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“I made some good cash,” she explains nonchalantly. “It just got weird after a while. There’s no future potential besides an overwhelming number of creepy messages. That was in my college years, anyway.”
She amuses me. She’s like a hand grenade without a safety switch. Totally Roey’s specialty.
“People actually pay for that?” I ask. “For the pictures of… your feet?”
“Yup.” Becky exhales with a hint of annoyance.
Lu nods, smiling.
“Yeah,” Tito echoes.
Becky goes on. “Foot fetish is extremely common. One in seven has fantasized about feet. Five percent have a full fetish. Also, part of the brain that’s responsible for sexual arousal is next to the one that processes foot sensations.”
She’s got the stats down. And this group, as per my observation, is definitely open to conversations about all things kinky. No wonder Lu writes smut.
Tito cheers to me with a Martini in his hand. “So it’s safe to say that having a foot massage can get one horny.”
“Good to know,” I murmur, chasing the info with a gulp of beer, trying not to ogle Lu who just licked the foam off the rim of her beer glass and is leaning on the table, which pushes her breasts up. She’s such a tease, and she doesn’t even know it.
“Jace, wanna go for a foot massage?” Tito is a heavy hitter, and his irritation earlier might just be from not getting the answers he wants from me.
I stare him dead in the eyes.
His smile widens.
So does mine.
“No,” I mouth. He’s in denial. “But thank you.”
And sure enough, now all I think about is massaging Lu’s feet. She often walks around our condo barefoot, and her nail polish matches the one on her toes.
Ourcondo—since when? I’m appropriating Lu quicker than the third beer makes its way into my bloodstream.
And that beer… It makes my fantasies go wild. All I want is to drag Lu onto my lap and kiss the hell out of her sweet coral lips.
18
JACE
“You must come here often,”I say after another group who crowds Lu to say hi leaves.
Every time I talk to Lu, Becky cuts in. She definitely likes to be the center of attention and is overly protective of her friends.
“Every month or so,” Becky explains. “Lu is a celebrity in Williamsburg. She did the art piece for the community center garden in the fall that went viral.”
A tall skinny guy in a worn-out sweater with overly long sleeves, despite the warm May weather, puts his hands as if in prayer and bows to Lu. She laughs, and he wraps his arm around her to take a selfie, then bows again and nervously wipes his mouth.
We all watch them as they chat.
“He’s into her,” Tito says. “So awkward, though. A celebrity crush. He’s probably a virgin and has wet dreams about her.”
That remark reminds me of how I felt about Monica when I was a teen, and I tense.
“Nah.” Becky narrows her eyes on the guy, dissecting his movements. “There are no guy virgins in their mid-twenties unless there’s something wrong with them or they live in the mountains. Or! Are voluntarily/involuntarily celibate. That’s a special breed.”
Is it now?
I want to hear more. Apparently, I’m a breed.
