Baby Steps

"Cara, listen."

The young psychology major bit into her sandwich. "I'm listening," she wiped her mouth with a napkin as she looked straight at you. Under your chin was your hand. In that hand, you held a ring. The gleam of the ring bounced off the pretty brunette's eyes. She turned back to her $9 meal.

"Sorry," Cara swallowed. Her hand wrapped around her mocha. "I'm taken. And, you're not really my type."

"It's not that kind of ring." After looking around, you slipped the finger-hugger down your fourth digit, by the little miss pinkie. "It's magic."

A look that could have only been described as unamused met yours. "Nerd."

"I can prove it."

You scanned the restaurant again. There were some fair faces around, that was for sure. More than some. But in spite of everything, you still, ironically enough, felt a little... crowd-shy. And not to mention, what if it just slept on you all of a sudden? If it needed a quick shake, one that would be too late once you were tackled down the sticky floor by some jockhead dad you wouldn't have otherwise contested with a 69-foot pole?

When your gaze set anchor back in your humble booth, Cara's expression was drying in expectation.

"So?"

"Actually..." You stopped. How about Cara? Looking her over, you couldn't deny her super cute looks. Her straight hair flowing just down her chin, a hair-band tucked across the front of her crown.

Screw it, you thought.

You asked her.

Cara rose one eyebrow.

That was when, lips parted, tongue deliberately flitting past two sets of teeth, you heard it. "Sure." The young woman sat back, arms crossed. A calm sparkle shone through her eyes as you looked at her empty plate, then back up. "I'll humor you today."

You gave in to a nervous smirk. It was a tendency of hers, to be smug sometimes. She was sorta smart, after all.

"Okay, cool." One breath in, you leaned forward. "Basically, this ring allows me to manipulate the world, I think."

Well, that was a wall of a stare.

Hastily continuing, "What I mean is, is that it makes anything I request or want of people, like... reciprocated! Maybe not for the same reasons, but just, you know, in a way that somehow lines up perfectly enough to justify it, even if it was way too stupid to justify in the first place! Because, well, it was my wish, not theirs! But with the ring it changes all that! Like a live retcon. I don't know how it works, okay! It just does. And it's not just that, it actually changes reality, I think, just to accommodate me. In some cases I don't even know if I need to say anything! Like it just 'infers' it or something! But I'm still not sure about that. I..." You sighed. "You think I'm crazy, don't you."

Cara's reply came with brutally minimal hesitation. "Yes."

Your heartbeat raced as you decided what to do next. "So, let's say I were to ask you something right now, and test it on you. Would that be..."

A tame smirk appeared on Cara's face again as she shifted in her seat, sitting up slightly. "Hm, why not," she said with what sounded like genuine, partial intrigue. "Give it a go. I'd actually like to see what you think I'd fall for, at the least."

Gripping your wrist, you looked at the young woman looking at you, clueless about what she was getting herself into. Your glass of water remained untouched since 15 minutes ago.

The thing you touched on, but you weren't sure Cara fully picked up, was the fact that you didn't need to ask a question; just by vocalizing something you wanted and having it channeled through the ring, if a subject of interest was around and fit to provide it, it would be a divine injunction of crossed paths. And you'd somehow walk away with what you wanted, while also making them feel like you did them a favor. And not just them.

Everyone would think the same thing, no matter who, it seemed.

Whoops, forgot to tell her that part, didn't I? You scratched your chin. Well, no use moping over spilled milk. It's not like it'll matter anyway.

Cara watched with slight surprise as you broke into a stretch. Yawning, you pulled up your sneakers, and set them by her legs.

"Sorry, Cara," you said, concentrating on the ring, "I know it's a bit of a personal bubble you got there, but I really need a place to rest them. Walking all day turns the soles into clay and all, haha."

Cara spoke as your heart raced once more, "You know that I would kill you if you got my jeans dirty with those sneakers, right?"

Before you could stammer out a response, she went on, this time with notably less... malice.

"But," the young woman said as casually as the morning breeze. Holy shit, here it comes, you perked at her following words. "My boyfriend's birthday is coming up and I need gift ideas. I was actually going to ask you if I could snap a pic of these earlier. Nikes, right?"

You replied yes, watching Cara's face as she pulled out her phone and switched to camera mode before pointing it at your average, ordinary pair of shoes.

snap!

A lump jammed your throat as the electronic shutters faded to the background. That was it. It was the ring. It had just worked its effects on Cara and she didn't seem to be aware of it. Furtively, you rubbed a temple. This was bringing deja vu vibes, from the first time you accidentally 'discovered' your newfound luck.

After studying her for a few seconds, you noticed no cloud of doubt in her eyes as she finished up her impromptu photography session.

