“I think so. I’ll bring it to the meeting tomorrow. I don’t know what this means for us, but right now, I’d like to attend to the after-mission, business as usual, fuck around and wind down routine.” Roman forced a smile he wasn’t quite feeling, slapping Ashford on the upper arm.

“Yeah, we’d better catch up or Xavier will have saddled every woman in the club by the time we get there,” Ashford agreed, picking up his pace as he and Roman headed toward the “members only” entrance.

The nondescript, black metal door slid open with their cards. Roman spotted his team in their usual, semi-private location, throwing axes and surrounded by beautiful females. He recognized a couple of them from previous trips to Vegas; one platinum blonde in particular he remembered being exactly what he needed to take the edge off the mission and his lasting soreness.

She didn’t waste any time sauntering over, dropping Vance’s hand in the process. He looked irritated momentarily, then saw it was Roman who captured her attention and deferred to his privilege of rank. Vance seamlessly moved on to another blonde who just arrived.

“You want to take a turn?” the female asked, extending an axe to Roman with one hand and a shot of something, probably gin, with the other.

Roman gave her his most mischievously handsome grin, reaching for both, and trying to remember her name. Leah? Lilian? Le—

“Leighton,” she supplied. “And Roman, if I remember correctly… and I do.” She was all sultry temptress as she lazily slid her copper-colored eyes up and down Roman’s body, biting her lip directly in the center, her two fangs barely brushing her blood-red lips.

Roman could feel his body responding, thankful for a little distraction from his pain. He threw back the shot with his left hand, flipped the axe around in a small 360-degree arc with his right, then expertly threw it at the target, almost grazing Xavier.

Just before the axe collided with the center of the target, Roman gasped and swore as he grabbed for his shoulder, dropping the shot glass in the process.

Leighton caught the glass before it hit the ground. “Are you alright?”

Roman’s good mood, and semi-hard-on, evaporated. “Yeah, just my damn shoulder. It’s nothing. Another round?” Roman motioned for their attendant and was swiftly provided with a new bottle of Nolet’s Reserve and a couple glasses. They made their way to a little corner table and booth; Leighton draped herself against Roman’s left side, crossing her left leg over his lap, allowing him to place his fingers just under the hem of her minidress which had inched upward.

As Roman twisted his neck toward her, bringing his lips to just behind her ear, he winced and hissed in a breath, feeling the strain in his right shoulder again. “God dammit.” Roman gently pushed Leighton’s leg off him and stood up. “Fuck this. Hey, cretins, I’m out.” The rest of the crew barely acknowledged him, except for Xavier who gave him an assessing eye.

On his way to his suite, Roman texted the owner of Muse to see about a last-minute massage. By the time he arrived in his room, he received a confirmation text from Muse’s spa.

Muse Spa: Thank you for booking a platinum massage service. Your therapist, Jessica, will arrive at your room at 9:00 p.m. Please let us know if we can further assist you.

Roman saw it was just about 8 p.m. and thought that he’d have just enough time to take a hot shower.

Jessica absently hummed to the song streaming—“whatever it was called” by who cares—as she drove her regular, boring commute to Muse under the punishing sunshine of Las Vegas. She’d been in Vegas for less than a year, probably only six months, but for some reason, it was already starting to feel like a sand trap she’d wandered into and couldn’t get out of while she choked to death on the smog of extravagance.

She was coming up on the exit that would take her anywhere but here and felt that familiar pull to crank the wheel to the right and drive off away from the sunset. Why don’t I? Why don’t I leave this shithole and never look back? The thought was momentarily invigorating, but per usual, thoughts of her grandmother came rushing to her.

She’s why, Jessica. Get it together and grow up; that woman sacrificed so much to take care of you when there was no one left. The least you can do is suck it up and keep rubbing down the wealthy; it could be so much worse.

Although not a terribly inspiring self-pep talk, at a stoplight no less, Jessica met her green eyes in the rearview mirror and renewed her “I got this” mantra with a little nod. She switched the stream to her favorite podcast, Before They Were Murders, which was not only fascinating to her but also helped remind her that people don’t always start off terrible; somewhere inside these rich dicks that she serviced daily, there was probably once a neglected child or some other scenario that helped her not become a feature episode on the same podcast.

Jessica parked, made her way to the staff entrance, and navigated the pseudo calm facade of the spa to the locker room. The day shift of massage therapists was getting ready to leave while the evening shift was just getting started, changing and reviewing their bookings.

Jessica was grateful that her schedule that day would end a little earlier than usual. Although she needed the money to make all her payments this month, she was really not into it today, and getting to leave a couple of hours early would probably allow for some much-needed self-care. She could swing missing a little bit of work; plus, she’d be able to sign up for extra shifts on the weekend if she needed.

