“Sorry,” they both mutter.
I chuckle. “What can I say? There isn’t enough wine in the world to make that topic interesting.”
Michael grins. “Well, there’s always the new season of The Walk—”
“No.” Ian glares at him. “Absolutely not.”
Snickering, I pat his arm. “What’s wrong, baby?”
“Besides the fact that it’s a stupid show that needs to be erased from human history?”
I shrug. “Well, yeah.”
Ian rolls his eyes. “Wine?”
“Absolutely,” I say.
“Definitely,” Michael replies. “I need a drink after listening to such heresy.”
Ian mutters something and starts pouring the wine. After he’s distributed the glasses, he says, “To Friday getting here as soon as fucking possible.”
“Cheers.”
We clink glasses and then settle back against our respective sides of the tub.
Ian starts to take a drink but winces and lowers his glass. “Dammit,” he mutters, reaching under the water and grimacing.
“What’s wrong?” I ask.
“Feet.”
“Still?”
“Yeah. It was a long week, and they will not let me forget it.”
“Huh?” Michael cocks his head. “What’s wrong with your feet?”
Ian scowls. “They’ve apparently decided that standing in front of my classes a few hours a day is bullshit.” He brings one foot up and rests it on his other knee so he can rub it gingerly. “The last few months, they’re sore as fuck by Friday, and lately, they’re still aching by Sunday.”
“Why don’t you sit while you lecture?” I ask. “I know it’s not your favorite way to do things, but it might be easier on your feet.”
“Yeah, maybe. I might have to for a little while, just until this stops.”
Michael clears his throat. “I could, um…” His eyes dart toward me. “If it’s not too weird, I give decent foot massages.”
Ian’s eyebrows shoot up. I damn near drop my glass in the water.
Michael recoils a little. “Or not. Like I said, if it’s too weird, I—”
“No, no. Not at all.” Ian sets his glass on the edge. “I was just surprised. You haven’t been big on touching people for a while.”
I hold my breath.
Michael chews his lip, and some color blooms in his cheeks. “Well, maybe this can help both of us, then.”
Ian glances at me. I shrug. To Michael, he says, “If you’re sure, yeah, that’d be great.”
They both put their glasses aside. Ian leans back, spreading his arms across the edge. Michael scoots to—I assume—the edge of the bench. With the jets running, it’s hard to see much below the surface.
He reaches down but hesitates. “Are you ticklish?”
“Not really.”
“Okay. Some people are, and I’d just as soon not get kicked by accident.”
“No kicking. Promise.”
Michael chuckles and then reaches down again.
Ian closes his eyes. He slowly releases his breath. “Wow.”
“This okay?”
“Yeah. That’s more than okay.”
I watch them over my wineglass. The tub’s bubbling surface obscures what’s going on below, but I can put the pieces together. I’ve had a foot massage from Michael before, and I’ve given them to Ian. I know what Michael’s hands feel like, sliding over skin and gently working tension out of muscles and tendons. I know how Ian’s toes curl, how his other foot won’t be able to hold still while the first is getting attention.
Eyes still closed, Ian brings his arm forward and wraps it around my shoulders instead of resting it across the tub’s edge. His skin is cool but warms up quickly, and his fingers absently knead my arm, as if mimicking what Michael is doing.
After a while, Michael says, “Other foot?”
They both shift, Michael sitting up for a sip of wine while Ian lowers one foot and brings up the other. When Michael starts again, Ian lets his head fall back.
“Why the hell are you not a massage therapist?” The words are barely more than a groan. But then Ian’s eyes snap open, and he tenses, as if he realizes what he’s said. “Um, I mean—”
Michael laughs. “You know I don’t work with people.”
Ian glances at me, and we both relax.
“Fine. Fine,” Ian says. “Get your license for animals.” He squirms, squeezing his eyes shut. “As long as you’ll work on us.”
“Yeah, we’ll see.” Michael glances at me and shrugs, smiling sheepishly. “Maybe I missed my calling.”
“You so did.”
I chuckle, but Michael’s words throw me for a loop. We all know he did miss his calling, thanks to he-who-doesn’t-need-to-be-named, but the fact that he can make an offhand comment about it is…good? And he didn’t bat an eye at Ian’s comment about being a massage therapist despite the fact that massaging means touching. Which he’s doing right now. Without any issue that I can see.