A mottled flush crawled up his neck. "I can't ask you to do that." He shot a glance at the receptionist, the only other person in the late-70's-style waiting room plastered with Toronto Hogs hockey team posters and memorabilia, but her focus on her computer remained absolute.
"You didn't ask, I offered. And your shoulders are right up to your ears. Don't look a gift massage in the mouth."
Since I'd already been waiting a good ten minutes, although they'd flown by in his company, I probably didn't have long before my interview, but I couldn't leave such a nice man without at least trying to reduce the awful tension I'd noticed in him.
"This feels good, right?" I let my fingers work the knots in his shoulders."
"Uh, yeah... I guess..."
His warm, musky smell mixed with expensive cologne, while the receptionist tapped at her computer.
I leaned in closer and let my hair gently brush his cheek. "Married?"
"Thought so," I said. "Still, you seem the liberal type...?" I let my breath caress his earlobes, and knots tightened under my hands and his skin flushed red again.
The receptionist's phone trilled. She looked up and smiled. "You can go in now, Mr. Linklater.""Maybe I'll, ah, see you later?" I said with a firm squeeze before I headed for the office door, thanking the receptionist on the way, confident that my fellow candidate's interview was not going to go well at all.
Opening: Heather Wardell.....Continuation: anon.