The first time she kisses Dick, her toes tingle. Not her stomach, or her heart, or any other normal body part, but her toes. She's pressed against a wall, one arm around his neck, the other hanging. He's a soft kisser; nothing like the rough way he seems to live the rest of his life. He nips and bites and soothes all at once, moving her this way and that, building her up into something she didn't even know existed. A pressure starts in her toes and spreads everywhere. Even after the kiss ends, and he's staring down at her, blue eyes deeper than she remembers, her toes still tingle. They tingle as she shoves him away and bolts down the hall, running as fast as she can.
The tingling doesn't stop. She tries massages, heat, pressure, pain. When nothing works, she starts running, imagining blood flowing smoothly down, the tingles leaving. Flip-flops for sneakers, then flats, then heels. Nothing seems to work. Parker thinks it's funny; her mother wants her to get it checked out. When she sees the podiatrist, she's amused. Who really needs a foot doctor? The doctor asks her what the pain is like. She tries to explain that it's not a pain, not an itch, not her foot falling asleep. It's like her toes are aware of something the rest of her body can't catch up with. The doctor looks perplexed, and asks her when it started. She laughs, and says it started when she kissed a boy. The doctor looks annoyed now.
Her mother is angry she didn't take the podiatrist seriously, and she can't help but laugh. A foot doctor to cure her love-sick foot? Maybe her body had an allergic reaction to Dick. Maybe it's warning her. Maybe Casablancas men are the surest route to tragedy. She thinks this epiphany should make it go away, but it doesn't. The tingle builds up to a crescendo at night, when all she has are her thoughts. Memories of Beaver, ( she can't think of him as Cassidy now, he's an extension of Dick, instead of the other way around), of broken promises and tears. She thinks of Dick, how he's changed, and grown. She wonders if she has. He's been there, in the last year, when everyone else began falling apart. He's not the ass-hole who says hurtful things; he's the ass-hole who makes her laugh. But it doesn't matter. She can't date again, and especially not Dick.
Parker wants her to go out, to dance. She tries to use the tingle as an excuse, but the words sound weak falling from her mouth. As they stand on the make-shift dance floor of yet another pointless frat party, the tingle almost disappears under the beat of the bass on the floor. She lets Parker lead her around, twirling and dancing. She smiles politely at the boys, ducking out of their grasp. She wished she'd worn a different shirt, something to keep them away. But she's with Parker, and their moving towards her like bees to honey. At least Parker's recovered, moved on from her tragedy. She can't, she realizes, and suddenly the tingle is back, pushing through the beat on the floor, overwhelming her. She tries tapping, and jumping and spinning. Everyone thinks that she's drunk; she wonders if she is, or maybe that she's gone crazy.
When she sees him across the room, at another party a month later, her foot pulsates with tension, and she gives in. She moves through the crowd, her eyes always on him. His mouth is open, and he's laughing looking at another girl. She shoves him against a wall, and she can see the surprise in his blue orbs. He's beginning to look angry, and his lips are already forming nasty words to hurl at her. She takes the advantage and kisses him, thrusting her tongue in his mouth. The tingling intensifies, and if her toes could be screaming, they would be. He's pulling back, so she tightens her grip pulling his head down to her. She feels the moment when his mouth relaxes, and then he's pulling and pushing, biting and kissing. She's caught up in memorizing his lips, and his back. He spins her, pinning her against the wall, and his kisses are softer, the nips soothed now, the tongue exploration instead of invasion. She knows she should run; she's had her fill, she's gotten what she wants. But she doesn't. She lets him cup his hand under her ass, and with a leap, her legs are wrapped around his waist. Hoots and hollers can be heard faintly in the background as he walks them somewhere, but she doesn't care. His ferocity is back, his softness is back, and she holds on as tight as she can.
When she wakes up, body intertwined with his, face pressed into his chest, she feels his toes, curled into hers. There's a tingling all through her, flitting from place to place, settling in random spots. He nudges her lightly, and mumbles something incomprehensible into her ear. She flexes her toes experimentally, and the tingling is gone. He's mumbling again, and she lies down, letting him roll his body on top of her. Their toes are still twined when he enters her again, and she can't help but think maybe her toes were trying to tell her something.