Greg looked back at the case. Thirty options, at least. Some of them hadthingsin them—chunks and swirls and ribbons of unknown substances.
“I don't know how to choose,” Greg admitted.
“What did you like about the chocolate milkshake?”
“It was...” Greg searched for the right words. “Rich and sweet. It tasted like happiness, if happiness had a flavor.”
Dustin's smile widened. “Okay. So let’s stick to something in that lane.” He pointed at the case. “You could do regular chocolate. Or chocolate fudge. Or that Death by Chocolate one if you want to be dramatic about it.”
“Is that one actually dangerous?”
“Only to your waistline.”
Greg didn't know what that meant, but Dustin was already ordering for him—two scoops of Death by Chocolate in a waffle cone, whatever that was—and then getting his own: one scoop of something pale yellow.
“Lemon?” Greg asked.
“It's my favorite.”
Greg filed this information away. Dustin's favorite ice cream flavor was lemon. That felt important.
They found a small table near the window, settling into wire-backed chairs that put their knees dangerously close together under the table. Greg held his waffle cone carefully, examining the two dark scoops perched on top. The chocolate was already beginning to soften in the warm air, a small drip forming at the edge.
“You have to lick it,” Dustin said. “Before it melts everywhere.”
“Lick it?”
“That's how you eat a cone.” Dustin raised his own cone to his mouth, holding Greg's gaze, and dragged his tongue in a slow, deliberate stripe up the side of his lemon ice cream.
The gears in Greg's brain stuttered to a grinding halt.
Dustin's eyes glittered. “See?” He licked again, just as slowly. “Your turn.”
He knew what he was doing to Greg, didn't he?
This was like the fries at the diner all over again—Dustin testing, teasing, watching Greg's reactions like they were entertainment.
But why?
Was Greg's behavior that funny?
No, Dustin had said something about a kiss.
Greg's stomach fluttered.
“Greg,” Dustin said. “Your ice cream.”
Greg looked at his cone. A drop of cream was running down the side. He had to focus if he didn't want to embarrass himself even more.
Determined, he raised his cone to his mouth and gave it an experimental lick, trying very hard to act like a normal person who was not at all affected by anything.
Oh.
The chocolate was cold and creamy and impossibly rich, coating his tongue with sweetness. It wasgood. He licked again, chasing the drip that was threatening to escape down the side of the cone.
“How is it?” Dustin asked.
Greg made a sound that wasn't quite a word.
