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But as the staff wraps up their duties and trickle out one by one, a growing sense of dread forms in the pit of my stomach.
Soon, I’ll be alone with Jared.
And I still have no idea what I’m going to say.
Chapter 4
Mikki
“AnotherSt.Patrick’sDaybites the dust,” Jared sings, squeezing me into a bear hug and lifting my feet from the ground.
With a friendship as old as ours, hugging is commonplace. But that doesn’t make it any easier to bear. Unrequited love is romantic in movies. In real life, not so much.
Our eyes lock. I open my mouth to say what needs saying, but he speaks first.
“Your feet must be aching, Mik. How about a foot rub?”
I blink, trying to process his words. “You want to give me a foot rub?”
Hugs are commonplace. Foot massages are not.
He smiles. “I offered, didn’t I?”
I wiggle my toes, gauging the dampness of my socks. “My feet are too sweaty and gross,” I protest.
“You could never be gross. Not to me.” His voice is husky. That catches me off guard almost as much as the words. Then he glances away as ifhe’sembarrassed.
Jared’s acting…different.There’s no other word for it. A feeling of hope bubbles up inside me, spreading through my body. I feel it in the tips of my fingers, all the way to my toes.Is it possible that Jared wants me the way I want him?
I swallow nervously. “I can definitely be gross sometimes. And after a whole shift on my feet, now is bound to be one of those times.”
“If you say so.” He raises his hands in defeat. “Guess I’ll just have to wash them then.”
Dumbfounded, I watch him as he walks toward the bar. “Where are you going?”
“To fetch water and a towel, obviously.” Something in my expression must be funny because he chuckles. “Sit down, Mikki. Make yourself comfortable.”
Is he being serious?
He grabs one of the clean busboy buckets and begins filling it with water.
OMG. I think he’s really going to wash my feet.
I glance around for the best place for a foot massage and then settle onto a long bench in the waiting area of the pizzeria. Resting my back against the wall, I stretch out on the bench with my legs extended in front of me.
Noticing my dirty sneakers, I swivel on the bench to kick off my shoes. As Jared walks toward me with the basin of water in his arms, a dishcloth draped over one shoulder and a towel draped over the other, I quickly peel off my wet socks. Silently praying that my feet don’t stink, I fan them in an effort to dry them a bit before Jared notices how sweaty they are.
He places the tray of water on the bench and then sits beside it. Patting his leg, he gestures for me to put my feet in his lap. He grips one lightly in his hands, stroking the soles gently with his thumbs.
“Oh,” he says, wrinkling his nose. “You were right. These puppies are disgusting.”
Horrified, I attempt to pull my foot away.
Then I see the twinkle in his eyes.
“Just teasing, Mik.” He dips the washcloth into the water and wrings it out.
I fold my arms across my chest. “Jerk.”
