"You must be starting to like me or something," Tyler said, taking a seat next to June on the couch. He reached into the bag between his feet, pulled out two beers, and popped the cap off one. He held it out to her. "Either that, or you just use me for my six-packs."
June was curled against the armrest in a hoodie and a messy bun, a blanket pulled tight over her. She’d spent the time waiting for him watching a dubbed South Korean reality dating show. She didn't watch these shows because she craved the connection they were selling; she watched them because they were hilarious.
It was a toss-up as to what the funniest part actually was. Half the time it was the English dubbing, delivered in an unbothered monotone that completely ignored the hysterical sobbing on-screen. The rest of the time, it was the raw absurdity of the premise—the idea of someone signing a contract to be locked in a house with strangers and a camera crew, only to look dead into a lens and say, "I came here because I’m tired of looking for love in the wrong places" with zero irony. Whoever cast the show was a genius.
June took the beer and gave a coy smile. "Just don't quit your job managing the liquor store and you'll never have to find out."
Tyler chuckled, twisting the cap off his own beer and dropping it into the plastic bag. "Damn." He took a sip, then rested the bottle in his lap. "You sure know how to hit a guy where it hurts."
June watched him. The television threw a frantic series of blue and white flashes across his face, followed by a beat of darkness as the show faded to commercial, before blasting him in the stark, fluorescent white of an Arby’s ad. She stretched one leg out from beneath her blanket, resting her bare foot against the denim of his knee.
"Hurt, sure," she said, slowly tracing her toes back and forth along the heavy seam of his jeans. "But I also know how to make it better."
Tyler’s cheeks were always at least a little pink—a trait that would have made her swoon a few years ago. Now, at her touch, they flushed a shade deeper. She watched his throat work as he swallowed, his hand blindly finding his beer so he could take a long pull without breaking eye contact. Setting the bottle back down, his hand wrapped around her foot, his thumb pressing into a slow, rhythmic massage.
“You’re such a tease," he said. His gaze dropped, tracking from her ankle up her calf until the heavy knit of her blanket cut him off. When he looked back up, he was wearing an incredibly sweet, profoundly caring smile.
She didn’t much care for it.
"How was work to—"
"It was fine," June interrupted. She set her beer on the end table and shifted her weight, turning onto her back. She extended her other leg from the cocoon of blankets, resting her second foot in his lap. She dropped her voice into a practiced, seductive rasp. "I'd rather talk about your day. Was it stressful as usual?"
He took the bait. Tyler was a nice man—at least from what she’d gathered over the past couple of months—but he was still a man. And men loved nothing more than complaining about how hard they worked.
He let his head fall against the cushion with a heavy exhale. The pressure of his thumbs dug a fraction deeper into her soles. "Where do I even begin?" He rolled his head to the side, checking to make sure he had her undivided attention. Satisfied, he stared back at the popcorn ceiling. "I left Wanda with inventory last weekend. She's been going on about taking more responsibility so she can make supervisor, and for some reason, I didn’t double-check the stock. She’s always been dependable, you know?" He shrugged, his grip on her foot tightening. "I trusted her to get it right. I know it makes me look like a shit manager. Hell, maybe I am—"
“That's not true," June interrupted. He shifted his hands to massage her other foot, leaving the first one free. She took the opportunity to slide her bare toes slowly back and forth across his upper thigh.
"Thanks," he said. "But it feels true. She almost lost her job over it today." He grabbed his beer, took a swallow, and immediately returned his hand to her foot. His grip was almost a vice now. "You remember me telling you about Ted, right?"
No, June thought.
"Of course," she said. Her toes crept an inch closer to his crotch.
“Well, he just so happened to drop by today. 'Just checking in on ya,' he said. Ten seconds later, he realizes two of our standing coolers are practically empty. His eyes looked like they were going to pop right out of his damned head..." He trailed off.
"Keep going," June murmured. Her foot finally found its target, brushing deliberately against the growing heat through his denim. "What'd he say next?"
