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At the same time as he speaks, something grabs hold of my ankle. No, not something. I’m one-hundred percent certain it’s Jafar. My flat is removed, falling silently to the floor. And then he rubs my foot. Oh my god! Does he think he’s rubbing Jasmine’s foot? It would make sense. He just told her to sit back and enjoy the restaurant.
I try to pull my foot out of his grasp, but his grip tightens on my ankle and the pressure from his other hand increases to where I have to bite back a moan. Lord. This feels so good. But I’m so afraid that he’s going to figure out that he’s got my foot in his hand and not his wife’s, and then make a huge scene.
Jasmine is oblivious to what’s happening and rattles on about the Met gala. He hits a spot deep in the arch of my foot and goosebumps break out across my skin. She raises her voice as she gets excited, talking about the outfit she is going to wear. He presses harder, and it hits me that each time she gets loud, the pressure on my foot increases, as if he’s trying to shut her up. Kill me now.
I try again to pull my foot free, but it doesn’t work. No, he just keeps rubbing away while I fight getting turned on. Because it feelssogood, and sparks of heat keep shooting throughout my body. Am I that starved for attention that this is turning me on? Sadly, the answer is yes.
I almost cry in relief when Iago arrives, an enormous plate of nachos in hand.
“Here you go. Does anyone need anything else?”
“Can I get a Hennessy and diet soda, please?”
Because I need something to calm my freaking nerves.
“Sure thing.”
Jasmine titters. “You still drink that?”
I don’t answer because Jafar presses into the arch of my foot again. Yeah, this pretty much confirms that he thinks he has Jasmine’s foot in hand. She gets loud, and he uses his magic fingers to shut her up. Makes me wonder what else those fingers can do…
Jafar says, “Try the nachos and tell me what you think, Ellie.”
I don’t want to make things weird, so I reach out. My hand is shaking, and I hope no one notices. I’m not sure what the etiquette is for this, but back in Kansas we just use our fingers to eat nachos, so that’s what I’m going to do. I pick a small chip loaded with melted cheese, chicken, veggies, and a bit of guac, and pop it into my mouth. It’s good, and I moan softly as I chew. The pressure on my foot increases before his hand moves up my leg to my calf muscle. Oh my god. Surely he knows what Jasmine’s leg feels like? But he massages away like nothing is amiss. Why is he so good at this?
Clearing my throat, I say, “It’s tasty.”
Is it just me, or does my voice sound raspier than usual? Did anyone else notice? Judging by their expressions, they didn’t. Jasmine leans over and grabs a chip. I glance at her, amazed that she’s eating.
She notices the look on my face and says, “One chip isn’t going to hurt me, Ellie. I work out, unlike you.”
Jafar’s hand stills and he huffs. “For the love of god, Jasmine. Do you ever think before you speak?”
“What? It’s the truth. I take care of myself, and Ellie doesn’t.”
Hot tears fill my eyes. Yeah, I guess that’s what she would think of me. That I’m fat because I don’t work out. I’m sure it’s never even crossed her mind that there’s a medical reason why I can’t easily lose weight. Heck, I’m sure the term PCOS has never even been on her radar. She’d never believe me if I said I’ve tried every diet under the sun, and the only thing that seems to work is to eliminate carbs, which isn’t a feasible way to live. Well, not for me at least. I’d rather be a little curvy and eat what I want. And the only time my weight is an issue is when I’m back in New York.
Iago arrives with my drink, and I take it from him, downing it like it’s a shot.
His eyebrows lift. “I’ll bring another.”
I tip my glass at him in thanks as he leaves. My appetite is definitely gone, though Jasmine still picks at the nachos. Iago is much quicker with the second drink, and I’m happy to see he made it a double.
“Thank you, Iago.” I say.
“No problem.” His gaze darts to Jasmine. “I understand how one might need a stiff drink.”
That has me smiling, which is terrible of me. The rubbing resumes on my leg, going back to my foot. There’s a part of me that wishes Jafar’s hand would trail higher, but I know that will never happen. For one thing, the table won’t allow it. Two, he doesn’t know it’s me he’s rubbing. If he did, he’d stop. Three, I wouldneverlet him touch me like that because Jasmine is my best friend.
I sip on my drink while Jasmine complains about how much she dislikes Iago. Jafar continues to rub my foot. I’m not sure if it’s the massage or the Hennessy, but I find myself feeling sleepy and relaxed at the same time.
Jasmine notices and says, “Are you seriously tired, Ellie? It’s barely nine.”
I yawn before I can stop it. “Sorry. Maybe we should call it a night?”
Jasmine is about to protest, but Jafar says, “That’s a great idea. Jasmine, don’t you have a spa appointment tomorrow?”
Her eyes light up. “I do, don’t I. How could I forget?” She turns to me. “I would invite you, but you won’t want to waste that much money on it. Besides, Dru is coming, and I know how you feel about her.”
