Page 45 of Double Puck

“See? Best fries of your life." Beck watches me with overt satisfaction. "I should start charging for my expertise.”

I reach for another handful, soaking in the absence of whitened smiles and polite applause. For a few beautiful minutes, it’s just us, fries, and the noise of Porter the Chef finishing off his days work.

Porter snaps a quick selfie with Beck on his way out the door, grinning as he taps at his phone, and soon, we're all alone.

Beck turns to me, his grin pure trouble.

“Alright, Cinderella, let’s get these death traps off your feet,” he says, plunking down on his knees.

“I’m fine,” I lie, wincing as he unbuckles one shoe and removes it completely.

“You’re fine and lying, which is impressive, but I'm doing this anyway.”

“Beck—" My protest dies the second his hands press into the arch of my foot, firm but careful, like he’s trying to fix the damage. “Oh my God.”

“See?” he says smugly, his thumbs working magic circles into my foot. “Hero without a cape. Hold still, Madden."

I almost groan. He’s insufferably good at this, and he knows it.

"So, tell me. Have you been brainwashed to want what your parents have? The long marriage, the lighting up when you see each other. That whole package?" His voice is casual, but his eyes are watching my face carefully. "Or are you more of a 'love is a chemical reaction that fades after eleven months' kind of person?"

"That's very specific."

He shrugs. "An ex-girlfriend said it to me once."

I study his face, trying to figure out where this is coming from. "Why are you asking?"

"Just curious about the woman who wants me gone. So tell me… any crazy ex's that drove your parents wild?"

I wiggle my toes in his hands. “Crazy exes, huh? Well, there was Charles. But our mother's set us up right after I finished college. He actually proposed after three dates.”

“Three dates?” Beck’s brow shoots up. “Confident move.”

“Yeah, it was part of his five-year plan. I said no, obviously.”

“Obviously,” Beck echoes, leaning closer with a smirk. “What about another one? Give me the worst.”

“Oh…” A smile tugs at my lips. “That’d have to be Edwin.”

“Edwin?” His forehead crinkles approvingly. “Ridiculous fancy name. Go on.”

“Oh, he was very fancy,” I agree. “So fancy, in fact, that conventional sex just didn't cut it. He had a…strong fondness for, uh…" I look down to where I'm currently receiving the best foot massage of my life. "…feet.”

Beck drops my foot like it’s radioactive.

“Wait.” He gapes at me, scandalized and visibly horrified. “Darcy, are you telling me I just followed Edwin's disgusting, creepy foot fetish without knowing?”

I laugh so hard my ribs actually hurt. “The horror!”

“Nope. Never again.” He holds his hands up, dramatically brushing them together before crossing his arms over his chest with an exaggerated huff. “Forget the audit. Screw the Bears. This is a resignation. I quit.”

“Oh, come on.” I inch forward on the counter, swinging my now-free legs to wiggle my toes playfully in his face. “Does this mean you refuse to take part in my undoubtedly toxic foot-related past?”

"Okay, you wanna talk weird. Fine. I’ve had girlfriends who preferred it up the ass because, and I quote, ‘It helps with my alignment,'" Beck announces, counting on his fingers like he's tallying grocery items. "I've been with women who want to smother my chest in caramel sauce. Oh! And there was this one girl who could only get off if I wore my hockey helmet during sex, which, honestly, was kind of hot. Hell, I even hooked up with a woman who wanted me to dirty talk exclusively in French, which was a disaster because the only French I know is 'oui oui baguette' and something about cheese."

He pauses dramatically, pointing an accusatory finger at my bare feet.

"But feet? Feet are where I draw the line, Madden. That's where Beck Morrison says 'absolutely fucking not.' I don't care if Edwin was the Crown Prince of Toe-Sucking Kingdom. My hands have standards."