We talk about hockey. Soccer. Traveling. I tell him about my job, and am shocked to discover he’s never had one because he’s never had the time. He reveals his love of the Harry Potter series (mindless books he doesn’t have to think too much about while reading), and I blush and stutter through telling him my favorite genre is teen romance.
How embarrassing.
We sit there while the minutes fly by, and a while later, around the corner comes a young couple. Maybe just a few years older than Weston and I, they slowly walk over to the moon jellyfish exhibit and stand directly in front of the tank—directly in front of us, actually. They’re both dressed very casually in jeans, but there is chemistry between them that has me guessing they’re on a date. Okay, I don’t have to guess; it’s pretty obvious.
“Really, that’s where they’re going to stand?” Weston deadpans from the side of his mouth, gesturing to the couple with his hand. Because he’s almost whispering and there’s music filtering through the room, I lean in a little closer to hear what he’s saying and catch a whiff of his cologne. My eyes flit to the V of his polo shirt, and I glance at the exposed hollow of his throat.
Drool.
“No kidding! What’s that all about?” I complain. “There’s a whole room full of these things. Go over there.” I point to a spot farther down.
He lets out a sigh. “Well, I suppose we could head out. We have been here for over two hours…”
“Plus, there is that forty-five-minute drive home….” I point out, trying to be helpful.
Weston thinks for a few seconds, and then says, “Or…we could stop for ice cream?”
“Yes!” Oh shit, did that sound too eager or desperate? “Fantastic idea.”
Best. Idea. Ever.
I knew there was a reason I liked him.
* * *
Weston
“What are you getting?”
I look down into the freezer of ice cream then back up at the menu board hanging on the back wall behind the counter of the ice cream shop. It’s a fifties-themed diner with a soda fountain, and the kid behind the counter is wearing a white smock, candy-cane striped shirt, and a disposable paper hat. Based on the name tag pinned to his smock, his name is Scott, and now I feel bad for him because he looks like a fucking douchebag. He’s probably what, seventeen? We actually drove almost all the way back to River Glen before stopping so we wouldn’t have such a hike after our treat, and technically we’re just in the next town over, so now we can take our time.
“I think I know what I want, but ladies first.” I plant my elbow on the counter and lean back on it so I’m granted a frontal view as Molly stares up at the menu board, biting her lower lip.
Nonchalantly—at least I think so, anyway—I look her up and down. She’s got on these high shoes that tie around her slender ankles, and the toes peeking through are painted a bright shade of pink. I was never one for feet, but hers are pretty damn sexy.
“Hmmm…” She hums with indecision. “I’ll…have…” Her head tips to the side, and it’s so endearing I can’t help but smile. She catches me and chides, “Stop doing that.”
“Doing what?”
“Stop distracting me.” She swipes at me with the back of her hand but misses, eyes still staring up at the menu board, teeth still biting her lip.
“How am I distracting you?” Seriously, all damn night she’s been driving me crazy—in the best possible way, of course.
Molly levels me with those bright green eyes but finds it hard to keep a straight face. She reaches for my forearm and pulls me to a standing position, releasing my arm quickly like she’s been burned. It’s the first time we’ve touched—ever—and holy shit, I can still feel the imprint from her fingers lingering on my skin. “Here, since you know what you want, why don’t you go first.”
Scott, the kid behind the counter, has his eyes glued on Molly during this whole playful exchange, and I take one step closer to her, marking my territory.
Look away, kid. Look away.
“That one’s easy. I’ll have a turtle sundae—four scoops of ice cream, extra pecans, extra hot fudge, extra cherries.” I slap my palm on the counter for emphasis then shoot my fingers pointedly at Molly like a gun. “And go.”
She raises her eyebrows at me, probably impressed that I eat ice cream like such a boss.
“Give me…the flavor of the day, one scoop, in a chocolate waffle cone.” She smiles brightly, pleased with herself for finally having made up her mind.
“Boring.” I fake a yawn, patting my mouth. Molly bumps me playfully with her shoulder. “Let’s go sit at that table while we wait for young Scott here to fix our dessert.” I’m not proud to admit it, but I give the kid an arrogant smirk before placing my hand on the small of Molly’s back, guiding her to a small corner booth, my palm so low on her backside I’m practically stroking her ass.