I grinned.
“I bartended and kicked drunks out of clubs in my college days.” He set the plates down, and the drinks, then excused himself to change into a pair of sweats.
I eyed the food. It looked incredible. A small bowl of tomato soup on each plate, his mama’s baked ziti next to it, somechicken, and bread. Freaking perfect on a cold night like this one.
“Did you go to college?” he asked from his bedroom.
“Yes, sir. I went to NYU,” I responded.
He let out a whistle. “What did you major in?”
“Business. And I almost flunked out, it was so boring. But I already knew I wanted to start my own business, so…”
I wasn’t sure I’d retained a quarter of everything I’d learned back then, but I’d gotten by, and I’d like to think I was doing fairly well today.
“It must’ve worked,” he noted as he returned. I got stuck on watching him tie the drawstrings of his sweatpants. “You’re practically a superstar.”
“If you exaggerate any more, you’re going to pull a muscle,” I told him.
He laughed and sat down next to me, just a foot or two away. “Are you gonna choose a show or something? Otherwise, I’m putting on The Weather Channel.”
I handed him the remote. “Have at it, weather guy.”
“Thanks, foot fetishist.”
I mock-scowled at him, to which he grinned and shoveled ziti into his mouth.
“I don’t have a foot fetish,” I stated.
I grabbed my soup first, hoping it could trigger my appetite. I needed to eat, and everything looked delicious, but I wasn’t super hungry.
“I’m sure you don’t,” he responded with a shrug. “I kinda do.”
I side-eyed him. Was he serious?
He shot me a look, as if he wanted to roll his eyes. “It’s not sexual.”
“Fetishes are usually sexual. Otherwise, it’s a hobby.”
“Fine. I have a foot hobby.”
I laughed. “Okay, it still sounds sexual.”
He chuckled under his breath and shook his head. “Fuckin’ brat. I’d imagine it’s not unlike a massage therapist’s interest in giving massages. I like to give foot rubs.” He shrugged. “I’m not gonna lie and say it doesn’t matter who I’m doing it for. I’d prefer a beautiful woman over my old man, but I’ve sure as shit done it to him more. He’ll come down to the gym sometimes when his arthritis acts up.”
I should have considered that. Ethan had studied all this in college, and he was big on rehabilitation and recovery. It made perfect sense that he knew his way around massages too.
“I keep reminding him we have a massage therapist on staff, but he says he wouldn’t put an innocent stranger through that trauma.”
I cracked up and almost choked on my tomato soup. “Good news, it stopped sounding sexual.”
That made him laugh too. “Well, thank fuck.”
I grinned to myself and let the food steal my attention for a bit. Ethan was serious about The Weather Channel, and I found it soothing. My daddy used to keep that on around the clock, almost.
“How’s the food?”
“So good.” I took another spoonful. “Unfortunately, my appetite isn’t great. But my energy levels feel low.”