Tyler's cheeks darkened another shade. He kept his eyes fixed on the ceiling, his thumbs working into her skin in deep, slow strokes. June watched the sharp bob of his Adam’s apple as he swallowed hard, catching her own lower lip between her teeth. The cool air of the apartment hit the wetness on her lip, sending a sharp, wanting shiver down her spine. She pressed her foot firmer against him, rubbing with slow intent.
He cleared his throat, his voice suddenly thick. “He... uh... he looked down at his watch. I guess to make sure he hadn’t lost his mind and it was nine p.m. instead of a.m. But when he saw it was morning, he threw a fit. Demanded to know who did inventory... why I didn’t catch it before putting the order... out. Oh my God, June.”
He dropped both hands from her foot as if he'd been burned and snatched up his beer. “Holy shit.” He took a long, desperate pull from the bottle. When he moved to rest it back between his legs, his gaze dropped. June had curved both her feet into his lap, leaving just enough space for the glass. She watched the slight parting of his lips as he slowly, deliberately lowered the bottle back into the cradle of her soles. She flexed her feet, wrapping them around the condensation on the cold glass, and began to slide them up the length of the bottle. Up. Down.
He looked at her, his face flushed to a deep maroon. He raised his eyebrows, offering a silent, questioning tilt of his head. She held his gaze and gave a single nod.
Tyler tipped the bottle back, draining the rest of his beer before letting it drop to the seat between them. He lifted his hips just enough to shove his jeans and boxers down to his ankles in one hurried motion, then sunk heavily back into the couch.
This time when June’s feet cradled his lap, they found something warm instead of cold. Something that got thicker near the top instead of thinner. Something just as hard.
"Finish the story," she said, her voice dropping to a near whisper, her feet working the length of him. “You know how I feel about cliffhangers.”
He let his head fall back against the cushions again, but this time his eyes slid shut.
“C’mon, Tyler,” she urged, her movement coming to a halt. “Don’t leave me on the edge.”
He nodded, his breathing picking up. "Okay, okay." He squeezed his eyes shut tighter. "So... Ted's pissed, right? He started on about availability and how... it's my job to make sure the customers can find exactly what they want. And that all it takes to lose a... customer—Fuck, June..."
“Shh.” She reset her grip and picked up the pace. “Finish.”
He rolled his head to look at her, a fierce intensity burning behind the green of his eyes. "New customers are much less likely to come back a second... time... if they weren't able to find what they wanted the first time around."
"Makes sense."
"Yeah," he said quickly, his gaze locked onto hers. "He then went on to say that the same is true for regulars, that all customers take on a 'what have you done for me lately' kind of mindset." He swallowed hard, the words coming in fast, short bursts. "I told him... that I understood... and that I was just trying to let Wanda get some... Fuck... some experience..."
"And?"
He shut his eyes again, his breathing matching the jagged cadence of his words. Another erratic slew of blues, whites, and reds flashed across his face from the television.
"And?" she repeated. "What happened next?"
He reached out, his hand clamping down on her thigh. His eyes opened briefly—the green darkened by adrenaline—just long enough to gasp, "I'm going to—" before snapping shut again as his jaw dropped open.
His hips thrashed instinctively into her rhythm and she felt a sudden warmth spill onto her toes and ankles, a stray rope even making it as far as her shin. She slowed her movements but didn’t stop just yet, her toes gliding over the slickness until his breathing leveled out with the volume of the television.
Desire ached between her legs as she lay there watching him come down. She’d need to take care of herself once he was gone.
Soon they were still, and she could feel the warmth on her feet starting to run cold. After a few more moments, June sat up. She looked at the mess, and then at Tyler. His face was drenched, his chest heaving. Staring at him, she was reminded of a swimmer who’d just touched the wall of the pool after the final lap. A low chuckle escaped her.
"Fuck you," he wheezed out, breathless but smiling.
She nodded toward her feet, giving her toes a slight wiggle. "If you can't handle those, then how do you expect to handle—"
"Fuck you again," he interrupted, shooting her a playful glare. He wiped the sweat from his forehead. "Is there a towel somewhere?"
She bit her bottom lip and gave her head a slow shake. She lifted a foot off his lap and brought it near his face.
“You can’t be—”
“I can.” She shrugged one shoulder, looking at him longingly. “You still need to finish your story, after all.”