Three Strikes Ch. 20

****

The great thing about being the designated driver: no hangover.

DAKS tried to convince us to join forces and join their team for men's league. We decline, of course. We wouldn't have as much fun if we weren't kicking their asses. Which we did, taking home the Championship title for the second year. We drank to celebrate while DAKS drowned their sorrows. Same book, different page.

Shane was a little wild. It was the first time I'd seen him shitfaced. He never really got drunk, but for some reason he went overboard that night. He was Mr. Social. Twirling various ladies around the non-existent dance floor while singing every song that played.

I got video. Lots and lots of video.

It was hard to believe we'd been together for an entire trip around the sun. It had been a good year. We'd found a solid balance. We spent a lot of time together but still had our own space. Shane never let up on the whole staying the night only when I didn't work the next morning. I didn't love it, but it wasn't terrible, either.

I was on the couch, snuggled up in a pile of blankets, watching the videos from the night before when Shane finally made his way in. He looked terrible. The night had been a terrible mistress. I opened the blanket and let him settle into couch. I loved when Shane was the little spoon. I ran my fingers through his thick hair.

"How are you feeling?" I asked. "Because you look amazing."

He grunted at the obvious sarcasm.

"Well, don't get too comfortable. We got to get up and moving if we're going to get all your shit packed and moved this week. You're the one that spent all night insisting that we move in together right away, so you're doing all the heavy lifting," a faux scolded.

He'd done nothing of the matter. He'd not made a single hint that he was ready to move in together, that's why I thought it would be funny to prank him. I wanted to see him sweat, just like he'd made me sweat over a year ago.

"I'm just glad you offered to move here, to my place. I know it's not as big as yours but I have better taste," I continued when he didn't say anything. "Everyone agreed to help. They'll be here around eleven to start moving."

Again, not true.

I smiled when I felt his tense body against mine.

"You're not second guessing, are you?" I faked a disappointed tone as I tried to hold back my amusement. Any moment and he'd start freaking.

He whipped the blanket off the couch and sat up straight. His auburn hair a little crazy from a long night followed by fitful sleep caused by several trips to the toilet. He stood up and walked to my bedroom.

I followed.

I was leaning against the door frame as he got dress.

I frowned. Maybe I'd gone too far. He wasn't yelling and screaming like I expected. He was totally silent, and it was freaking me out.

The calm before the storm.

After pulling his socks on he walked to the in-suite bathroom, where he found two ibuprofen and chased them with a handful of water before wiping his face and darting past me and down the stairs. It was when he started putting his shoes on that I really started to panic. None of this was good. The prank was backfiring in my face. Just as I was about to tell him it was a joke, he turned and looked at me.

"Get dressed, D. I'm going to grab a banana and bottle of water. Do you want anything while I'm in the kitchen?" He swatted my ass. "C'mon, we need to get going, I have a lot of stuff and it won't pack itself." He stopped as he was about to enter the kitchen and looked at me. His demeanor was serious, "Are you sure you want me to move in here? I have the big closet, it's not too late to decide my house is better. It's gated, double the closet space, chef kitchen. No? Okay," he walked back to me and pulled me against his chest. "Suit yourself roomie. (He kissed my forehead), I'll meet you in the truck."

With one last swat to my bum he left me standing alone, stunned and unable to process what was happening. Meanwhile, he grabbed a few snacks and waters before rushing past me to the door and reminding me to hurry.

Because we were going to pack his stuff.

Because he was going to move into my house.

Which would become our house.

****

"No," I stated firmly.

"Yes."

"Where'd you even get that?" I asked as I looked at the most ridiculous sports poster I'd ever seen.

"A customized gift from the guys, for my twenty fifth birthday. Isn't it great?"

"No, it's really not. To be frank, it's actually terrifying."

Hanging on the wall of our newly conjoined bedroom was a giant poster sized picture of nine-teen year old Donny Allerton. It was a candid taken during a practice or something, my shirt was off and I was concentrating on the upcoming pitch. I had quite a bit more muscle tone in the picture and my arms and abs looked amazing. I still had a nice body but even I had to admire what I had going on ten years earlier.

"Can we at least take a comparable picture of you, to hang next to it?" I asked.

Shane cringed.

