Page 28 of How to Score Off Field

“Sugar scrub,” Tess explains. “It’s exfoliating so your legs are soft.”

I glance down at her legs, which are soft and smooth and tan and long. She has them sunk into the water the same way mine are as the woman doing her pedicure rubs them up and down with the palms of her hands.

I look a little too long.

Clear my throat.

The technician takes both my feet out of the water then, patting them dry with a towel before filing my toenails. That tickles too—though not as much as that rock thing did on the pads of my feet.

My nails get filed. My legs get rubbed. Maybe this isn’t all torture.

Tess’s get painted the light pink color she’d picked out. It wasn’t the color she’d shown me but pink all the same. Cute toes.

Cute feet.

I’m not a feet guy but hers are pretty fucking adorable.

She wiggles them when she catches me looking.

CHAPTER10

TESS

I’M SO USED TO BEING SINGLE THAT I DON’T EVEN KNOW WHAT I’D DO WITH A BOYFRIEND. DO I WALK IT? DOES IT NEED TO BE FED? I’M NOT READY.

Am I imagining it,or is Drew checking me out?

No.

He can’t be, not possible.

But why isn’t it possible?Miranda’s voice chimes in like my conscience, whispering in my ear.You’re freaking hot and a good catch.

I wiggle my toes when I catch him watching my feet, and he quickly looks away as if caught staring at my ass—which I honestly wish he would do. Depending on the dude, I don’t mind being sexually objectified a little, ha ha.

Once his feet are done, he waits for me on the couches in the lobby. When my toes finish drying, he rises when I walk over, heading to the cashier at a makeshift counter at the front with his wallet out.

He hands the lady his credit card before I can so much as dig in my crossbody bag, and I put my hand on his forearm to protest.

“What are you doing? I was going to pay.”

“You don’t have to pay because I just did.”

“But I’m the one who forced you to come here.”

“You didn’t force me to get my feet done.” He taps the card on the counter when the woman hands it back before sliding it back into his black leather wallet.

We can’t stand here arguing, but I feel like an asshole having him pay for my feet. I had gel put on them, which is more expensive than regular polish. If I’d had known…

“Stop worrying about it and just say thank you.”

“I…” I swallow. “Thank you.”

I can’t very well admit that no guy has ever paid for my nails before, nor can I admit that I’ve never sat side by side with one to get them done, and it was an oddly satisfying experience.

“You’re welcome.” He pushes through the front door, holding it open for me and the two women just arriving.

I feel self-conscious walking in front of him to my car, brain racking over where to go from here. We’ve only killed two hours with more in the day to spare before our friends get home from work and the bachelor party festivities begin. So what next?

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