I closed my eyes again, even though it was unnecessary because of the blindfold. But the way the machine was kneading my lower back was heavenly. Its thumbs, if that’s what they could truly be called, were tracing up and down either side of my spine, and it was as if they were drawing out every ache and pain I’d ever had in my lifetime.
It was my job to keep up a running commentary for my viewers, but it was hard when I felt this good. Still, I tried. “If I had a machine like this, I’d be the happiest woman in the world. No bad days. No bad moods.” I chuckled. “I’d be a regular ball of sunshine all the time.”
Brad laughed too. “So no attacking your fellow influencers?”
“What?”
“Just saying, it seems like at times in the past, you weren’t, what’d you call it? In the mood to be a regular ball of sunshine. You’ve got quite a sharp tongue when you’re in a less sunshiny mood.”
“What are you talking about?” I had a feeling I knew, though.
When he spoke again, his words weren’t directed at me. “Can you pull up that exchange I showed you before?” Obviously, he was talking to Colton.
Shit.
I couldn’t hear anything over the music, but I visualized Colton typing on his keyboard, his long, dark hair hanging down his back.
“I think I found it,” he said.
Double shit.
When Brad spoke again, he was over by Colton. He raised his voice so I could hear. “Yeah, that’s it. As I said, quite the sharp tongue, Ms. James.”
“It’s my job,” I said nonchalantly. Or at least I hoped that’s how I sounded.
“And you’re good at it,” Brad said. “You eviscerated some guys who have some kind of how-to channel.”
My eyes closed under the blindfold. This was why I hated working with amateurs. They always went off script. I needed to figure out how to regain control of this broadcast—but it was hard to think with the incredible sensations the massage machine was providing me. I didn’t want to think; I just wanted to enjoy the amazing feelings.
But Brad wasn’t backing down. He gave a low whistle. “You called them unprofessional hacks who wouldn’t have any female viewers at all if they weren’t handsome.” There was a pause, and I hoped he was done—but apparently, my luck wasn’t in today. “You called them morons. Amateurs. And other choice words,” he added.
Colton chuckled. “Maybe we should give you this machine as a service to the public, Ms. James. To keep you from lashing out.”
I wanted to tell them that I didn’t lash out. At least not usually. That had been a one-time thing. Or, okay, maybe a three- or four-time thing. But only against that channel. Something about those guys had rubbed me the wrong way.
As I was trying to find a way to defend myself without sounding defensive, a muffled noise startled me, temporarily distracting me.
“What was that?”
“Nothing,” Colton said.
“It came from the hallway,” Brad countered. “Our new employee is moving into an office down the way—it was probably just a box bumping against the wall.” The noise came again, but then the music increased. The melodies flowed through the room, entering my ears and increasing the dreamlike spell the massage was casting over me. My irritation with Brad and Colton was hard to hold onto when my body felt this damn good.
“I wish you all could try this,” I said, speaking louder over the music. Probably the best course of action to get the live stream back on track was to focus on my followers. “How many of you wish you could be where I am right now?”
The notifications were turned off, but I swear, I could hear the echo of the responses anyway. My feed had to be completely full, with envious followers remarking on this amazing technology.
But then the banging noise came again. Actually, it might have been there for a while, a faint background to the surround-sound music. But, God, everything felt so good that I almost didn’t care.
Almost.
The stupid noise was interrupting one of the most sensual experiences of my life. Annoyance warred with pleasure. I was a pro—I didn’t let background sounds intrude into my videos. I opened my mouth to tell them to fix the issue, but Colton spoke first. “You didn’t answer my question before.”
He was obviously trying to keep our livestream on track, and he was probably right. The show must go on, and all that. “About what?”
“About why you said no man could give you a massage this good.”
“Oh.” That was easy to answer. I shifted my hips, pressing myself against those magic robot hands as I warmed up to the theme. “They don’t have the patience for it, for one thing. Plus, they’d never be able to find the knots in my muscles like this thing can.”