"I'm serious. I actually have the perfect shot in my head. Imagine it: you, shirtless in nothing but baseball pants, standing by the dugout. You have a baseball bat across your shoulders and you're using it to stretch from side to side. The shot would be a profile of your booty with your upper body twisting tightly in a stretch. All your muscles would be on display and it would be so fucking hot."

The thought of having Shane's body posed in a picture had me ready to throw him down. I stalked towards him, pushing him towards the bed until he was forced to shit down. The entire time his eyes sparkled in anticipation.

"Is this going to happen a lot if I agree?"

I nodded as I straddled his lap.

"Yeah, okay," he responded. His voice was deep and breathless as I reached between us, sliding my hands down the front of his pants.

****

I descended the stairs into a living room and kitchen that lacked any sort of birthday inspired decor. He knew better, and forgetting wasn't a valid excuse. I had a countdown calendar in the kitchen and I'd set numerous reminders in his phone started four weeks before. He had ample time to plan.

"What the heck, don't you know it's my birthday?"

Shane looked up from the couch, where he'd been aimlessly thumbing through his phone, a slight panicked expression on his face.

"That's today?!"

Before I had a chance to rip him to shreds for forgetting my thirtieth birthday, he got up from the couch and sauntered toward me. He was teasing me. He shooks his head and rolled his eyes at how gullible I'd been.

"This is how you treat the birthday boy?" I pushed his chest away as soon as he was close enough to make contact.

"If last year was any indication, then yes," he pulled me forward and kissed my lips. "Do you remember when we got together?"

I nodded. Obviously, I remembered that.

"You told me you needed me to keep you humbled. During your birthday you get a little out of control, and a lot demanding. As you're doting boyfriend, I'm simply following your directions."

"Yet, somehow you forgot the specific instructions that today is my birthday and you're supposed to buy me everything I want, and be my slave. Why am I standing here with no gifts? And why are you fully clothed?" I demanded with a pout.

He was right, though. I took advantage of my birthday month, which made March a pretty unbearable month for everyone who wasn't me. Shane was a champ, though. I knew just how lucky I was to have him. Never had I expected he'd be so patient and accepting of all my quirks.

"I can probably rectify part of that," he smirked, "but not until later. I kind of have something planned today. I didn't get you a gift, per say—it's more of a, experience."

"Ohhh, tell me! Are we going somewhere?" he shook his head. "Mexico? (no) New York? (no) Hawaii? (no) Southern California? (no) Well (I raised my hands in defeat), I have no clue then," I pouted.

"Spa day," he smiled brightly. He was obviously proud of his gift, it was cute.

"That sounds fun."

And it did. I wasn't someone who frequented the spa often, but I did enjoy selfcare. I didn't do actual spa stuff all that often. I did get manicures (emphasis on man) and pedicures occasionally when I went in for my bi-weekly haircut and/or body waxing. It was really thoughtful of Shane to think of something I'd enjoy, so much so, that I tried not to show the disappointment I felt knowing he planned something that didn't include the both of us. I'd rather spend my birthday with him than alone at the spa.

Shane looked at me with a slight frown, so I brightened my smile.

"You don't seem all that excited."

Ugh. I didn't like sad Shane. Sad Shane was like rain on your wedding day or spilling iced tea on your crotch. It was no good. I patted his cheeks with my hands to get his attention.

"No, no no no. I love it. It's so thoughtful and perfect."

He wasn't convinced. He wrapped his arms around my waist and pulled me into him.

"I can read you like book, D. You like it, but you don't love it. I've been thinking about this for months and I really thought you'd be more excited. I mean, you've been begging for this since we started dating."

"I've been begging to do it with you," I corrected.

He looked slightly annoyed at the suggestion, even rolling his eyes to emphasize the ridiculousness.

"Yeah, I know. That's why I thought you'd be a little more excited about it. I didn't book anything, so it's not a big deal if we do something else."

I pushed him back and looked at him in confusion.

"Wait. What?"

"I didn't book anything. I figured we'd go do that thing where they clip your nails and rub your feet. You've always just done it on a whim so I didn't think I needed to make an appointment. Honestly, I've been looking forward to it, I could use a trim," he held up his finger and wiggled them for me to see.

