She nods gingerly, her brown pools of warmness never leaving mine. She has such pretty eyes. Eyes that are so welcoming. Eyes that make me feel like I can tell her anything.
“So have you managed to figure out the milk steamer yet?” she teases. “Or is it still your nemesis?”
“We’re best friends now,” I proclaim. “For now, at least. But I need to figure out the ovens. I burned my arm like three times today. Did you know they bake their pastries fresh every day? Their cinnamon buns are famous.”
“I did.” Her mouth curves with mild bemusement. “You can tell. It’s all in the buttery pastry. Admittedly, I haven’t tried any of their cinnamon buns yet. I tend to bake my own.”
“You bake a lot?”
“Too much probably,” she replies as we move from side to side. “But it’s so much fun, and without me, the Stellas would probably starve.”
“What’s your favorite thing to bake?”
“Oh, that’s a good question!” Any earlier nervousness she had completely evaporates. “At the moment, I love experimenting with sourdough bread and learning all about French patisserie. Some of it’s quite tricky to master. I’ve been studying the lamination technique this week. It’s how you get the fine, flaky layers in pastry. You know, you have to put a lot of effort into learning all the techniques.”
My mind deviates, my cock hardening as I imagine her rolling out dough, flour peppered over her nose. Thankfully, it’s dark, so no one can see me sporting a semi. There’s nothing hotter than hearing a woman talk about her passions. And if her hands are so skilled with the lamination technique—whatever that involves—I bet she has other hidden talents.
“What about you?” She jolts me out of my reverie, instantly feeling bad about my mind taking a wholesome conversation toa dirty place. There’s something about this girl that makes it impossible to control myself. “What do you do for fun?”
“Aside from making latte art?” I joke. “I hang out with friends, watch movies. I skate too.”
We rotate a bit faster. Delilah’s balance is more surefooted now that her confidence is increasing.
The pink lights casts pretty dots over her brown skin. “So you brought me here to show off your skills?”
“I skateboard,” I clarify. “I’m not exactly great with roller skates, as you’ve seen. Honestly, I just like trying new things and having fun.”
“You’d get on with my friend, Sabs,” she tells me. “She’s always trying something new and is super active. She bullied me into going to a hot yoga class last week.” Delilah shudders. “Let’s just say I’d prefer caramelizing a crème brûlée.”
The thought of her in a downward-dog pose in tight yoga pants is not helping my situation at all.
“You seem to have mastered the basics here quickly enough,” I say. “How about we try a more advanced move? Do you think you can handle a twirl?”
She bats her thick eyelashes. “I think so.”
I let go of her waist to take her hand. As she goes to turn, her other arm outstretched, the song changes. I recognize the opening guitar riff instantly. One ofPack Fire’s most popular songs “Burning Hearts.”
“The best love song from campus’s Romeo himself!” The DJ echoes over Jagger’s raspy voice, echoing through the vast space.
Delilah’s body twitches, suddenly swerving erratically like she’s lost control of her limbs. She loses all balance, trying to correct herself when the skates slide out from underneath her.
I try to grab her, but it’s too late. Her body spins away from me, and she crashes to her knees, head down, curls falling forward over her face.
“Delilah!” I drop to the floor next to her where she stays in a heap, her breathing heavy and ragged. When she looks up, an anguished expression morphs her features just as Jagger’s voice hits an unbelievably high note. “Are you hurt?” In panic, I scan her over to look for injuries. The floor isn’t too hard, but I can see tears in her eyes. Maybe she landed on her ankle funny and sprained it.
Her bottom lip trembles. “I’m f-fine.”
She winces as I help her back to her feet, Jagger’s voice still booming.
“I’m so sorry.” I brush her hair from her eyes. “I-I tried to catch you, I…”
“It’s o-okay,” she murmurs. “Accidents happen.”
“Are you sure you’re okay?”
“I’m fine.” Her voice shakes as she dusts herself off. “Just not very good at skating.”
I messed up, and worse, I broke my promise. She told me that she was uncoordinated. Why did I have to insist on bringing her here? If I don’t turn this date around, she won’t ever want to see me again.
