His words are softer, and a different meaning comes with them. No longer are we just playing around. Now something hangs between us.
This is moving fast, I know that, but it’s not like he’s putting a ring on my finger. In high school, you’d be in a relationship by lunch some days. If he’s asking me to see him for a while, that seems almost normal.
“I don’t mind if you don’t.”
His headshake is slow as he holds my stare, and I give him a small smile before stepping back a bit to allow him to mount the bike before I get on the back.
I’ve never thought much of motorcycles before. I know some hospital workers will never get on a bike because they see too many injuries that way. But I’ve seen injuries from pretty much everything; if I lived by their theory, I would barely leave the house.
So I continue to do what I’ve done all night—close my eyes and hold on tight.
Being on the bike is like nothing I’ve felt before. It’s exhilarating. I feel both free and as if I’m doing something wrong because it’s dangerous. Silly, I know, but I can’t help feeling like a little kid being allowed to sit up front without telling Mom.
It doesn’t take long before we’re pulling into a small parking lot next to the Ice Cream Shack. It’s a small place but always has the best flavors in town—even if we are technically outside of town. Everyone knows about this place. Not only because it’s amazing, but they offer a free scoop each semester in the college newspaper, and college kids never turn down free stuff. Some even hoard the vouchers, since it’s an unwritten rule that you can stack them and get as many scoops as you want as long as you have a voucher for it. I once saw a kid walk away with seven scoops. Maybe not that impressive till you think about how many they either saved up or conned out of other kids to get.
“What’s your poison?”
I glance at the menu on the wall as we move forward and purse my lips in thought. “Either Death by Chocolate or Caramel Craze. You?”
He shrugs. “Whichever you don’t want.”
I squint at him in disbelief but smile. “You don’t like ice cream?”
He looks down at me and grins. “Oh, I like it plenty. Could have every flavor on there except for pistachio. Never liked that one. I figured we’d just get your favorites and share.”
I face forward and move with the line.
He brushes my neck with the side of his finger, and I close my eyes as goose bumps sprinkle across my body. “Blushing again, Babygirl.”
Thankfully, I don’t even have to nod or speak before it’s our turn and he’s ordering for us. My two favorites, a scoop in each bowl. He pays—ever the gentleman—then walks with me to a bench that’s open.
Then we share. And not like “Here, take a bite from mine and I’ll get one from yours.” The man literally feeds me his. Says nothing, just scoops out a bite of the Caramel Craze and holds it out to me, waiting. I debate for all of five seconds, but from his smirk, he knew I was going to take it. And I do. It’s ice cream, for goodness’ sake. I’m not going to just ignore it. And then I do the same for him.
We trade bites between taking our own, and it’s both intimate and entirely natural for us. We don’t even talk, just little looks and smiles while we eat till it’s all gone. I feel like I’m in damn school again with all these looks. Something about Karter makes me feel young, which is hilarious. He’s twice my age, yetI’mthe one who feels young and giddy?
“Done?”
I nod, and he takes the cups to the trash. I stand, too, and when he comes back, he grabs my hand and we casually make our way back to his bike.
“I had a lot of fun tonight.”
“Me too.” He pulls me around till I’m standing in front of him with the bike at my back.
“Maybe we should do it again?” I really don’t know what I’m saying, but I think I just asked him out. I don’t want this, or tonight, to end.
He just hums softly. “Thought we already determined that.” He reaches up and brushes a hair behind my ear. “With the whole ‘seeing what I’m not good at’ plan.”
I nod. “Right. Of course.”
His hand doesn’t move off my face, but he shifts his fingers down to my neck and grips me. Not in pain, but in possession.
“God, you’re cute, Babygirl.”
Then his lips are on mine, and I have to do everything in my power not to squeal with delight.
This is not a boy’s kiss. Nothing sloppy or all tongue. It’s demanding, gentle, open, and passionate. Perfect. How he does it all at once, I don’t even want to know, and I’ll never tell him to stop. I grip his jacket and hang on tight for the ride he takes me on.
Lights spark behind my eyes. My feet feel as if I’m being lifted off the ground. The air seems fresher, and I swear I hear birds chirping despite the late hour. It’s absolutely perfect.