“Hey, Jessica, did you do anything fun on your days off?” Marnie, one of the senior therapists, was always trying to encourage Jessica to hang out with her; not in an annoying, overbearing way but with genuine interest that Jessica appreciated. She just wasn’t great at making friends and always felt a bit awkward; best to just keep to herself.

“Well, if you consider spending time with your grandmother fun,” Jessica replied with a raised eyebrow and smirk. She flipped her hair forward and gathered up her long, red, rambunctious waves into a thick but clean bun.

“I don’t know; depends on what your grandma is into,” Marnie said and then laughed.

“Honestly, she can get a bit out there.” Jessica chuckled, more to herself reflecting on just how far “out there” her gran could get. People generally didn’t understand her quirkiness, and she really wasn’t that old to be considered graciously losing her marbles.

“We’re all heading out a bit later to grab some apps and drinks at Ember. I saw you don’t have any clients booked past eight. You should join us. In fact, one of the guys meeting up with us might interest you.” Marnie gave Jessica a knowing look.

“Thanks, Marnie. I’ll think about it.” But not really, Jessica thought as she slipped out of her flip-flops, pulling on socks and sliding into comfy sneakers.

“Please do, hun. Live a little! You’re young and beautiful; you need some love in your life.” Marnie gave her a wink and continued out the door.

Jessica sighed deeply and shut her locker. I just need to make it through a few hours, she reasoned with herself to force some elusive motivation. Jessica checked the schedule and headed to one of the couple’s massage rooms to wait for her first appointment. Kylie was already there, putting fresh linens on the table and stocking the towel warmer.

“Hey, Jess. How’s it going?”

“Hey, Kylie. Same shit different day, I guess.” Jessica laughed and Kylie chuckled as well. Vegas from the point of view of those who worked there was less glitz and glam and more routine boredom. If this wasn’t the closest large city to her gran, she’d be anywhere else.

The spa’s welcome liaison escorted the clients into the room. Jessica and Kylie made their introductions, gave them some instructions, and popped out of the room to let them get undressed and situated.

“Are you coming out tonight? I think you should; it will be fun,” Kylie said as they waited.

“I’m thinking about it,” Jessica lied again. God damn, what is with people today? Am I the only person in the world who just wants to change into comfy clothes, pour a glass of wine, and watch bad TV? I can’t wait to not be surrounded by these people throwing money into a pit like it was trash, not go out after work and join them.

Kylie looked like she didn’t quite believe her, perhaps her thoughts were written all over her face per usual. She knocked on the door. “Are you two ready in there?” she said brightly as she eased the door open. They were met with an affirmative sound in response and headed into the room.

Throughout the session, Jessica’s mind kept returning to Marnie and Kylie. Maybe I’m just not interested in dating, like anyone, at all; why is it everyone’s business? I’m so sick of the assumptions that I want something more… well… I guess I do want something more, but I’m a hundred percent sure it’s something, not someone.

“Um,” the person on her table cleared their throat, “that’s just a little too hard; you’re hurting me,” she said.

“Oh! I’m so sorry, ma’am. Yes, you wanted medium pressure. How’s this? Is this better?”

“Yes, thank you.” Jessica could feel the woman physically relax a bit more as she provided a lighter touch—a touch that should have been requested as “light” to begin with, but people always assumed they knew what they were talking about when they didn’t.

Jessica was sure she just pressured her tip right out the door. She looked over at Kylie who dramatically rolled her eyes and made a face that caused Jessica to try to hold in a laugh and had to cough a little to cover it up.

Her next client was a spa regular who had every person attracted to men drooling over him. As she worked on Sam without sharing any of her coworkers’ enthusiasm—except that he was usually a generous tipper, and she could make up for her earlier blunder—Jessica started to wonder if maybe there was something wrong with her.

As much as she was bitching about her day to herself, she really did love making people feel better; through her hands, she felt like she got the sense of easing someone’s life, even just a little bit, by soothing out the tight spots and lessening some pain. Wouldn’t a partner provide that for her?

Why don’t I care about dating? Well, it would mess up my already perfect life, she joked to herself. For a little while, when the topics of gender and all the various possibilities of sexual orientation and expression were trending, Jessica really wondered if she fell in the asexual category. It would really explain so much, and this idea stayed floating around in the back of her mind; however, she was too busy to worry about it.

“I mean, who cares whether Sam is hot anyway?” she absently mumbled to herself—out loud.

“Excuse me? I don’t think I quite caught that,” Sam said.

Jessica had never been so thankful for a client to be facedown and unable to see her face which was now so flaming red, it matched her hair. Oh my god, she thought.

“Oh, um, I was just wondering if the temperature was alright in here or if you’re too hot?” She awkwardly tried to recover.

“No, I’m good,” Sam said.

At the end of the session, Sam approached her before leaving. “Hey, so this is probably inappropriate, but I was wondering—”