Free The Masseuse by Violette Dubrinsky Page A

mother. In the past month, Ramsey had become her—for lack of better terming—screw-buddy. She couldn’t call him a ‘friend-with-benefits’ because he’d never been her friend, and he wasn’t quite a booty-call because that just sounded dirty, but screw-buddy, that nicer term for ‘fuck-buddy,’ was just about right. After he’d massaged her to a puddle the day after they’d had sex, he’d been a constant in her life, and in her bed.
    Putting the dishes in the dishwasher, she braced against it and thought about their relationship. He’d given her three days to recuperate after that three-times in one night sex, and each day, he’d texted her, asking how she felt. She’d know what he was asking about and she’d been honest. On the third day, her response of “fine,” had been followed by a phone call inquiring about her availability for the night. Because she’d truly been busy, she’d told him she wouldn’t be free until Friday night, and he’d set up a “date.”
    Jezebel chuckled. She didn’t know why he insisted on “dates” considering she was a sure thing. Her initial days without him had allowed her to realize that she liked sex with him too much for it to just be a one-off. She’d have to screw him out of her system, and then she’d be fine.
    Their first date had been at a cozy, intimate restaurant in lower Manhattan. They had a full course meal, talked like a normal couple, and after he drove her home, proceeded to fuck her until she passed out. She’d come to in the midst of another orgasm. She’d never passed out or had multiple orgasms, but Ramsey was talented. Their next encounters were similar. Most happened at her house, though he’d ‘massaged’ her almost every Saturday since they’d started their relationship.
    “Look, I’m sorry. I didn’t tell her on purpose,” Delilah murmured as soon as she walked into the kitchen. Jezebel glared at her. Traitor. “She sort of figured it out.”
    “Yeah, right.”
    “She did. She asked if you were dating anyone, and I said maybe.” Delilah looked contrite. “I mean, I don’t know what you’re doing with pharaoh-boy. I just know that you’re doing something because I haven’t seen you smile so much as in the past month.”
    “It’s none of your business. Or hers.”
    Delilah shrugged. “We know. We’re just nosey.”
    Jezebel was preparing to launch into her sister when Delilah’s face suddenly blanched. Her sister was a beautiful dark coffee tone, so whenever she grew pale, Jezebel, for good reason, became concerned. “What is it?” She pressed a hand to Delilah’s head, wondering it was a flash fever.
    Delilah pushed her away and rushed over to the sink, bringing up the food their mother had prepared. Jezebel went to her, lifting the hair of the glamorous wig and keeping it from being ruined.
    At some point, Ilyana entered and her worried eyes shot to her sick daughter. “Oh, Lilah.” She looked at Jezebel. “This is the second time it’s happened this weekend. Yesterday, she was sick too.”
    “Maybe we should call Dr. Evans.”
    “No.” Delilah turned on the faucet and washed the contents down, before catching water in her hand and washing her mouth. “Sorry. It’s the side-effects of the chemo. It’s normal.”
    Later that evening, Jezebel sat on her sister’s bed, looking down at her sleeping and wondering if she needed to start considering ‘other possibilities.’ From the moment Delilah had been diagnosed with skin cancer, Jezebel had been all about her sister getting better. Skin cancer wasn’t as fatal as most, and they’d caught it relatively early. She’d expected her sister to have the mass removed, and receive a clean bill of health. That hadn’t happened. Still, Jezebel had held out. Chemotherapy was necessary, but she’d never entertained the idea of her baby sister dying. No, she refused to. But as months, upon months, passed and her sister continued to need chemo, because the cancer