After A Gig

Part VIII

I jump off the hotel room bed and smooth out the sheets a little bit, run to the door and slip my feet in my shoes. I adjust my hair and look in the mirror, checking whether I look okay. My makeup is still on and hair looks clean. Good. I'm ready to open the door.

All the guys are behind the door, Matt right in front of me. And damn. He has changed into a more sophisticated attire for the supper. The black fitted trousers look amazing on him. He has also combed down his hair and messed it up a little. Or I don't know whether it just effortlessly looks so perfect. You're perfect.

I look at myself again in the mirror. My outfit looks too casual for a fine restaurant. A sheer white shirt and denim shorts.

"Are you ready?" Matt asks.

I hesitate.

"Ehh... Is my outfit okay?" I ask embarrassed looking up to them.

"Oh, don't worry! It's totally fine. We're just going to grab some food, that's all after all" Matt convinces me.
I would have liked a proper dress. A nice cocktail dress. But this is what I have right now and I will have to deal with it.

The restaurant is dim. There are thick, wooden tables, brown leather sofas surrounding them. The whole restaurant reminds me of an old, cozy pub. Wood, leather, massive furniture, rough textures. I sit right next to Matt on the sofa. The guys order steaks. I want mine medium. I dig into my steak hungrily. Matt orders some red wine and offers it to me too.
"I can have a glass."

"I'd like to make a toast to our beautiful companion, Felicity. It's nice to have you here with us" Matt raises his glass, followed by everyone else on the table. I blush lightly. I must be looking very shy, even though I am quite comfortable. The restaurant is very nice and the company... Well, you know.
"Thank you, I'm truly grateful to be here, otherwise I'd probably still be at the festival, sitting in a pool of mud or something" I chuckle making the guys laugh too.

The topic changes from politics to football to family stuff to food to football. I mostly listen to them while destroying the dish. Sometimes when I have something sensible to say I open my mouth. Then I feel something in my feet.

Someone just touched my foot under the table with his foot.

I start to think it was just an accident but then I feel it again. And I have an idea who it might me. Is Matt playing footsie with me?

Carefully, I slightly brush my foot to Matt's leg, in case it wasn't him or it was just an accident. I hope it was him. And I hope it wasn't an accident. It's like a gentle question "was it you?".

I feel another poke. Yep. It is him. And he is playing footsie.

I decide to tease him a bit and I don't answer to his confirmation.

Five seconds. Another poke. I don't answer.

Three seconds. Are-you-there kind of a more gentle poke.

I give him a little hint that I am here by slightly flickering the leg of his trousers.
I probably have the worst poker face in these kind of situations. I'm sure Matt can see my amused grin from the corner of his eye.

Radio silence.

It seems like he's waiting for me to make the next move. It's my turn to ask if he's here. It's exciting, very arousing. We're having our own secret little conversation under the table, which no other person is aware of. It would be even better if he sat across the table so we could have eye game too.

So, I bravely touch his foot and I get an instant reply.

Two pokes. I get them back.

Three pokes. I sip my wine and almost spit it out. Matt had tickled my bare calf, almost my knee pit, which to me is highly tickly.
Trying not to spit the wine and start laughing I swallow awkwardly and get wine in my lungs. I cough loudly and attract the guys' attention. I can see Matt's amusement.