"You were planning on going to go with me?" I yelled in complete shock. Never in a million years—

"Well, duh. Did you think I wasn't going to spend your birthday with you?"

"That's exactly what I thought you Yeti! This—is the best birthday ever! So, you were thinking...mani/pedi?"

My mind was reeling from the revelation. Shane's vision of selfcare was brushing his teeth and slapping on some Old Spice deodorant. Every time I walk around the house with a face mask on, he can't help but make fun of me.

"Sure. Whatever you want. Well, almost. I refuse to wax. I'd settle for manscaping, but nothing that requires removal via torture technique."

I walked past him and tapped my fingers together in front of my face as I thought about it. I paused, then pivoted, until I was facing him again.

"I want to do it."

"Good. Still not the excitement I was expecting, but I'll take what I can get," he smirked. "Let's go."

I was excited. Beyond excited. My brain was almost to the point of shutting down because I was struggling to process the information. If we only did this one time, I wanted to get the max benefit.

"No. I want to do the spa day here."

"What? Here?" His brows furrowed as he pointed to our surroundings. "It's your birthday. You should be getting pampered by a professional."

"You're right, it is my birthday. But pampering you will be the best gift ever. I'm thinking—we need to go pick up a few things first. If you drive, I'll google a list of things we need."

I rushed around, grabbing a light jacket, shoes, wallet, phone, before finally tossing Shane his keys. For his part, he didn't put up a fight. He'd already resigned to do whatever I wanted. He drove my car as I searched my phone for supplies, reading them aloud to a nodding Shane. He didn't care, but bless his soul for pretending. We drove to a nearby beauty shop. It was like Sally Hansen. Anyone could go in, and they sold everything. Shane carried the basket as I filled it full of scrubs, oils, lotions, files, and anything else I thought we'd need for a full body work up.

When we finished, we decided to grab an early lunch before settling in for the long haul. By the time we got home I was brimming in excitement. I opened the door as Shane carried in all the bags before setting them on the kitchen table. Then, he laid everything out while I set things up. I was wearing an outrageously big smile, and every time I looked at Shane, he was smiling in return. My happiness was his happiness, and visa-versa.

We started with a manicure. Nothing fancy. He wore his nails short to begin with, so I filed them, then buffed them out. I didn't need to do anything to him, but then again, I didn't need brownies, yet I still ate them, because I could.

"Can I at least return the favor? Pamper you in return?" he asked.

"You really don't need to. This is satisfying enough."

Then I thought about how cute he'd be if he was trying to do my nails and I realized it wasn't such a bad idea.

"Actually—"

Shane got to work on my hands and was every bit the adorable image I'd imagined. He wasn't about to switch professions or anything, but the way he concentrated so intensely as he filed my nails had my heart turning to liquid in an instant.

When he finished and my nails looked about as good as you'd expect from someone of his low-level experience, we moved on to pedicures. Since the first day I laid eyes on him, I'd been slightly obsessed with his thick thighs and ass. It had been a focal of every dirty thought I'd had about him. Once I was positioned on the floor, with his foot in my hands, I realized the lower half of his appendage was just as stunning as their upper counterpart.

Firstly, he had amazing feet. I never paid attention because he usually wore socks, only taking them off before bed. Surprisingly, after a year and half together, I'd never given him a foot rub, if I had, it must've been an afterthought to which I didn't pay much attention because his feet were amazing. His toes were freakishly perfect, not one oddly long or deformed toe in the bunch.

Secondly, his calves were strong; covered in freckles and reddish body hair. I found myself enjoying the feel of my fingers gliding up and down his skin. His muscles under my skin was yet another reminder of the incredible strength I'd come to love about him.

I'd had a dozen or so pedicures in my life but Shane's way by far the best. Maybe because it was him, maybe because he was enjoying it more than any of the ladies I'd had service me before. He wasn't in a rush to move to the next step, he was content massaging me with his hands. I was almost asleep with his finally finished.

"What's next?" he was kneeling between my legs with a towel in his hands, looking genuinely happy to find out what we were doing next.

"Facials."

"Great," he smiled. "I have combination skin and a bad t-zone," he said as he pushed himself up with the help of my thighs. I got up from the chair and looked at him.

"How do you even know that?"