Cara was just like everyone else, as far as everyone else meant to Cara. She was cute, had good work ethic, spoke straight. Liked Bengals, listened to acid jazz, and always wanted to visit Cape Cod.

And now, right across the table from you amid the quiet morning buzz, she was at your whim. A surreal bridge formed inside you. You knew it was real before, but Cara was a friend you'd known for years. That she was just as susceptible to something so foreign really hit it home.

You tugged at your collar.

Could you take this further? Should you?

"Actually, Cara," you continued, almost stumbling over your own words. "To tell the truth it feels incredibly sore down there. I was wondering if, you know, for 'ol friendship's sake -- and I know how out of the blue this is, sorry -- but I was just wondering it would be cool if you could, like... give me a foot rub or something."

You held your breath as you let the insanely self-serious request leave your mouth, and saunter across the table into your eating mate's ears, and sink in like seeds on the pavement when finally...

Looking back up, you saw Cara's eyes trained on you. But not with disgust; in fact, you would've been prone to believe you had just announced a promotion at the sudden earnestness in display. "John!" she said, breaking into a smile. "How fitting you would ask. I was tinkering with a few ideas and yesterday I was just thinking of how a foot massage would be a nice birthday gift for Jacob if a purchase didn't cut it. But it's not like you could just ask anyone to practice on. So..." She gestured to your sneakers, and you nodded. After clapping both hands, she rubbed them together and began removing your shoes, and then your socks. "Talk about a great opportunity!" she held onto the back of your right foot. "I'll admit, maybe this breakfast wasn't so bad an idea after all." She let only a sliver of a smile show her jest as she looked down.

If this wasn't evidence, nothing was. As reasonable as it sounded -- no, no it wasn't reasonable. Cara was never the doting type. Even if she didn't have a gift at hand, this wouldn't be something she'd resort to, no matter who it was. Would she? At least not to this extent, you thought.

It was jarring, because it kind of made sense... but that was only because of how small of a deal it seemed to be. In reality, the fact is there's no way something like that could have been a coincidence -- even without the ring, that would've been a lie at best!

Yet here she was; hands braced to soothe.

You could only watch halfway between disbelief and arousal as the levelheaded and stringent Cara Davenport, the same pretty brown-headed girl you've known all these years, took to massaging your feet, right there, in the middle of a public restaurant, your socks and shoes on the other side of her person. She got into it, making rhythmic presses down their length and hitting some definitely ripe spots like it was salary work.

Damn. You relaxed. Not bad.

"How is it?" her voice piped. "Relaxed yet?"

"Er," you flinched at her well-timed inquiry, "I think, uh, you're a natural at this!" You quickly pressed your hand against your private area when she turned her head back down.

"Well, that's great to know," she continued with the massage.

Maybe it was time to take it a step forward. You glanced at the intent co-ed. She definitely didn't seem partway to slapping your head off, now.

Here goes nothing.

"Cara--"

Just as you were about to make your next move, a rap of light footsteps stopped at your table. Your waitress appeared from behind you, tucking a notepad into her pocket. Her tight buttoned shirt and knee-length skirt flowed over her body and its slim curves pleasantly, and you gulped as she looked up to address the both of you.

When she turned to Cara, she blinked.

"Oh, well isn't that nice," she then commented with a smile after seeing your feet on Cara's lap. "Nothing like giving a girl a chance to take out her rigid hands on a guy's feet, right?"

Obfuscating your erection, it was still weird to see views from the outside curtailed like so. People knew what you were doing. They just either didn't react to it much at all or, when they did acknowledge it, looked it in the same way the parties involved did; a favor -- from you.

Generous, helpful 'ol you.

The face of the waitress remained unwavering as she and Cara began a friendly back-and-forth.

"Actually, he's letting me practice on him for my boyfriend, whose birthday's coming up soon." Cara looked up to explain casually.

The waitress displayed pleasant surprise. "Aww, well, he's a handy one, then." She laughed. "Wouldn't want to have butter fingers. When's your man's big day?"

"In about a week." Cara looked down, as if recalling her previous few days. "I've been mucking around for something good to get him. We already have a nice party planned but I'd like it to be memorable."

She continued on, going over a surface-level summation of the relationship. As they talked, you began to feel oddly turned on by the sensation of getting your feet casually massaged by your uptight lady-friend while your waitress conversed with her. You looked at the woman, a strand of red hair slicked over her cheek as she spoke, and then at Clara. Helplessly, you felt your instincts override any tact and that was it.

"Excuse me!"

The two women turned to look at you, and you cleared your throat.

"I, uh, just, I, you..."

"Yes?" tilted the head of the redheaded waitress, whose name, her tag read, was Gabrielle.