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“Don’t give me that look. I didn’t come up with the term. Willy Wonka did.”
“Willy Wonka?”
“You know, the candy guy in that movie? When that girl turns into a giant blueberry they take her to the juicing room, I think. We should take you to get juiced.”
He laughs, looking at me like I’m both absurd and amusing. “The only way to get swelling down is time. Although, I suppose a massage wouldn’t hurt.”
“A massage?” Now it’s my turn to wrinkle my nose. “You want a foot massage?”
“I mean, if you’re offering—”
“I’m not. Nope. Not offering that.”
“You don’t like giving massages?”
“I don’t like touching feet.” I shudder at the thought.
“Let me get this straight, you'd happily stick a finger up my ass but not touch my feet?” The gleam in his eye says he’s baiting me, but I’m too grossed out to take it. There’s one body part I don’t love on anybody, and I don’t plan to start now.
“You haven’t let me put my finger in your ass yet, but yes. I’d take that over touching your feet.”
“What about my swelling?” He adopts this wounded puppy look that’s so fucking cute words spill out of my mouth before I can stop them.
“Will that extra fluid go to your dick and make it supersized?”
“No.” His lips split into a wide grin as he laughs at my pout.
“Would you let me put my finger in your ass?” I can’t believe I’m playing along with this, but he really does have the nicest, roundest, most beautifully jiggly butt and I desperately want a piece of it.
“Maybe.”
“Fine,” I huff. “Give me your foot.”
A heavy weight finds its way to my lap, and with my eyes closed I tentatively reach for it.
“If it grosses you out that bad you don’t have to touch it.” Noah starts to pull his leg back, but I hold it firmly.
“Just… Distract me.” I gently knead the squishy skin around his ankle, telling myself it’s an ass cheek.
“What made you get into skateboarding?”
“I already told you. It’s uncivilized.”
“You could say the same thing about hockey.”
“I suppose, although if a sport costs thousands of dollars to play, most people would say aggressive or even violent, not uncivilized.” Did he just sigh? Maybe he’s pretending I’m rubbing his ass too.
“So, if it cost money your parents would support it, and if it didn’t they’d hate it, so you went with the one they’d hate?”
“And here I thought hockey players were just dumb jocks.”
“Not a dye job, but also not a state of mind.” I open my eyes to see Noah pointing at his hair, and roll my own before getting back to my imaginary butt massage.
“Did you get to pick hockey or did your Canadian roots decide for you?” I ask.
“Both. It was pretty much expected that I learn the game, but when I started growing and realized I have solid reflexes for my size, it became something I wanted to get better at.”
“I bet your parents are psyched about that.”
