Joker from Batman before he struck. "Turn over."
He shook his head, which wobbled on his almost broken neck. "No, no turn over."
Ming cackled again, the wild gleam in her dark eyes scaring the crap out of him. "You big baby. I fix you. I do front now."
"No."
Her lips pulled back and she spit something out in Chinese.
"Fine! But I swear if you hurt me again, you will not get a tip!"
She helped roll him over. Nate looked at the ceiling with his most sensitive part out on display, ready to be tortured, and prayed for it to be over.
Time passed in
a blur. When she jumped on his stomach, Nate was grateful she avoided his dick, which would probably never get an erection again after Ming was done with him. When she informed him there was to be one more round on each side, Nate gave up. He lost consciousness somewhere during the second round.
After his body, Ming moved to the head of the table and worked on his face. At least she couldn't jump on it. Still, her deft, firm fingers left no feature unexplored until his cheeks and jaws actually ached.
He was wrung out and exhausted when she finally allowed him to rise. He felt vulnerable, raw, and weak as a newborn kitten. He leaned a bit on her as she guided him into the shower and turned on the water. The hot spray was heaven, gentle and soothing, and she gave him a musky type of soap that lathered and wrapped him in bubbles. He took a long time in the shower and dried off with a fluffy towel. Ming came over and wrapped him in a terrycloth robe, tying the sash nice and tight, and led him to a small bench. He winced when she took a hairbrush, but she brushed back his long strands of hair from his forehead in long, soothing strokes that massaged his scalp. He relaxed into her ministrations. The music drifted over him, and no one spoke. When he finally opened his eyes, her face was right in front of him. She smiled, but this time it didn't strike him as evil.
"You good boy." She patted his cheek. "No more orange. You sit here a bit then come out when you ready."
She placed the brush down and left.
He had one last thought before he allowed himself to drift away for just one more minute.
Ming had definitely won.
NATE BIT INTO HIS cheeseburger and admitted that Mugs could be his new favorite place. The bar restaurant was casual, giving off a rustic appeal with wooden booths nicely offset by a large modern bar. The attached poolroom held tables, darts, and a variety of other fun games. The beer list was pretty damn impressive for a quaint town, where organic everything and chai lattes usually ruled. He swiped a fry in a pool of ketchup and savored the salty bite.
Kennedy had taken one look at his expression after Ming time and declared the need for food. He'd followed her back into Verily without protest, and after a cold microbrew and some red meat, the strange floaty bubbly feeling had finally popped.
"Why did you ask for a Clorox wipe for the tables?" she asked. "Didn't you trust them to clean it properly?"
He focused on his burger. "Waitresses get busy and don't bring a sterile cloth. Food slips off the plate and unconsciously you scoop it up, eat it, and come down with E. coli poisoning."
"You're a certified germaphobe, aren't you? How bad?"
"I'm not gonna do a Jack Nicholson imitation from As Good as It Gets, if that's what you're worried about. I just like to follow proper hygiene in bathrooms and public restaurants." He decided to change the subject rather than linger on another one of his issues. "That woman was horrible," he said. "Have you ever had a client sue because of her?"
She tossed him a smug smile. "They're too afraid to bring a lawsuit. Besides, Ming's the best. Look at yourself. Not a smidge of orange, and your skin is practically glowing with health. I bet your muscles feel like limp noodles, too."
"Not really." He ducked his head so she wouldn't see the lie reflected in his gaze. "But at least I look normal again."
They ate in silence for a bit, but a roar from outside made a few patrons look up. "Sounds like a storm out there."
"Yeah, we haven't had rain in a while."
A blob of ketchup fell on his pants to match the mustard on his lapel. He cursed his innate clumsiness and grabbed a few napkins. Kennedy pushed her lettuce around her plate. "What's the matter?"
"Nothing." Hmm, she looked cranky. Odd, she'd been fine till his burger arrived. As usual, he opened his mouth and his thoughts spilled out. "Why did you order that?"
She rolled her eyes. "Because it's healthy."
"Actually, too much roughage in the body can throw off your digestive system. Want a bite of my burger?" Her eyes lit up with sheer lust. Nate shifted in his seat. Damn, the woman was potent. He wondered what would happen if she ever looked at him like that. As if. "You probably need some protein."
Her fingers clenched her fork in a death grip. She took a dainty sip of water with lemon. "I have tuna as my protein."
He investigated the pile of lettuce and found a few dry pieces of fish scattered around. "Oh. No mayo?"
She glared.
"Are you one of those vegans? Or allergic to gluten or something?"
She stuck a leaf in her mouth and chewed. Nate felt sorry for her. Her usual vibrancy seemed to stagnate as soon as she got around food. As if her healthy choices sucked all the joy out of her. "No. I follow a strict balance to ensure good nutrition. Please don't tell me you eat like this normally?"
