Michelle Sorensen sat in the diner, picking at a plate of salmon. She was in a good place. She really was. She was finally over that asshole Brett, she'd just been promoted to team leader at the call center and was now guiding the work of eight employees. Life was good.

The only problem was the people who kept trying to find her a new boyfriend. It seemed like all of her friends had someone that they wanted to set her up with, someone who was just perfect for her. Michelle tried once or twice, but the "perfect" men never lived up to the hype. One of them spent the whole evening talking about his collection of elk heads. Another told her excitedly about how living with his mother was just a phase until he could finish his screenplay. The last of them had actually told Michelle that she would "be in supermodel territory if she lost twenty pounds." After that, Michelle gave up.

It wasn't that Michelle was uninterested in men. She was. Very interested. It's just that every time she was with a man, she ended up comparing him to Raul.

Raul. Michelle had had a massage with him a couple months ago, when Amanda, her usual therapist, was out of town on her honeymoon. Michelle had been in a bad place then, but the massage was a little spot of heaven in the middle of her hell. Raul had a body like a Hispanic god, a voice like an angel, and a cock big enough to make her ogle it through his pants. He gave her the best massage she'd ever had, and finished it by giving her the best orgasm she'd ever had. He told her she was beautiful in ways that she'd never heard, never even considered before. Then he gave her his business card, and she walked out into the sunshine and a better life.

Michelle was in a good place, really. She sighed and pulled Raul's business card out of her wallet like she had a hundred times before. Raul Batista, she read. Licensed Massage Therapist. She bit her lip and looked at the phone number. She'd meant to call the number dozens of times before now, but every time she'd stopped before she was halfway done dialing.

At first, she hadn't called him because she didn't want to seem too eager to come back in. What would he think if she called him up the next day, asking for another massage? She'd seem far too sex-crazed. Michelle had heard that you're supposed to wait three days before calling after a good first date. What was the phone etiquette for when a bronze god of a man exquisitely pleasures you on a massage table while never removing his own clothing or asking for anything in return?

So Michelle waited before calling him, but as the question of whether it was too soon faded away, new questions arose. What if she went in for a massage again and it wasn't the same? What if the magic was gone? What if Raul had forgotten her, or what if he just gave happy endings to all his customers? Michelle liked thinking that she and he had something special, but going back in to see him again, she might find out that she'd been wrong.

So Michelle had put it off, even as she wanted to see Raul again, even as she dreamed about him at night. She waited, even though every time she masturbated, she thought about the touch of his hands and imagined what he would look like under his clothing.

But now Michelle could feel in her back and shoulders and glutes that it was past time for her to go in for another massage. She was building up knots again, and she was starting to get tensions headaches. It was the moment of truth. She glanced at her phone. She had Amanda's number saved. If she wanted, she could just go back to the old routine. But Michelle knew in her heart of hearts that if she did that, she would never go to see Raul again. She'd keep his business card in her wallet, and his touch in her memory, but that would be it. If she was cowardly and went back to Amanda now, she'd never have the courage to go see beautiful, wonderful, frightening Raul.

Michelle took a deep breath and looked down at the business card again. She tapped Raul's number into her phone. She'd dialed it so many times that she mostly just looked at the card out of habit: she had the number memorized. She stared at the screen for a moment, heart pounding, then gave in and pressed send.

Michelle listened nervously as the phone rang. Then, she heard a click as someone picked up.

"Hello?" Raul said. Michelle's heart melted at the sound of his voice, just like it had the first time she'd heard it. It was deep and mellow, and had a beautiful Hispanic accent that put her in mind of sunshine and tropical breezes.

"Hi Raul," Michelle managed after a moment. "It's me--"

"Michelle," Raul said. He remembered her. He knew her voice.

"Yeah," said Michelle. "I'm sorry it's taken me so long to call you."

"It's good to hear from you," Raul said, and he sounded genuinely happy. "What happened? I was worried you'd never call."

"Yeah," said Michelle again. "Sorry. Life's been really busy, and I . . . " She trailed dumbly off. Raul was silent, seemingly waiting. Finally, Michelle sighed. "I actually haven't been busy. I've been meaning to call you. I've pulled out your card so many times and then put it away without calling you."

"Why?" Raul asked, his voice gentle.

"I guess because I'm scared," said Michelle. It was strange to let her guard down like this, to be honest like this.

Raul laughed. "Silly girl," he said, but he said it kindly. "You don't need to be scared of me. Come see me."

"All right," Michelle said, smiling and stumbling over her words. "I'd love to."

"Tomorrow at 5:30 work for you?" Raul asked.

"Yes," Michelle said. "Yes, that's fine."

"Good," said Raul. "I'll be looking forward to seeing you. I've thought about you."

That was it. Raul didn't say goodbye, just hung up, leaving Michelle sitting in her booth, holding the phone and grinning stupidly.

She sat there for a long time before she remembered to pay for her meal and leave.