Between These Walls by John Herrick Page A

taller bookshelves accented with candles, lotions and oils. The room had a lightness to it. Tinted windows lined one wall, the kind where you could see outside but outsiders couldn’t see you watching them. The receptionist adjusted the blinds that covered the window before getting ready to leave.
    Hunter returned his attention to the massage table. How was he supposed to ask the most obvious question without appearing insecure or flat-out ridiculous? He decided to go the laid-back route.
    “So how, uh, how much do I take off? You know, for the ...” He nodded toward the table.
    “Oh, that?” she said, her voice nonchalant, as though she answered that question more than any other. “Whatever you prefer. Half the clients stay in their undershorts, the other half gets fully undressed.” With another perusal of the clipboard, she said, “Lower-back pain? How far down can you feel it reach?”
    “Down to my waist.” Then he clarified, “Farther below my waist.”
    With a nod of understanding, she replied, “It’s up to you. It’s easier to address the pain if you’re fully undressed. It allows the therapist to make direct contact with the flesh. If you’ve ever tried to give your girlfriend a back rub, you might have noticed how the fabric, to an extent, blunts what you’re doing.”
    She was right about that.
    She pointed to the corner of the massage table, where a folded, pastel-green towel sat.
    “You can cover up with a towel.” She took a final glance at Hunter and winked. “It’s not as awkward as you’re thinking. When you’re ready, go ahead and lie down on the table and make yourself comfortable. It’ll be just a few minutes.”
    And with that, she walked out the door, closing it behind her.
    Hunter took another look around the room, then closed the blinds a little more. He examined the tinted windows closer and tried to recall an instance where he could see in from the outside of one of these buildings, but nothing came to mind. His heart thumped. Why was he nervous? It was an appointment, that was all—albeit an appointment far outside his comfort zone.
    With an exhale, he began undressing, tossing his clothes onto a chair in the corner of the room. As the layers came off, he was thankful he’d agreed to the table warmer. And the feeling of his bare feet on a carpeted floor that wasn’t his home struck him as odd.
    He put his fingers to the waistline of his boxer shorts, then second-guessed whether he wanted to take the plunge. But if Ellen was right and this would relieve his discomfort, then in the end, awkwardness wouldn’t matter.
    Plus he thought about the massage therapist. Despite the receptionist’s claim, he still didn’t believe she had many male clients. Would it be as awkward for her as it was for Hunter? In that case, the scenario gave them a level playing field. It would be no different if Kara had decided to become a massage therapist and started practicing on him.
    He stepped out of his boxer shorts and tossed them on top of his other clothes. The chill of the air against his skin seemed strange. Then again, how many times had he changed clothes in a locker room? Same thing, he figured.
    He climbed onto the table, face down, and managed to drape the towel over the area his boxer shorts had covered. He crossed his arms and buried his face in them, ready for a nap. He melted into the table’s heat.
    A minute later, when Hunter had all but dozed off, he heard a quick, quiet knock, followed by the click of the door as it opened. The massage therapist walked in and closed the door, back turned toward Hunter.
    Hunter hadn’t expected the therapist to be another guy.
    Okay. Hunter braced himself mentally. He couldn’t exactly race out the door. How stupid would that look? His mind raced in a matter of two seconds.
    Hunter looked up again to take in the sight of the person as he turned around. Dressed in short-sleeved, navy-blue scrubs, the guy was a slender six feet tall. His