“What dipping flavors can I get you?” the man asked as he turned to grab two cones from the stack. “We have chocolate, strawberry, and butterscotch.”
“Chocolate for me,” Danny said. “What about you, T?”
I put a finger to my lips. “That’s a tough one.” My eyes darted between the butterscotch and strawberry cones in the photo on the wall above the counter. At last I said, “Butterscotch.”
“I could have guessed that,” Danny said, his eyes dancing.
The server made a show of swirling vanilla ice cream from the stainless-steel dispenser onto the cones then dipping each cone into its respective vat, doing a little spin to let the excess coating trickle back into the vat before tipping the cone up so there was a perfect curl at the top. He handed my cone to me first, then Danny dropped my hand to take his own cone but set it in the holder beside the register while he pulled his wallet from the pocket of his workout shorts. After he’d paid for our treats, he gestured for me to sit at one of the nearby tables.
It must have been near closing time since only one other table was occupied by a couple of older women who nevertheless gave Danny a long, appreciative look. I shook my head as I sat across from him, and his brows came together.
“What’s that look for?”
“Nothing.” I bit the top off my cone and closed my eyes as rich, buttery sweetness filled my mouth.
“Taryn...” His tone held a warning.
Blinking my eyes open, I shrugged. “You can’t help it. No matter where you go, women admire you.”
His brows shot up.
Nodding over my shoulder in the direction of the other occupied table, I said, “Those two look old enough to be your mom, but they still devoured you with their eyes when you walked by.”
A faint pink hue highlighted his high cheekbones as he snorted his retort. “Riiight.” Tipping his chin at my cone, he asked, “What do you think? Better than the DQ at home, huh?”
“The presentation is more fun.” I glanced around the shop. The black-and-white photos on the walls and the soda fountain behind the glass pastry case gave the impression we’d stepped back to the sixties. I nipped more coating from my cone and licked some rich vanilla ice cream. “Mmm, yeah. The ice cream is better too.”
As he watched me enjoy my treat, the silver of Danny’s eyes heated in a way that zinged straight to the apex of my thighs. Beneath the table I crossed one knee over the other and wondered at his expression. It implied something more than friends.
Dropping my gaze back to my cone, I nibbled more butterscotch then gestured to his cone. “Are you going to let that melt?”
A scratchy laugh hiccupped from his throat before he cleared it. “Just wondering if you were going to give me a taste of your butterscotch.”
“You are so transparent.”
“What?” Leaning back in his chair, he feigned innocence.
“I’m warning you. If you eat half my cone in one bite—as usual—I’m returning the favor.”
Reluctantly, I held my cone out to him, and he wrapped his fingers around my wrist to take a taste. His eyes danced above the treat as he opened his mouth wide. Involuntarily, I tugged back, but he tightened his hold and at the last second backed off to restrict himself to a taste. I hoped he didn’t notice the pounding of my pulse at the touch of his fingers on my skin.
With a thin-lipped smile, Danny enjoyed his taste and held out his cone for me to try. Narrowing my eyes, I wrapped my fingers around his wrist and gingerly lowered my head to take a bite. I’d been on the receiving end of his teasing in the past, and I neither wanted to chomp at air nor wear ice cream on my nose and chin. But he held still as I nipped a bit of chocolatey coating and vanilla cream from his cone.
“I think I like yours better,” he said as he studied his treat.
“Sorry, dude. I’m not trading.” To emphasize my point, I took a rather unladylike mouthful of ice cream, leaving behind a rather generous part of the shell. I licked vanilla ice cream from my lips and crunched the butterscotch shell.
Shaking his head, an enigmatic expression on his face, Danny said, “You’re a mean woman, T.”
Though his gaze flicked to my treat for a second, somehow I had the impression he wasn’t talking about sharing ice cream.
“Have you registered for classes yet?” I asked—more to take my mind off watching his tongue slide out to lick a drop of melted cream from the shell of his dessert than because it was important.
“All the new players had to stay after morning practice yesterday to register.” He rolled his eyes. “Cost me an hour of work for something I could have done on my own.”
“You may be an atypical freshman, but sometimes people are going to forget that. Might as well figure that out now.” I smirked. “So what does your first semester look like?”
“Calculus, physics, Intro to Engineering, and”—his pause came with a smirk—“public speaking. You gonna help me with that one, Miss Communications Major?”
