The two had fallen into companionable silence, she watching him and he watching the table.
"You have really small feet." He blurted out, looking down at the thing still in his hand.
"Mmhm." She giggled. "I bet you have big-" she batted her eye lashes once, wanting to see his reaction. "Feet."
He gulped, then nodded.
"They're pretty big." He looked down, feeling his thumb press into the sole of her foot rubbing small circles. It was doing it of its own accord. He was sure of it.
She closed her eyes as he hit a hard tendon, her head tilting back against the booth.
"I bet you have a firm-" she heaved a breath of pleasure as he massaged at the sore foot.
She felt him stop breathing. This was fun.
"-understanding."
"Huh?" He asked, having taken the moment with her eyes closed to stare longingly at her chest.
"You know. Firm understanding. 'Cause you've got big feet." She opened her eyes with a giggle.
"Right." He said with a smile. An actual toothy smile.
She thought he had nice teeth.
"You know what they say about cold feet, don't you?" He asked softly as he felt her other (cold) foot wedge its way under his thigh.
God. He was drunk.
Was he flirting? Of course not! He didn't know how to flirt! He'd never flirted in his twenty four years of his god damned forsaken life.
"Unhuh." She shook her head, face clearly confused.
"Warm hands warm...'' he pressed his thumb a bit harder into the tight muscle.
"Heart." He looked up, blue eyes mischievous.
She laughed out loud at his cheekiness, voice falling into a smattering of giggles, nose all scrunched up.
He thought she looked beautiful when she laughed.
He smiled, quite pleased that he'd made her laugh.
"I have been told I have a very warm heart." She nodded.
"I bet you have."