"I don't," he tossed a bottle of face scrub we'd bought earlier that day. "I read it about it on here," he laughed which got him a playful punch in the arm.

Once we got to the bathroom, we washed our faces, then I grabbed the supplies and explained what we were going to do.

"This is a mask," I explained. "It's going to help rid us of imperfections."

We each squeezed a generous amount on our fingers and started applying.

"Is it supposed to be black?" He looked at the thick gel like substance like it was poison.

"Yeah, I thought you'd like it. More—manly" I spoke in the deepest voice I could muster, enticing a laugh from my mate. Once we finished applying an even layer, I grabbed my camera. "Could we take a mirror selfie?"

It was hard to tell, with his face covered in black paste, but he didn't look thrilled with the idea.

"For your personal use? Or is this going viral?"

"Both?" I questioned.

"For your birthday, sure," he said, resigning to the fates of birthday boss.

We were both shirtless and wearing nothing but our boxers as we stood together and took a couple of ridiculous pictures, not that there was any other way to take bathroom facial pictures. I immediately emailed myself the best ones, should Shane change his mind and demand I delete them from my phone, I needed back up. By the time we were done, the mask was ready to be peeled off. I'd watched enough Facebook and YouTube videos to know that it was going to be a painful process, but in the midst of everything I'd forgotten to relay the information to Shane.

I barely started pulling the mask from the top of his forehead when he released a deep groan of pain and quickly grabbed my wrists, pulling them away from his face like they were on fire.

"You're ripping my face off!"

"Well, we have to get it off. You must have a lot of imperfections on your face," I laughed at the wide-eyed terror on his face.

"Like my whole face?!" he yelled.

"Calm down you big pansy. The faster we get it off, the faster it's over."

I reached my hands up to start again but he quickly pulled away, shaking his head in defiance. I gave him a stern look, then preceded to try again. This time, he let me. Flinching when my fingers touched the edge of the mask that had already been slightly peeled away. He let out a deep groan of displeasure as I pulled the mask away from his skin. I got a quarter of an inch when he pulled his head away, again.

"I can't," his breathing was labored as he exhaled the breath he'd been holding. "It's too painful."

"We have to finish this," I laughed, unable to control how funny I thought his reaction was.

"Can you just—I don't know, rip it off? Like a Band-Aid?"

"No, it has to be slow or it doesn't work the same. We can't have this be for nothing."

I don't know if that was true or not, but I was enjoying the show too much.

It took ten minutes to get the mask off. I'd only get a few millimeters before he'd make me stop because the discomfort was too much. He'd jump around the bathroom, cussing as the mask hung off his face like dead skin. During the process I felt an overwhelming desire to kiss his cry baby lips, which I did, only to receive a bigger pout from my big, strong beau. When we reached the half way mark, around his nose, his eyes started watering involuntarily. As for myself, I was laughing the entire time. Every time he made a noise or flinched, I'd laugh. It was just too comical. And the moment the last of the facial peel left his skin, he ran to the mirror to check his face for damage.

"By some unknown miracle, my face is intact. Praise baby Jesus," he said as he patted his cheeks. He then turned to me and smirked, "Now it's your turn."

To Shane's disappointment, my removal was substantially less dramatic than his. I don't know if it was the luck of the draw, if I was use to some of the pain that came with this type commitment to beauty, or if something deep within me wanted to piss Shane off, but I didn't have the same experience as he did. We looked at our peels and cringed at the all the nasty crap that came out of our pores.

"I still don't think it was worth it," Shane said.

"But look at us," I said, as we both looked at ourselves in the bathroom mirror. "We're fucking beautiful."

Shane pulled me into his embrace and kissed me lightly. "Belles of the ball," he said with a chuckled. "What's next?"

"Manscaping, full body exfoliation, shower, moisturizing, and a massage," I winked.

"You're really serious about this spa day. Nothings being left to chance, huh?"

"Nope. Now sit there (I pointed toward the toilet), and spread your legs."

I grabbed the personal trimmer I kept around for this exact thing and kneeled between his legs.

"You're not going to decapitate my dick, are you?" he looked a little nervous as I started trimming his groin. I wasn't even touching the good stuff. Actually, I was. I had his dick in one hand as I moved it to the side so the skin stayed taught.