“Yeah. It's lavender.”
“You're eating flowers.”
“I'm eating ice cream that's flavored like flowers. Which, before you make any comments, is significantly less weird than half the things I've had in my mouth.”
Rook choked on nothing, and I watched his ears go red. “Fucking hell, Soren.”
“What? I'm just saying. Lavender honey is pretty tame compared to?—”
“We're in public.”
“I know. That's what makes it fun.”
The girl behind the counter was trying very hard not to laugh, and Rook looked like he wanted the floor to open up and swallow him whole. I took a deliberately slow lick of my ice cream, maintaining eye contact, and watched him struggle with whether to be mortified or turned on.
“You're the worst,” he muttered, grabbing his vanilla cone and steering me toward the door with a hand on my lower back that pressed just a little too firmly to be casual.
“I'm the best and you know it.”
“You're a menace.”
We headed outside, and I was still grinning when Rook steered us toward the waterfront path. The lake stretched out gray and choppy to our left, and the wind coming off it was cold enough to make me wish I'd worn a heavier jacket. But the ice cream was sweet on my tongue, and Rook was warm next to me, and for the first time in days I felt like I could breathe.
“So vanilla, huh?” I said, licking another drip off my cone. “Very on brand for you.”
“What's that supposed to mean?”
“Just that you're very... traditional. Classic. Safe.”
“Safe.”
“Yeah. Like missionary position ice cream.”
Rook stopped walking and stared at me. “Did you just compare vanilla ice cream to missionary position?”
“I did. And I stand by it. Very reliable, gets the job done, but not exactly adventurous.”
“And yours is what, exactly?”
I grinned at him. “Experimental. Requires an open mind and a sense of adventure. Some people think it's weird, but the right person appreciates it.”
“The right person,” he repeated, and his voice had gone lower in a way that made heat curl in my stomach.
“Yeah. Someone who's not afraid to try new things. Someone who can handle a little—” I took another slow lick of the lavender honey, “—intensity.”
Rook's hand found the back of my neck, fingers pressing into the muscle there just hard enough to make me shiver. “You're playing a dangerous game right now.”
“Am I?”
“Yeah. You are.”
“What are you gonna do about it?”
His grip tightened, and he leaned in close enough that I could feel his breath against my ear. “Keep pushing and you'll find out.”
“Promises, promises.”
He made a low sound in his chest that was half frustration and half want, and I had to bite back a grin because getting Rook riled up was one of my favorite activities and I'd clearly gotten out of practice.
