He leans back, acting as if he didn’t just leave me halfway melted into the leather booth, completely oblivious—or maybe fully aware—of the fire he just lit beneath my skin.
I lick a slow stripe of caramel off my cone, trying—failing—to focus on the creamy sweetness instead of the simmeringache in my belly. His gaze follows the movement of my tongue.
The attention he’s giving me is making it really hard to think. Hard to breathe.
“Thanks for this,” I murmur, surprised by the softness in my own voice. I don’t usually do soft. I definitely don’t do grateful, not lately, anyway. But this moment? It feels safe and warm. Something I forgot how much I needed.
“I needed…something,” I add, eyes dropping to the half-melted ice cream in my hand. “I just didn’t know what.”
He lifts one brow, cocky and pleased, the corners of his mouth twitching, attempting not to smirk. “That’s what I’m here for.”
The corner of my mouth lifts despite myself. I meet his gaze again, heat swirling in my belly like smoke curling toward a spark.
“Yeah?” I ask, tone lightly teasing. “You’re here to buy me ice cream and help me lick my wounds over your pack mate kissing me and then basically telling me no?”
He leans forward across the small table, resting his elbows on the edge, getting comfortable. His eyes stay locked on mine as he drags his tongue slow and deliberate across his ice cream cone.
“I can lick something for you, peaches,” he murmurs. “But it wouldn’t be your wounds. And I definitely will not tell you no.”
My breath stutters. A ragged inhale that betrays every thought racing through my head. Fire streaks through my veins, his words gasoline to a match.
My nipples tighten beneath the fabric of my bra, a spike of heat pulsing low in my core—and if it weren’t for the scent blockers thick in the air, I know I’d be perfuming for him right now. Sweet and syrupy and begging.
He knows it, too. The way his lips curve just slightly. The way his gaze dips, reading my every reaction.
He leans back again, cool as ever, taking another slow bite of his ice cream while pretending he didn’t just set me on fire with a single line of filth delivered like a promise. And I’m about three licks of mint chip away from climbing over this damn table and letting him follow through on it.
The tension stretches between us, humming with the kind of electricity that makes skin flush and thoughts scatter. I take another bite, savoring the chill of the ice cream as if it can cool the heat simmering just under my skin. It doesn’t.
We finish our cones in silence—but it’s not a comfortable silence. It’s loaded. Weighted with everything we’ve done, everything we haven’t yet, and everything we’re pretending we’re not thinking about.
I glance up, catching his gaze again. His eyes are still on me, dark and unreadable, but the corner of his mouth twitches when he sees I’ve noticed.
It’s not just attraction anymore. It’s knowing. The awareness that I want him and he wants me. That part’s simple. We’ve both already given in once.
But if we cross that line again—if I let myself fall back into his arms—it won’t be a one-night stand anymore. It hasn’t been since I invited him into my bed and he stripped off my clothes, while I offered him more than just my body, even if I pretended that’s all it was.
He cooked me breakfast the next morning. Kissed my temple. Teased and flirted with me. And maybe I’m ready to stop pretending. Maybe I’m ready to move on from what Landon did to me—from everything I thought we could be.
Maybe Carson is right here, right now, and exactly what I need.
As we finish our ice cream, Carson tosses our napkins onto the empty tray, rising from the booth with an easystretch that makes his shirt ride up just enough to flash a strip of toned skin. I follow him out, the warm night air brushing against my flushed cheeks as the door swings shut behind us.
It’s quieter than I expected outside. The street’s mostly empty except for a few couples and the distant hum of traffic. I shift my purse higher on my shoulder, still feeling the echo of Carson’s words in my pulse.
“See?” he says, bumping my arm with his lightly. “Ice cream solves everything.”
I almost smile. Almost.
Then I feel it. That prickling awareness. The undeniable sensation of eyes on me. My steps slow. I turn my head, and my breath catches. Across the street, half-hidden in the shadows between two buildings, is Finn.
He’s leaning against the brick, arms crossed, appearing as if he has all the time in the world. His dark eyes are locked on me, unapologetic. Unblinking. I’m pretty sure he’s been standing there this whole time, watching me from the moment I stepped out of the shop. Or maybe the whole time we were inside, too.
Carson shifts beside me, his easy charm giving way to stillness. He sees him too. Finn doesn’t move. Doesn’t smile. But the look in his eyes speaks volumes.
He wants to check on me. Wants me to cross the street. Wants me to choose him. And somehow...I know Carson sees it too.
I glance at Carson, uncertain.
