I cast him a nervous glance before closing them.
“Pick a number between one and four and then a letter between A and . . . F,” he instructed, all business.
“Two and . . . D.”
“Okay, open your eyes.” He touched my elbow, the brief brush of his fingertips eliciting a sweet sensation of tingles. “There are four cases, and I assigned a letter to each flavor in the case. Now I know what you’re ordering.”
“So, what’s my flavor?”
“It’s a surprise. Do me.” He closed his eyes without waiting for me to respond.
Freudian slip?
I let my eyes wander unabashedly while his were shut. He was tan like he spent time outside. His fingers were long, and his nails were neat without being overly manicured. My stomach fluttered thinking about how those fingers could slide inside me. Good Lord, I am drunk and horny.
“Did you abandon me?” he asked nervously.
I snapped my head back up. “One through four, and then a color. I’m assigning the cases each a color.”
“Okay, four and . . . blue.” He opened his eyes.
We moved to the front of the line, and Jake ordered for me first, a large scoop of dulce de leche.
It sounded amazing. I stepped closer and ordered for him, asking for a scoop of kiwi-strawberry mocha, tickled he’d picked blue.
We left through the shop’s back door and looked for a table on their patio, where white twinkle lights strung above us made the space feel magical. I attempted to scan the crowd, making sure Davis wasn’t there. I always checked.
“I mean this in the nicest way, Jake, but you’re kind of a nerd, huh?”
“How did you guess?” He eyed the neon green scoop with flecks of chocolate in his bowl.
“The whole numbers and letters thing; you were excited about that.” I licked a spot of ice cream threatening to drip down the side of my bowl and moaned while we walked. I could have fallen to the sidewalk and melted into a puddle.
His grin widened. “That good, huh? To your question, it depends. Do you like nerds?”
We sat at a bistro table in the corner. “I definitely like nerds,” I said, pushing imaginary glasses up on my nose. “But more importantly, do you like your ice cream?”
Jake eyed his bowl skeptically, then shot his gaze to me.
“You picked blue! I had to follow your rules.”
Taking a tiny portion on his spoon, his whole face collapsed as he tasted it. “First hemorrhoids and now this. You don’t like me very much, do you?” He pushed it toward me. “Do you want to try?”
I took another bite of my new favorite flavor. “No way, but you can share mine. Be warned, though: It’s like a sweet little orgasm for your mouth, only cold.” I froze, my cheeks heating. I clapped my hand over my mouth. I just referenced orgasms . . . in his mouth . . . in public.
Forget the anthology. I’m hopeless.
He blinked, his jaw slack for a moment. “Never had a cold one,” he said slowly before taking a small bite from my bowl. “But, wow, you’re right, that is good.” He shifted his eyes left to right. “Did you cheat my system? Are you some kind of ice cream hustler?”
I offered my bowl to him again, urging him to take another bite. “No, just luck of the draw. But this is the best thing I’ve ever tasted.”
His gaze skimmed over my face, pausing momentarily on my lips.
I wonder how he tastes.
I stifled the urge to hide my mouth behind a napkin. “Do you want the last bite?”
“No, thanks.”
“You sure? I feel bad ordering that flavor for you.”
He leaned forward, elbows on the table. “I’d much rather watch you enjoy it.”
“Oh?” I slipped the spoon to my mouth, tracing my tongue along the underside to stop its contents from dripping down my chin, then taking it between my lips.
He followed my movements intently, and a pulse thrummed low in my body when his tongue peeked out over his lower lip. “Definitely.” His gaze returned to my eyes.
I fumbled with my spoon, unsteady at his attention. All that sexual charisma I channeled with the spoon in my mouth disappeared. “Do you want to do something else to me?”
His eyes widened, and I stammered a correction.
“I mean, with me! Rather, go somewhere else?” Good save.
“Sure. Unless ice cream was on your list, you’ve still got work to do, right?” He gathered our bowls, and I admired the lines of his arms. “Where do you want to go?”
The angel and the devil on my shoulder bickered.