The rest of the week leading up to the Boston Strong Gala went by like a flash. Work proved to be a great distraction from my own thoughts of the race, the gala, and Luke.
Oh, Luke. After I came out of the bathroom Tuesday night, I crawled into bed, held back the covers, and motioned him over. He slipped off his sneakers and slid into bed with me. While he was completely clothed, I wore skimpy hot pink and black striped boy shorts, and a tight black tank. Facing each other, our smoldering gazes locked. Full, lickable lips were more than I could resist, so inching closer, I pressed my mouth to his. Our breath mingled. Our hearts raced together, and though no words were spoken, everything we felt was expressed. With the slightest of movements, Luke deepened our connection. A slow, sensual kiss like none we’d shared, it meant something more. It washed over me, sparing nothing. Luke captured my heart and took control of my body.
As the kiss continued, hands roamed over heated flesh. Needing to feel his skin, I skimmed my fingers inside his shirt, and drew my nails down his warm back. A moan rumbled deep in his throat, stirring me further, making me frantic for more of him. Impatient hands grabbed the hem of his shirt and brought it over his head, breaking our lips apart.
Luke was as desperate as I was. His fingers slipped under my tank top, teasing and taunting the underside of my breasts. I wanted nothing more than for us to rip our clothes off and explore every inch of each other, his hard cock, sliding in and out of me. I wanted all of him. Not only a part of him.
“Alexa, God, you feel too good. I have to stop.” He pulled away from me again.
Those were not the words I wanted to hear, and even though I understood, I was wound tight and desperate for release from him. Fuck, waiting seemed so silly. The marathon was less than a week away, and only one massage appointment remained. But I refused to beg because I knew, once we were intimate, it would make all this waiting worth it. It would be amazing, earth shattering, in fact.
Taking a deep breath to slow my pulse, I honored his decision, and dimmed down my touch. Luke insisted on rubbing my back. It wasn’t a massage, but soft caresses that helped me unwind after such an emotionally draining day. Sometime after I fell asleep, he left my bed.
Instead of dreaming of Luke like I hoped, nightmares raged on all night long. Images from the bombing played like a movie in my mind. Instead of strangers, it was my loved ones in the pictures. Luke in a wheelchair, legs mangled, as he was pushed toward emergency personnel. My parents running frantically away from the bombing site. Addison’s body, bloodied and lifeless, on the street. And once again, I was stopped at Mass Ave, completely helpless and clueless to my loved ones’ pain.
Wednesday morning dawned with a tear-soaked pillowcase, and my heart beating dangerously fast. Even though it was only five in the morning, I knew my dad would be awake, so instead of struggling to go back to sleep, I called him. He didn’t understand why I begged him and mom not to come to the finish line on Monday, but he begrudgingly agreed. My obvious fear and panic alarmed him, and he insisted on remaining on the phone with me until I calmed down. He always knew how to bring me down to earth.
*****
Luke and I made a point to talk every morning and night, and I loved that his voice was the first and last I heard of each day. I looked forward to when I could see his face each time, too. In such a short period, he’d come to fill such a huge part of my life. Just four and a half weeks ago, I had never even heard of his spa or him, and now, he was overtaking my headspace.
When he called Wednesday night, my work, training, and nightmares had caught up to me, but his voice soothed me and lulled me to sleep. That night, I dreamt happy dreams of him.
On Thursday, my last official appointment with Luke was uneventful. Even without a chaperone, we behaved ourselves, kind of. In the privacy of the treatment room, we allowed ourselves a hello and goodbye kiss, and he peeked when I rolled from my back to my stomach. He also copped a feel or two of my ass and my breasts. Seemed Luke liked to torture us, I supposed.
As we walked to the Zen room before we parted ways, a vaguely familiar woman rushed out of the waiting area.
“There you are, Luke. I thought you forgot all about our appointment today.”
Luke and I turned our heads toward the girl standing a touch too close to us.
“Theresa, I’m just finishing up with a client. I’ll be with you in a minute.” Luke’s voice was laced with aggravation.
I didn’t know who this person was, but she needed to take a step back and give us some personal space.
“Oh, I’m sorry. I was just excited to see you. That’s all.” She directed all her attention to Luke, not even glancing in my direction. It was as if I didn’t even exist.
“Have a seat, and I’ll be with you shortly. Your appointment doesn’t start for five more minutes.”
Theresa pouted, but turned on her heels, and returned to the Zen room.
“Sorry about that,” Luke said, turning his attention to me. “Good luck in the race on Monday. Call us and set up an appointment if you need to come in next week.” He shook my hand and walked back to his treatment room to get ready for Train Wreck Theresa.
*****
Each day, I took at least one of Addison’s clients to give her extra time to work on my dress. Every night, with a glass of wine in her hand and water in mine, she updated me on her progress. By Thursday night, she was far enough along to do my first fitting. The lavish fabric draped over me like a glove, and the cuts and angles accentuated my curves. I felt gorgeous, almost decadent, in it. Since a handful of our clients were attending the gala, Addison’s talent would be displayed before their eyes.
Friday morning, Jeff and I ran for the last time. Even though we didn’t talk much, he was a great coach, and his company was nice to have on the long runs. I was going to miss our time together. Between the talks with Luke and Jeff, I let go of some of my anxiety and fear of running, and used visualization techniques my mom taught me to keep the panic attacks at bay. And it helped to discover that Tuesday’s stunt was some fucking artist doing some kind of performing art. Needless to say, no one thought his art was enjoyable. No one in Boston looked or thought of a rice cooker again the same way, so using it as art was a cruel and sick joke.
*****
The morning of the gala started with a quick two-mile run, which helped calm some of the rioting butterflies in my stomach. While I was out, I picked up my swag bag, jacket, other goodies, and my bib number for Monday’s race.
The moment I walked in the door, Addison took over my life, forcing me on a strict schedule for the rest of the day. Mani-pedi at noon. Hair at two. Makeup at four. By seven o’clock, she had me dressed, sipping water with lime, and covered with a kitchen apron to protect my gown. Luke was due to arrive at seven thirty with the car service. I barely had time to pee all day, let alone talk to him, and I was excited to see him.
Every second of Addison’s torture made me feel like a million bucks. Once Luke saw my dress, it would all be worth it.
*****
Luke
Saturday finally arrived. I spent the morning doing my usual paperwork. Danny was home from Philly, so we got together to discuss TRD business before I had to get ready for the gala. In addition to the spa packages donated to the gala silent auction, all profits on the anniversary and Marathon Monday would be donated to the One True Fund, and after a suggestion from Jess, we decided to make it an annual event. Danny also mentioned matching my anonymous donation to Alexa’s fundraising account.
I felt awful for Alexa. Her whole day was spent rushing around to get ready for tonight. Thank God, I was a guy. I couldn’t go through all the primping girls had to do to go to such an event. I shaved my head and took a shower.
When I walked in my room to dress, a flash of bright color brought a smile to my face. On Wednesday, a messenger had delivered a package from Alexa, and inside was a deep orange tie and a card.