“Cara said you needed a foot rub. So I’m giving you a foot rub.” Should my response be No thank you? Probably. But here’s the thing: he’s got big hands, broad fingertips, a powerful touch, and I drank too much last night, which means I subsequently danced too much. And he feels so damn good. “Jesus Christ,” I accidentally whimper, folding toward him. “Thank you.” “Don’t mention it. If you’re a fan of rubs, we can go back to my pl—” “And you ruined it.” I rip my feet from his magical hands and curl them under my butt. “Why’d you have to ruin something so good?”
