It isn’t a request, and makes me smile. I want to be there.
“Okay,” I say again. Will nods and goes back to watching his game, that being settled.
I shake my red nail polish and pull my right foot up onto the couch, my heel tucked against my ass, and buff my toenails, then open the polish. Before I can swipe the brush down my toenail, Will interrupts me.
“Can I do that?”
My head whips up to meet his eyes, surprised. “What?”
“I want to do that.”
“Why?”
He just shrugs and smiles as he slides across the couch, pulls my foot into his lap, causing me to turn so my back is against the armrest, and holds his hand out, waiting for me to hand over the polish.
“Are you sure?”
He just raises an eyebrow at me, that cocky smile still on his lips, and I hand the polish to him.
“It’s not as easy as it looks, you know.”
“I’m quite sure I can do it.”
“I thought you were watching football.”
“I’m listening.”
I shake my head and settle back against the soft cushion, arms folded over my belly and watch his dark blonde head bow over my foot, his big hand holding the polish wand over the toes, and methodically paints each toe.
Miraculously, he doesn’t end up painting my skin.
“You shouldn’t be doing your own toes,” he murmurs under his breath.
“Excuse me?”
“You shouldn’t be doing your own toes,” he repeats, raising his head to look me in the eye.
“Why ever not?”
“Because, you should pamper yourself and go get pedicures.”
“Oh please,” I wave him off. “Who has time for that?”
“You only work three days a week, babe.”
“Well, now that I’m not sending every last dime to Sylvia any more, I’ll splurge,” I comment with a smile but the look he sends me is feral.
“That’s why you do your own feet? Why you barely have basic cable? How much have you been sending her?”
“None of your business.” I try to pull my foot away, but he grabs my ankle and holds strong.
“It is my business.”
“No, it’s not.”
“Megan, don’t fight me on this. I’m in love with you, damn it, and you’re sending money you need to that piece of shit of a human being. Now tell me, how much do you send her?”
“Anything that’s left over.”
“What does that mean?”
“What I said. I pay the bills, buy groceries and keep a little for incidentals and send her the rest.”
“Fuck, Meg.”
“I already said I’m done. I meant it.”
“Damn straight you meant it.”
“Why does this bother you so much? It’s not your money.”
“It’s not about the money. It’s about that woman taking advantage of you, and you letting her, and it kills me that you’ve been going without when you didn’t need to be.”
“I don’t go without.” I shake my head and push my hands though my hair in frustration. “Trust me, Will, I know what it is to go without. This isn’t it. I have everything I need. I’m fine.”
“You’re fine.”
“I’m fine,” I repeat. “I don’t need to be rich. I’m happy with what I have. You do know that I’m not with you because of your fat contract, right?”
He laughs like I’ve just said the most absurd thing he’s ever heard. “Trust me, babe, you’re no gold digger.”
“Well, there you go then.” I shrug.
He goes back to my toes, and we sit in silence, the game playing in the background, as he carefully paints each little toe. When he’s done with the second coat, he replaces the wand, tightens the bottle and then blows on my toes to help them dry.
It tickles.
“Your toes are so small,” he comments softly.
I sigh as I just watch him pamper my feet. This big, strong man, gently painting my tiny toes. It’s adorable.
And sweet.
He loves me.
“Thanks for painting them,” I murmur.
“You’re welcome,” he replies with a grin. “It wasn’t so hard.”
“Maybe I’ll let you paint them from now on,” I wink at him and he chuckles, sending shivers through me. I love his voice. I love making him laugh.
“I think I’ll just send you to the spa with Jules and Nat.”
“You’re not sending me…”
“Shut up, Megan.” He pulls me into his lap, careful not to mess up my fresh paint, and kisses me hard, until we’re both breathless. “Just let me spoil you a little, okay?”
“You do spoil me.”
He brushes a strand of hair off my cheek and kisses my forehead, then settles me against him so we can finish the football game.
“Get used to it,” he whispers.
*
“How was vacation?” Jill asks as she leans on the counter next to me where I’m charting and passes me a Starbucks.
“Fantastic,” I reply with a smug grin.
“I hate you. You know that, right?”
“You love me.” I laugh at her and give her a hug. “It’s good to be back. Thanks for this.”
It’s Tuesday, and we are working the morning shift.
“How’s your man?”
“Good. Working.” I shrug and dive back into my chart.