Chapter 9

• LENNOX
• Ashton descended to the first floor. "It's only been two minutes since I last saw you."
• "Thirty-three," I corrected, watching Willow settle down on the loveseat and unscrew the bottle of sweet almond oil. I had a feeling I knew its purpose. I shifted my attention to Tony. "Security wants more information about the Camp-Away."
• Realization dawned on him, and he nodded. "You'll have to wait. I promised Willow a massage, and she comes first."
• "Are you giving or receiving?" I inquired, a mischievous smile playing on my lips.
• His eyebrows shot up, and he licked his lips, tilting his head slightly as he rubbed his sharp jaw.
• I smiled, feeling a flutter in my chest, but I pushed the sensation aside. "The massage, wolf scout. Are you giving or receiving it?"
• "Receiving," he answered more easily. "Willow is trying out massage therapy."
• She tied her wavy hair into a low ponytail. "If you two need to discuss the Camp-Away, I can wait—"
• "No," Ashton firmly replied, shaking his head in disagreement. "Right now, my focus is on you. Your ambition, your goal. Remember?"
• Willow nodded, her gaze shifting to the ingredients listed on the back of the oil bottle. After examining them, she looked up at me with her piercing blue eyes. "I can give you one after Tony."
• "Let's wait and see how this one turns out first," I responded, placing my empty bowl on the nearby café table.
• Ashton gestured towards the rocking chair. "Take a seat," he ordered, partly because he needed to sit down and partly because he didn't like me towering above him.
• "I'll stand," I replied, walking past him and the rocking chair to reach the fireplace mantle.
• "And you think I'm the stubborn one?" He sat down next to Willow, and she knelt behind him on the cushion.
• Skimming through his family photos, I teased him, "I never said you had a monopoly on stubbornness." I picked up a framed picture of Ashton doing a backflip off the Johnson's yacht, with Willow in the corner pointing at him with a mock-surprised expression. I held the photo up to him. "Whatever you can do, I can do better."
• "Such fighting words," Willow chimed in, squirting oil onto her palms. "As the third, unbiased participant in the room, I volunteer myself to be the judge of any competitions."
• "I think you mean biased participant," I corrected, noticing that most of the pictures on the mantle featured the two of them together.
• "I can be unbiased," Willow insisted, beginning to knead Ashton's tight deltoids. He tightly gripped the back of the uncomfortable Victorian couch for support.
• While keeping an eye on him, I turned to Willow and asked, "Who's better at boxing?"
• Willow paused, her mouth opening but no words coming out.
• I decided to help her out. "L-E-N—"
• "T-O-N-Y," she quickly spelled out, exhaling a breath as if she had narrowly escaped a betrayal-induced death. "Aunt Regina says the truth will set you free, and I couldn't agree more. I feel so much better." She refocused on giving Ashton a massage, using her knuckles to work on his back.
• Ashton grinned at me, a triumphant expression that seemed to convey his victory over me.
• "I don't understand why you're so pleased. She just demonstrated her favoritism towards you," I remarked.
• Ashton gave me a meaningful look. "Can't you, just for a moment, admit that maybe, just maybe, I'm better than you at your own sport?"
• It took considerable effort to tear my gaze away from his eyes. "Your humility is diminishing," I retorted.
• "And your superiority complex is worsening," he fired back.
• A wide smile broke across my face, but it quickly faded as Ashton clenched his teeth, a hint of pain crossing his features. He briefly glanced at Willow, attempting to catch sight of her knuckles that were inching towards his tense back. His shoulders remained locked in their usual rigid position.
• "Try to relax," I suggested, approaching the loveseat. "Or do you need some instructions?"
• He scowled. "The only instructions I need are on how to make you shut the fuck up..." he trailed off, stifling another wince. Willow couldn't see the expression on his face.
• "You're too close to his spine," I informed Willow, reaching out for her wrist. "May I?"
• "Please," she consented.
• I guided her hands to his trapezius muscles, situated on either side of his shoulder blades. Closing her fingers, I applied some oil to my own hands, and as soon as she resumed kneading his muscles, she asked, "Feeling better, Tony?"
• "Yep." His collar seemed constricting, and when he glanced at me and took a sharp breath, I realized that my proximity was the cause.
• I surveyed his rigid posture: Ashton Johnson, shirtless, his muscles glistening with oil, and receiving a massage from inexperienced hands.
• He would feel better under my touch.
• He winced. "Damn it, Willow. You hit a nerve."
• She raised her oiled hands apologetically. "I'm sorry." Willow searched for something. "Merde," [shit] she cursed in French. "Hold on, Tony. I'll bring up the video again." She nodded towards me, then motioned to the coffee table where her phone rested. "Lennox, would you mind?"
• I wiped my oiled hands on my black pants and reached for the phone, encased in a blue zebra-print hard-shell. "How serious are you about pursuing a career as a masseuse?" I asked.
• She brushed a stray strand of hair off her freckled cheek with her elbow. "If I truly enjoy it, then I'll research how to become a professional masseuse and go from there." She gestured towards the phone. "The video should be in my 'recently watched' list on YouTube."
• I stood there, patiently waiting for the moment when I would unlock her cell. The question had been on my mind for a while, and now seemed like the right time to ask. "And what happens when you have a customer who wants a 'happy ending' from the famous Willow Walsh?" I inquired.
