Hardly. I was dying. But I would get used to it. Being slightly uncomfortable was always better than trying to communicate that discomfort.
I leaned back and closed my eyes, taking a moment to try to relax. I looked tentatively at the little remote attached to the chair and briefly debated adjusting it or using the massager. Ihad to sort of strain to reach the foot pad, and it was making my legs cramp. But then an image of me not being able to control the chair and my upper body being tossed around like a load of laundry flashed in my head, and I figured I’d better not.
“Oh, man. This is nice,” Pace’s voice warbled, and when I peeked my eyes open to look at him, the massage chair was performing some sort of jujitsu along his back, causing him to shake violently. I could hear the laughter all around us.
At least it wasn’t at me.
“Why are there two women now?” He leaned over to ask me.
“You’re just special, I guess,” I said.
We both turned in tandem to see one of the women lower her protective eyewear as the other started up what looked like a small drill.
“Should I be alarmed?” he asked.
“Do you use all your toes?” I leaned closer, mirroring his body language until we were just a few inches apart. He had freckles I hadn’t noticed until just this moment.
“I’ve grown attached.” He twisted his features into a fake look of worry.
“I’m sure it’ll be fine.”
His gaze flicked to my lips before he leaned back and slipped on his mask of affability.
I went back to staring straight ahead, but not at the woman working on my feet. Every time she looked up at me, I gave her a wide smile of encouragement like a total boob.
My gaze drifted over to Pace’s legs. They were just so big and manly and hairy. Especially in contrast to all the feminine energy around us, he stood out. His red-blond hair was much lighter on his legs, but it was thick and coarse. His calves bulged, and his bare feet were now (thankfully) strongly alluring to look at. What was it about bare feet that felt so intimate? I felt soaware of every piece of him. If he were a cartoon, he’d be all big blocky rectangles and squares with little swirls for his hair.
It took two women, one power tool, and several rounds of soaking before Pace’s feet were finished. It had allowed me to rest my thoughts as I watched them work on those monstrosities he called feet. At one point, I almost felt downright relaxed. Just for a second. Then I remembered I existed, and it was over.
I’d been done and drying for a few minutes before they patted Pace’s foot, telling him to give his clear polish a few minutes to dry.
After several minutes of saying our goodbyes (him) and thank-yous (me), we paid and went back out front.
“That was incredible. I feel lighter. I’m gonna suggest all the guys at the station go down for these,” he said.
We looked back inside, where the two women were wiping sweat from their foreheads and stretching their backs.
“You better tip them extra well,” I said.
“I’d better tip my next paycheck.” He waved again with a wink, and half the salon women giggled, including the patrons.
Today had been something. It had been progress. I felt hopeful for the first time in longer than I could remember. Pace had made this possible.
I doubted I would ever feel on the same footing as him—pun intended—he would always feel too big a presence to me, but he had helped me.
And as I looked up at him, I realized just how in danger I was of developing a crush on him.
Just because someone is nice to me, didn’t mean they liked me like that.
If we were being honest, and weweren’t, I’d probably had a crush on him since the first day of August when I’d started memorizing his upper body. Or more likely, in high school,when he was so in love with his girlfriend, it set an impossible standard for all men moving forward.
But it was one of those crushes that would never amount to anything. The way someone would crush on the trending thirst trap online—from a safe distance.
Because I may be many things, but one of them was a realist.
13
Pace
