When you were used to living on your own and then put in a situation to live with others, you became extremely aware of your small habitual behaviors, like washing dishes before putting them in the dishwasher. Or tossing dirty clothes straight into the washer instead of into a basket. I couldn’t do that anymore because the washer was more of a community thing now.
Though, even with my grumpy mood, Stella didn’t do much to piss me off too much. She was a very clean and organized person. She hardly left anything out of place, and sometimes, she’d even ask me if I needed anything from the store when she went out. She was beyond considerate even though we had a rocky start.
I was somewhat surprised that her boyfriend didn’t wife her up already. I didn’t really do intimate relationships, but I could see Stella being a hot commodity to men. She was goofy, yes, but gentle, too. Kind and considerate. Beautiful. The kind of beautiful that sometimes made me stare when she wasn’t looking. Sometimes, I’d catch her in a room laughing by herself at something on her phone, and she’d toss her head back with such a look of glee. Her mouth would be wide open as she chuckled, and she’d even slap her thigh in jolly, completely losing herself in the moment. Sometimes, she’d even snort, and well… when I’d catch those moments in action, I understood what pure happiness looked like.
It made me envious. I could see it when I looked at her—that joy. My brain just couldn’t comprehend what something like that felt like.
I did sometimes wonder, though, what she’d be like if she got mad. Did she get mad? Did she ever snap? Or did she simply go from happiness to sadness? To hurt? I wondered what angry Stella looked like.
Though, I didn’t know why I was wondering at all. Still, every now and again, she’d show up in my thoughts while I was working.
Every evening, she’d go out to the water fully clothed and dive into the ocean, too. I began leaving her fresh towels out by the coast for her to use to dry off afterward. I never asked why she dove in fully dressed. I was certain she had her reasons. Reasons that I, or any other, didn’t need to understand.
I kind of hated my thoughts—how they allowed her to enter my psyche whenever they wished.
On Thanksgiving evening, I sat down in my office, trying to work. Stella had invited me to join her for their holiday dinner, but I wasn’t interested. Plus, I couldn’t fly back to celebrate with Connor and Aaliyah, seeing how I couldn’t be away from the house for more than forty-eight hours due to the will arrangement.
I also was trying to shake off an odd kink I had in my lower back from my weightlifting session earlier that day. It felt as if a ton of tension was pulling at it, and whenever I turned slightly, a shot of pain would course up my body. The discomfort was unruly, making it almost impossible to work.
A knock on my door broke me from my work and pain.
“Come in,” I called out.
Stella appeared with a smile against her lips because she always had a smile against her lips. “Hi, there.”
“Hello.”
“I brought you a plate from my Thanksgiving dinner and a spread of desserts, too. I put them in the fridge for you.”
Thoughtful, Stella.
She was good at being thoughtful. Most people weren’t. Stella excelled at it.
“Thank you,” I told her.
“Welcome. Also—” She paused, alarmed when she looked my way. “What’s wrong with your back?”
“Nothing,” I said, not even realizing I was cringing and rubbing my lower back again. The pain was intense. I hardly knew how I’d be able to tackle my workout the following day.
“You hurt yourself. How?”
“Just tweaked a nerve working out.”
“Here, let me help,” she offered, walking over to me. “I’m a licensed masseuse.”
“No, really, it’s fine. I—”
Am melting into your touch.
Stella’s hands landed on my back, and she gently began to knead my lower back. Her fingers dug deeper into my skin with the perfect amount of pressure.
I shut my eyes and sighed. “Lower,” I stated. “Harder,” I echoed. “Deeper, deeper, deeper.”
Fuck, fuck, fuck, that feels good.
“Those are normally the comments I say to men,” she joked.
I didn’t expect my commentary to sound as dirty as it did, but her laughter made me realize how inappropriate it could’ve come off.
That sweet, joyful laugh…
Pure happiness.
I didn’t have a chance to respond because she went deeper, and I moaned.
Yup. I moaned out loud from her hands pushing into my lower back.
Leaning forward, I rested myself on my desk, allowing Stella more range of motion, and with that small adaption, she went to town. “Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck,” I muttered as my legs trembled from delight. My hand made a fist, and I pounded on the desk repeatedly. “Yeah, yeah, yeah, right there, right there.”
She giggled because I probably sounded ridiculous, but I didn’t care. Her hands were made of magic, and I somehow became spellbound.
When she finished, she took a few steps back. It took me a few moments to sit up, but I was shocked by how I felt when I did. I was sitting up straighter. I hadn’t even known I’d been that bent out of shape. Though, I was certain some of my employees would’ve pointed out that fact.
“That was…” I breathed out, a bit in a daze. I cleared my throat. “Thank you.”
“How many days a week do you lift weights?”
“Six.”
“And how often do you stretch?” My silence was deafening. “Damian!” she scolded.
“It’s not that big of a deal.”
“It’s a massive deal!” she hollered. Was this it? Was this her level of angry? Or… no. It was concern. Dammit, Stella, what did you look like when you were pissed? Why did I care?
She continued, and I was a bit locked in on her concerned expression. “You’re wreaking havoc on your body. You need to add stretching to your workout routine.”
“But—”
“No buts. That’s an order. Also, you should get a massage weekly. You’re very tense, and your body would thank you for it.”
“I don’t have time for a weekly massage.”
“Yes, you do.”
“No, I don’t. I’m a busy man.”
She smiled. “Your body is crying out for help. If you keep ignoring the calls, it will break down to the point where all you have is time because you’re too broken to move.” She grabbed a piece of paper and pen from my desk and scribbled down the information. “This is the name of my massage studio. Call in, and we’ll set you up with one of the best employees.”
“Why do you even care what happens to me?” I asked deadpan.
She gave me a puzzled stare. “Because you’re a human. Therefore, you deserve people to care about your well-being?”
“Do you know most people don’t think like you?”
Her shoulders rose high and then dropped. “Just because people don’t think like me doesn’t make their thoughts right. We need more people who care about others in the world.”
“Yes, but that’s a make-believe world.”
“What can I say? I love good fiction. Besides, I think there are more good people in this world than bad.”