Terrified might have been a more appropriate description given how his chocolate-brown eyes darted wildly over Erik and then into the shadows behind him as they shook hands. His palm was cold but clammy. His lips quirked as he realized it too. “Ah, sorry about that.” He wiped both palms on the front of his thighs, leaving dark streaks on his faded jeans. “I’m a little nervous.” “Don’t worry about it,” Erik said with a comforting grin as he ushered the kid in the back door and out of the cold dusk. He always instructed his extracurricular clients to use this entrance. It’s not that he was worried about anonymity; his office assistant and the other massage therapists he shared the practice with were gone for the day, and he’d already given the kid this address and his first name, but he preferred to be discrete. He supposed discretion must seem very old-fashioned these days when everything got posted to Facebook or Instagram, when a good sex tape launched celebrity careers and privacy was nothing but a fond memory.
