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Then he says something dry, or irritated, or unexpectedly gentle, and the lie thins.

I’m here because I want to be here. That’s the simplest and worst version of it.

HotnReddy: You still there or did the heart take you out?

Bentley84: I survived.

HotnReddy: Strong of you.

Bentley84: I try.

On-screen, Clint picks up the bottle of lotion and gives it a look of such theatrical resentment that I smile before he even says anything.

“All right,” he tells the room. “Since apparently this is a very serious foot-based crowd tonight.”

The chat jumps.

FootGuyBob: please man

MouthyMike: lol

BigDog469: not feet again

FootGuyBob: pretty feet make pretty boys

Clint points at the camera. “That sentence is going to haunt me, Bob.”

I type privately.

Bentley84: How many times did he tip for lotion last night?

Clint’s eyes flick to the message. His grin goes crooked.

HotnReddy: Was squishing in my shoes all day.

I laugh again. This time Baxter lifts his head, offended by joy after night-night.

“Sorry,” I tell him.

He huffs and drops his head back down against my leg.

Clint squeezes lotion into his palm. He raises one foot onto the chair and rubs the lotion over his arch with exaggerated seriousness, like a craftsman being filmed for a documentary.

“Y’all understand this is weird, right?” he says to the room.

FootGuyBob tips.

Clint looks at the screen. “Apparently not too weird.”

Bentley84: You’re very professional.

I wait while he types dry-handed.

HotnReddy: im a provider

Bentley84: Clearly.

HotnReddy: dont judge. some of us dont have fancy car money.