You're Both Acting Stubborn

Amari Anne and Avery Black stomp into the massage parlor, faces like thunderclouds. Avery shoves a gift certificate at Petra Blair, smirking a little too hard. 'Couple's massage for us,' she declares. Petra glances at it, then shakes her head with a sly grin. 'Hold up, this is for a single spot only.' That's it—boom. Amari wheels on Avery, venting like a volcano. 'You never pay attention to a damn thing!' The two lock horns right there in front of Petra, trading barbs like it's round two of a spat-fest, zero fucks given about the audience. Petra's had enough of the drama. She steps in smooth, that cocky glint in her eye. 'Tell you what—I'll handle both of you myself. Might be a stretch, splitting my magic hands between two feisty ones.' Avery and Amari? Not even craving a rubdown anymore, but they grumble yes, too pissed to walk away. Petra herds them into the private room, bouncing between the tables like a pro. Her fingers dig in deep, kneading out knots and bullshit alike. Bit by bit, the wives melt—shoulders dropping, breaths evening out—but hell if they'll cop to enjoying it. Petra chuckles under her breath, loving the show but hating their beef. 'You two are stubborn as mules. It's cool to like this, you know?' They pause, sheepish now, mumbling sorrys and trading soft looks. Truth is, they adore each other—little fireworks like this just prove the spark's alive. One kiss turns into a full-on make-out, hands wandering wild and needy. Petra? She's not slamming on the brakes; why spoil a good thaw?