• Ashton, who had been standing nearby, glanced at Willow, their eyes meeting in a knowing exchange. It was evident that they had discussed the potential safety risks of her profession before. We were well aware of the dark side of fame, especially when it came to Willow Walsh.
• Scrolling through social media, I had come across numerous disturbing posts related to Willow. They ranged from disgustingly explicit to downright creepy and even violent. Willow and Ashton were fully aware of the kind of attention she attracted. All it took was a Twitter account to stumble upon explicit comments and threats:
• "I'd spank the fuck out of Willow Walsh. I wanna see her cry."
• "Tie that bitch up and choke her good #WillowWalsh"
• "Willow Walsh likes it just like her mom. Ridden rough & hard, put away wetttttttt!!!"
• "I'm gonna bang Grant Walsh's daughter until she can't walk straight."
• It was unsettling, to say the least. Omega, our security team, had taken extra precautions to protect Willow, even intercepting her mail to prevent any potential harm. She remained blissfully unaware of these efforts, and we intended to keep it that way. Our goal was to ensure that they could all live without constant fear.
• I nodded in agreement as Willow casually shrugged and squeezed more oil onto her hands. "I'd have to screen my customers. It comes with the territory," she responded.
• "Of being famous," I added.
• "Of being the daughter of Serena and Grant Walsh," Willow clarified. "Everyone watches me through the lens of my parents."
• Ashton cracked his neck and muttered, "For better and for worse."
• I understood their predicament. Their fame was not a result of their own achievements but rather their parents' notorious sex tapes that had been leaked to the media, specifically those involving BDSM. Consequently, the public assumed that their oldest daughter, Willow, shared her mother's interests.
• However, as part of the security team, I knew the truth. I knew that Willow had no interest in BDSM.
• Placing her palms on Ashton's back, Willow waited patiently for the video to begin. "YouTube," she reminded me. Our eyes met, and she continued, "I'm already fortunate to have the opportunity to explore my passions. Being a masseuse is something I can consider. If I discover what truly brings me joy, I can't let my fame hinder me."
• I steal a glance at Ashton, noting the sharpness of his jawline. He's just as concerned about security risks as I am. He must have seen those tweets too. I get the sense that he's humoring Willow's ambition for now, hoping she'll choose something safe.
• Unlocking her phone is a breeze. "What's your passcode, Willow?" I ask, my tone surprisingly gentle considering how two-thirds of the security team would scold her like a child at this moment.
• "I don't have one," she replies. "They're annoying, and if I lose my phone, I'll wipe the data immediately. Besides, I have nothing incriminating. I delete all my texts, and I upload most of my photos and videos to Instagram. There's nothing worth stealing."
• Ashton beams, clearly proud of his friend.
• Her level of preparedness reminds me of something the security team often says about Willow. Despite her carefree demeanor, her entire life is meticulously planned and organized to her liking. She juggles just as much, if not more, than Ashton Johnson.
• As I locate the video, I instruct Willow, "Just lightly rub his shoulder blades, you won't hurt him."
• Ashton tightens his grip on the back of the loveseat and licks his lips nervously. I find myself watching him intently, and as I approach the armrest nearest his chest, our eyes meet at belt level.
• Ashton gazes off into the distance. Where did you go, Tony? I wave my hand in front of him, but he seems lost in his thoughts.
• "Lennox," Willow chimes in, her blue eyes twinkling. "How many massages have you given before? And why?"
• Alpha also refers to Willow as ‘Willow Curiosity Killed the Cat’ Walsh.
• I scroll through her recently watched YouTube videos. "Too many, and if you look up the main purpose of a massage, you'll have your answer." I find the video and whistle. It's titled 'How To Give An Amazing, Super, Fantastic Massage.' I press play and see a blurry image of two high school girls. "No." I quickly turn it off. "Let me show you instead."
• Ashton wakes up from his reverie, glaring at me. "No." He gives me the middle finger and repeats firmly, "No."
• Willow stretches her arms, already feeling tired.
• "You have to use your whole body," I explain to her, and addressing Ashton, I say, "Let me demonstrate so she can follow my lead." Deep down, I'd love to give him a massage for more reasons than just helping Willow.
• Ashton gestures towards my chest. "You don't know how to give a massage."
• "And you conveniently missed the part where I mentioned that I've given massages before." I place Willow's phone on the coffee table. "I excel at many things. I'm good with my hands."
• "Great," he retorts. He's being more stubborn about this than I expected, considering it's for Willow's sake. I focus on his rigid posture and the way his Adam's apple bobs as he swallows.
• "Maybe Lennox is right," Willow interjects. "Maybe I could benefit from a real-life demonstration."
• "Maybe Lennox is full of shit," Tony counters.
• "Maybe Ashton is just afraid of getting a massage from me," I challenge.
• "You're wrong." He stands up, facing me with a confidence that rivals Atlas carrying the weight of the world. Crossing his arms over his bare chest, he declares, "So what now?" He's agreeing to the massage.
• Using my boot, I push the coffee table away from the couch. Then I toss a pillow onto the floor. "Lie down, wolf scout. Let me change your world."