I’ve got more than enough evidence to prove that relationships aren’t for everyone. I don’t need any more proof.
“Everything okay?” Mickey asks, his eyes searching mine. “Don’t tell me you couldn’t find anything you like and that you’ll have to go braless for the rest of your life. That would be terrible.”
I shoulder check him playfully, but with our height difference, it’s basically my shoulder hitting his bicep.“Bra shopping was very successful. Do you want a fashion show?”
Mickey’s answering smile tells me what I already knew, but then he frowns and picks up his phone. “Uh, I am not passing up the fashion show, but can it maybe wait, like, an hour?”
“You got a hot date or something?” I tease, reaching down to scoop up one of the kittens.
“Yeah, with you,” he says, bending forward to pick up the other fluffy ball of fur.
I can feel the color drain from my face. What is happening? Did I wake up in some opposite version of my life? I’m about to ask Mickey what he’s talking about when he takes his kitten’s paw and boops the end of my nose with it.
“Nice one, Heather,” he tells the kitten, planting a kiss on her fuzzy little head. She meows in response when he lifts her paw for a high five.
This is completely unfair. Mickey’s over here being all adorable, and I’m stuck trying to figure out how to reset boundaries. If he really thinks we’re a couple, hasn’t he heard anything I’ve said?
“Actually,” he says, taking Frank from my hands, “I guess I should say that you and I have a date with ice ice cream.”
“What?” I ask, utterly confused.
“Remember the other day at the courtyard? You said you never got to do a lot of the regular college stuff. That got me thinking about what you missed. When JT and I were freshmen, they used to have an ice cream social over by the fountain on Wednesdays when the weather was nice. The student senate sponsors it, so it’s all free. I don’t think we missed a single Wednesday.”
I stare at Mickey for a second until my eyes finally blink. “You just want to go for ice cream?”
“Well, yeah,” he stammers. “I mean, we don’t have to. I just thought it’d be fun. I guess it’s not that exciting. It’s just ice cream, but?—”
“It sounds fabulous,” I tell him, genuinely meaning every word. “Are you ready now? When does it start?”
The smile he gifts me is enough to make my knees melt. “In about ten minutes. I just need to return these two to their folks and we can head out. I figured we’d walk over, but it might get cold on the walk back. If you don’t have a jacket, just grab one of my hoodies.”
Mickey takes the kitties and disappears around the corner, so I head for his closet to see what I can find. I’m going to swim in anything he owns, but there’s one particular hoodie I’m looking for. I borrowed it one night last fall when Ollie accidentally turned on the A/C instead of the heat and the whole house was as cold as a freezer. My fingers brush over each of the sweatshirts, searching for the one that feels the softest. I finally find it at the bottom of the drawer, and it takes a second for me to tug it loose. The fabric is a light gray and the BU Wolves logo is emblazoned on the front in burgundy. Mickey’s name is stitched on the back, but that’s not why I’ve chosen it. Hell, Mickey’s name is probably on every hoodie in this dresser.
What sets this hoodie apart is its softness. It’s like wearing a blanket. Granted, that might be because it hangs down to my knees, but I really don’t mind.
“You ready?”
I turn toward Mickey’s voice just as I tie his hoodie around my waist. “I can’t wait.”
The ice cream social was more crowded than I thought it would be. I mean, how many people are going to stand around the fountain on a windy day just for a few free scoops of cookie dough or mint chocolate chip.
A whole freaking lot, is the answer.
“I did not expect the salted caramel and the coffee to be such a killer combo, but you were right,” Mickey says as we walk back into his room an hour later.
“I’m well-versed in ice cream flavors, Mick. I think you know me well enough to know I’m not a vanilla kind of girl.” I toe off my shoes, but leave his hoodie on. The hockey house is much warmer than the outside, but this shirt is so cozy, I might just wear it forever.
“True,” he agrees, smiling as he reaches for me. “Now, what’s this about a fashion show?”
He’s toying with the hem of the hoodie I’ve effectively stolen from him, but I don’t want to give it up. I do, however, want to be naked and in his bed. It’s a tough decision, but I lift my arms and let him pull the sweatshirt off me.
“What the—why is this heavy?” he asks, frowning as he holds his shirt and weighs it with his hands.
“Oh, I know the answer to that,” I say, reaching for the shirt and slipping my hand into the kangaroo pocket at the front.“I might have borrowed something,” I admit, as I reveal my bounty.
“Whipped cream?” Mickey says, blinking before reading the label and taking in the tell-tale red cap.
“Yeah, they had tons. There was literally a whole cooler full of them. I figured no one would notice or care, and I wasn’t sure if you had any here, so…”