He finished his burger and swallowed it down with a sip of beer. "No. I don't mind eating healthy, as long as I allow myself a few vices. I try to stay away from fast food, but I'm a terrible cook, so I do eat out a lot. You don't need to diet."
A strange sound emitted from her lips. "I'm not on a diet."
A crucial piece of information danced around his consciousness. Something that would solve a bit of the puzzle that made up this woman. "Good. Your body is amazing."
Darkness stole over her features, seeming to capture her inner light momentarily. "Thanks."
He could tell she didn't believe it. Not one word. And there was something bigger there, underneath, buried so deep he wondered if anyone had ever discovered it. Like a physics equation, she begged for a solution, and he longed to be the one to find it. Of course, that's why he sucked with people. He had no social filter and followed no rules. He dug until he hit dirt, by which point the person was usually so pissed at him he or she stalked off. Yep. He was a real winner.
"Do you ever let go and have something that's bad for you?"
She pulled those luscious lips back and snarled. "Why don't we move our attention from fries and concentrate on you? Now that you have the correct skin color again, we need to practice a bit on social conversation."
"Nothing wrong with getting to the heart of a person. It doesn't waste time." His damp hair kept sliding in his face, so he pulled a rubber band from his pocket protector and tied it quickly back.
"Initial trust is built from the first dialogue. You'll ruin it by mentioning sex, bodily parts, or making judgments on childbearing age, fear of commitment, or career choice."
He frowned. "What do I have left to talk about?"
She smiled. A tiny piece of green lettuce stood out within her incisor. Her lipstick had rubbed off from the napkin. A vibrant intensity beat from her figure in waves. Today she wore a black lace shirt, short red skirt, and red pumps. She'd shrugged off her red jacket and he spotted an upper arm bracelet. The gold cuff reminded him of something a slave girl would wear. He glimpsed the black matching lace of her bra peeking out. He'd read a story once where the hero sucked the heroine's nipples for an hour and made her come. Nate wondered if any of her lovers had ever treated her to such attention. Wondered if she'd be greedy, noisy, active. If she were his, he'd concentrate on wiping out every word in the English language from her mind so that she only moaned and whimpered his name.
His pants tightened to a painful degree. Down, boy. Never gonna happen in this lifetime. He had better get used to it. And stop reading those damn books.
"There are a million other topics to pick from," she said. "We'll practice now. Pretend we just met and decided to have dinner. What would you say to me?"
"You have a piece of lettuce stuck in your teeth."
She blanched, and then placed her tongue over her teeth and sucked hard. "Is it gone?"
Damn, she was hot. "Yes. Gone."
"Okay, that's what I mean. You definitely want to let a woman know if she has something on her that could embarrass her, but you need to learn subtlety. A touch of your napkin to your mouth. A gentle smile and a tap of your finger over your teeth."
He rolled his eyes. "Fine. But if I had something in my teet
h or toilet paper stuck somewhere, don't waste my time. Tell me."
"Noted. Aren't you going to have the last few fries?"
"No, here." He pushed the plate across the table. "There's only three. Live a little."
She squirmed in her seat as if about to make the biggest decision of her life. Then palmed the three fries and began to nibble. The salt seemed to make her happy. A hazy glow of satisfaction came over her. Surrendering to her desires seemed to please her. Nate had a dozen other ways he'd like to make that look appear on her features, but he stopped himself from thinking about them--after all, she had flat-out refused to go out with him. Why would sleeping with him invoke any other response?
"Thanks," she said, gesturing toward the fries. "Back to role-play. We just sat down and ordered. Let's talk."
She sucked on the fry as if intent on getting every last taste of salt from the murdered potato. Unfortunately, the distraction of her pink tongue, crooked tooth, and long, tapered fingers slammed another type of image into his brain. What was up with him? He needed to get laid fast, or he was just going to humiliate himself with her for the long term. "Umm, do you live around here?"
"Manhattan. How about you?"
"Westchester. Umm, do you have any hobbies?"
She sucked harder. "Yeah, I go to the gym three times a week. How about you?"
"I enjoy golf."
"Oh, I've never played golf."
He straightened up in his chair. "The sport is the perfect combination of skill and challenge. The swing is the key to success in the game, but it can be fine-tuned and changed to fit the individual. Tiger Woods actually spent more than a year completely redoing his swing in order to become a different type of golfer. Imagine the rush of watching the ball sail through the air and land perfectly on the green! Exciting, right?"
She finished the fries, and twirled her straw around in her glass. "Not really."
Nate glared. "I don't like this conversation. Let's just admit we're not suited for the long term."
"Right there!" She jumped from her seat and pointed her index finger at him. "That's where the breakdown occurs. You, Nate Dunkle, are a selfish conversationalist!"
He pushed his glasses up his nose. "What? I asked questions. She had no interest in me! She was bored by my explanation of golf."