I leaned away from Hector as Ralphie said, “Everyone wants a foot massage.”
“Well, I don’t,” I returned.
“You do,” Ralphie shot back.
“I don’t,” I snapped.
Ralphie’s eyes swung from Veronica to me. “You do.”
Ralphie and I went into a stare down, a stare down I was going to win if it killed me.
I could snuggle up to Buddy on one side of the couch while Ralphie massaged my feet on the other side. I was never, no way, going to lean into Hector (which was my only choice) while Ralphie massaged my feet.
Never.
The stare down lasted until (seriously, no kidding), Hector’s arm circled my shoulders, he put pressure there, my elbow buckled and he pulled me into his side.
I tilted my head back. “Now, what are you doing?” I asked.
Hector looked down at me and said, “Relax.”
“I’m uncomfortable,” I replied.
He smiled at me. I stared at him, not a stare down stare, a fascinated one.
I thought about it for a nanosecond and then I gave in. I’d look like a fool if I kept fighting.
I could deal with this; I’d dealt with worse, loads worse. After Hector left, I’d give Ralphie a piece of my mind so he understood exactly where I stood on the issue of Hector.
I glanced over at Buddy to see if I might have some support but Buddy was watching Hector. Finally his eyes slid to me, he gave me a wink then he went back to Veronica.
No support from Buddy then.
I sat there, Ralphie massaging my feet, and I glared at the TV screen, willing Veronica to take me away.
After awhile, Hector’s fingers started to make lazy circles on my shoulder.
That felt nice, sweet and lovely.
Darn it all to hell.
Fine. I could deal with that too.
I focused on Veronica. Veronica and me, we could make it through, we always got away unscathed or, well… if not unscathed, at least still breathing.
I settled into Hector and Ralphie kept massaging my feet.
Veronica Mars, plucky, high school girl detective only had three seasons.
It might last awhile but, eventually, it would be over.
*
I opened my eyes and saw nothing but flannel shirt.
My senses came to and I realized that I didn’t hear Veronica’s smart mouth, I heard a sports commentator talking about a game. I didn’t feel my feet in Ralphie’s lap; I didn’t feel Ralphie at all. Someone had switched off all the lights in the room except one which meant that only a soft glow came from a beautiful Restoration Hardware floor lamp across the room.
I was no longer curled into Hector’s side and Hector was no longer sitting on the couch.
Instead, my torso was mostly pressed into Hector, my head was resting on his chest, my arm was wrapped around his middle and Hector was reclined back on a diagonal, his feet up on the coffee table.
Oh my.
I tilted my head to look at the armchair. Buddy was gone.
I slid my cheek against Hector’s soft shirt and looked up at him.
He was lounging, asleep, head resting on the back of the couch, arm around me curled at my waist, hand resting gently on my hip.
My sleepy mind whirled and I realized I knew how it happened.
No one could get a foot massage from Ralphie (he gave good foot massages) while leaning into Hector’s immense, comforting heat and not fall asleep. Even when Veronica Mars was solving the mystery of the lost proceeds for the Senior Trip that were stolen from the school’s Winter Carnival.
No one.
Now, how did I get out of this predicament?
I decided I would scoot away and leave him there. He looked comfortable enough. I’d escape upstairs and sleep in the next morning, sleep in until I knew for certain sure Hector was gone.
Though, before I left, I’d put a blanket over him, just in case he got cold.
I took my eyes from him and cautiously edged away, lifting myself up and pulling my arm from around his abs.
His hand went from relaxed and resting, to tight and firm on my hip.
I angled my head to look at him and found, in my movements, I’d brought my face closer to his.
I noticed immediately he wasn’t asleep anymore. His eyes were open and he was looking at me.
Darn.
Before I could think (and thus stop myself from speaking), I whispered, “I didn’t mean to wake you.”
Then I watched close up as his face warmed. It warmed in a way I’d seen it warm before. The way it warmed that night in my father’s study when I was sliding my hands up his chest and around his neck right before I asked him to kiss me.
I stopped breathing.
He kept looking at me and I felt a weird sensation that I knew was complete and utter fear mingled bizarrely with the barest hint of anticipation.
His gaze dropped to my mouth.
My mouth went dry.
The anticipation fled and the fear took hold and I started to panic.
I was about to push away, run away, get out of there as fast as my French pedicure toe-nailed feet would take me when his fingers at my hip flexed and I fought through the fear and focused on him again.
“I need to get home,” he said softly.