Page 54 of Catch a Wave
Of course he does. Only, the pressure he’s applying to my feet is short-circuiting my brain so I can’t remember what he knows or doesn’t, or for that matter, why I haven’t spent the past three weeks trying to catch his eye again. He rubs circles on my heels and then moves up to the balls of my feet.
“Ahhh.” I close my eyes. “So good.”
I think I’m having an out-of-body experience—which would totally explain why I’m allowing my ex to give me a foot massage while we’re alone in the house.
The movie drones on in the background. I could pretend to watch it, but why bother?
I decide to give in and just enjoy this since it will be the only time I allow it to happen. Obviously, we aren’t making foot massages part of our routine friendship protocol.
“You’re really good at this,” I say. “I had forgotten.”
Drool nearly leaks out of the side of my mouth. Yeah. I’m bringing sexy back. Way to ensure everything stays in the friend zone.
“It’s the least I can do. You’ve been overextending yourself to come watch me surf. I’m glad to help you relax those muscles after a long day.”
Time for a subject change!
“So … that text you got the other day. Are you going to go to San Diego?”
Bodhi’s hands still. But then he starts massaging again.
“I haven’t made up my mind.” His voice is clipped. “You want to try to stick these feet in the ocean tomorrow morning?”
Okay. So that’s how this is going to be.
“I haven’t made up my mind.”
I sit up just the slightest to make eye contact when I repeat his words back to him.
“Fair enough.” Bodhi gives a final rub up and down each foot and then he lifts my feet off his lap and sets them onto the ground.
I’m sorry I ruined the mood. But then again, fair’s fair. If he’s going to push me, shouldn’t I be able to push him in return? For the first time since I got here, the thought occurs to me: Bodhi might not have healed as much as I thought he had.
17
BODHI
Just the way it never rains
when you have an umbrella,
you’ll never run into people if you look fantastic.
But go outside in pajamas,
and you’ll run into every ex you have.
~ Tim Gunn
“I’m actually a little wiped out,” I tell Mavs.
We both know better. She pushed my buttons and I don’t want to deal with the pressure from one more person. Not her, especially.
I’d do anything for her.
Maybe I shouldn’t have been rubbing her feet. No. I definitely shouldn’t have been touching her with such familiarity and warmth. Mavs makes me crazy. One minute, I’m dead set on building a friendship with her, repairing what I broke. The next, I want to haul her onto my lap and kiss her until we both remember what we lost and resolve to do anything to get it back.
She looks a little sorry that she pushed me. I probably should say something to relieve her of that weight. But I don’t want to give her license to nudge me and hassle me like everyone else has been doing. I’ll sleep this off. It’s not about her. It’s me. People don’t understand what it took to get as far as I’ve come. I’m comfortable. I don’t need an in-my-face reminder of how much I’ve lost. Seeing all those guys and riding waves with them could send me spiraling. It’s a risk I can’t afford to take.
