Page 17 of Never Pucking Ending

One second.

Two.

Four.

We only break it when Frank says, “I hope the appetizer comes out soon. Those stadium hot dogs went right through me.”

*

Long after saying our goodbyes to our parents, Jesse holds the door open for me at home and locks it behind us. Dinner was good, with flowing conversation and comfortable lulls while we ate. Mom plans on coming to see the space I leased in two weeks when I have time to settle into it more, and Frank invited Jesse to visit Dennis while he was in town next week seeing his grandkids.

We’re quiet as we put our things down, nothing but our shoes shuffling across the floor to fill the silent house. I cross my arms over my chest at the chilly air, and Jesse goes over to the thermostat to adjust it until the heat kicks on.

“It was good seeing them,” I say, rubbing my arms to rid of the goosebumps pebbling my flesh. This is why there’s a heated throw blanket draped across my chair in the office, and no more than four blankets in the living room folded on the backs of the couches and armchair.

We walk into the living room where Jesse grabs a knit blanket that his Aunt Carole made for him years ago and wraps it around my body. “Better?” he asks when the soft yarn caresses my skin.

I smile. “Much.”

He gestures for me to sit down, so I take up my usual spot on the sofa. Usually, he’ll sit on the other end, or the armchair if he’s having his morning coffee, but this time he lifts my legs and drapes them across his lap as he sits on the cushion directly beside mine. His hands immediately start massaging my feet, and a moan ripples past my lips before I can stop it.

Jesse only pauses a moment before chuckling. “Feel good?”

“I should probably be doing this for you,” I point out, not bothering to ask him to stop. Because it feels phenomenal. “You’re the one who just skated for the last two hours.”

He lifts a shoulder. “Not a fan of people touching my feet.”

I hum thoughtfully. “I get that. I’ve never let anybody give me a pedicure for the same reason. I have ugly feet.”

His brows pinch. “I highly doubt your feet are ugly.”

Giggling, I say, “They are! What are you—” He’s ripping the sock off my foot to study it before I can finish my sentence, and I’m really glad I shaved this morning. There are always a few pesky dark hairs that love to grow on my big toes. Another reason I don’t like people looking at them. “Give me my foot back, you weirdo!”

He lifts my foot to study it closer despite my protests. He’s stronger than me, so any effort to pull away fails. “They look normal to me.”

“Are you an expert on feet?” I ask him quizzically. I stop fighting him. “Is that a secret fetish of yours?”

Jesse scoffs. “Don’t be ridiculous.”

“Hey! I’m not yucking someone’s yum. If that’s your thing it’s okay to admit. I went to college with a girl who used to sell feet pics for money, and she made bank. If I didn’t hate my feet, I’d—”

“Don’t finish that sentence,” he cuts me off in a grumbled tone.

“What? It’s not like I’m selling my body for sex to make a quick buck. Not that I’m judging. People need to do what they need to do.”

He stares hard at me, very clearly judging. Still, he doesn’t release my foot. Instead, he sets it back down onto his lap and continues the massage. “I guarantee you she wasn’t actually selling feet pics.”

“She was!” I defend, not that I know for sure. I never asked her to show me the pictures she took. “What else would they be?”

He deadpans, eyeing me.

We’re quiet.

“Oh.” I think about it before realization dawns on me. “Ooooh. You know, she did have really nice boobs now that I think about it. And if I could tell a personal trainer what my ideal body would look like, it’d be hers. It’s no wonder she was able to buy a convertible.”

He makes a choked noise. “She bought a convertible with the money she got from selling pictures online?”

A thoughtful noise rises from my throat. “I’m choosing to believe it’s because people think she has really cute feet. She got pedicures all the time.”