His eyes softened, and he nodded.
Because we both knew it wasn’t just ice cream. It was a start.
3
Drew
Trent might have beenthe one to ask me out on a date, but I was the one driving.
Duh.
“So where we going, frat boy?” I asked from the driver’s seat of my sweet Fastback. She was proof that some things got even better with age.
Well, T was solid proof of that too, sprawled out in the passenger seat, taking up every inch of space with his thick jean-clad thighs and well-toned chest wrapped in a T-shirt he stole from my side of the closet.
It looked better on him, molded around his biceps and broad shoulders, a worn-out image of some fries across his torso.
The band on his finger had been there since the moment I’d put it there, and the leather strap of his watch was worn. He had not one gray hair to speak of, the dirty bastard. It seemed I’d gotten myandhis share. His sandy hair was a little long on the top, and the way he ran his hands through it made it part to the side and fall over his forehead.
“I was thinking that new French bistro across town. I know you’re anxious to try out the escargot,” he said, not even able to try and con me with a straight face.
I shook my head and sighed. “You finally take me out on a date after months, and I get snails? Being old and married has changed you.”
Laughing, he leaned over the console to invade my personal space. “I called over to Ernie’s. He’s holding the back booth.”
A smile split my face. “Now you’re talking.”
“Only the best for you, babe,” he mused, withdrawing to the other side.
I caught the front of his shirt and tugged him back. “If you want me to drive, you gotta give me some gas.”
His mouth covered mine without hesitation, hand wrapping around the back of my head to hold me in place while his tongue bulldozed mine. I groaned into the kiss, getting swept away by the pull between us.
T started to pull away too soon, but I tightened the fist in his shirt and made a sound, and he came back enthusiastically, our teeth colliding with the effort. He chuckled, and I bit down on his lower lip, making his nostrils flare. My stomach buzzed with desire as I chewed lightly on his lower lip, tugging it away from his face before releasing it.
“Forget dinner,” Trent said, reaching for me again.
I smacked his hand away and started the engine, its rumble filling the air.
“Fries before guys.”
He collapsed back into his seat with a laugh.
“I’ll drive. You shift.”
His head rolled across the seat toward me, a lazy grin tugging the corners of his mouth.
He was enough to make a man forgo fries.
“Let’s do it.” He agreed, dropping his hand on the gearstick.
I drove way too fast and maybe blew a stop sign on the way to Ernie’s Diner, a place we’d been coming to since before we even admitted we could never just be friends.
You know what they say:The more things change, the more they stay the same.And French fries at Ernie’s with my guy was something that would never change.
The neon red of the diner sign reflected off the windshield when I pulled in to park. The scent of grease and pancakes filled my nostrils the second I flung open the door and got out. I breathed deep, appreciating the nostalgia this place always made me feel.
“Ahh, nothing like the smell of clogged arteries and asphalt,” I mused, slamming the door behind me.
