Page 40 of Working for the Runaway Bride

Then I see her. Molly steps through the staff entrance carrying her canvas apple bag and a stack of folders. She’s wearing a dark green skirt and a white blouse. Her hair is pulled into a high ponytail, and she has sunglasses covering her eyes.

She looks tired. Even from across the parking lot, I can see it in the slope of her shoulders. Her steps slow when she notices me. For a moment, neither of us moves. My heart pounds like I’m a teenager instead of a grown man standing in an elementary-school parking lot with melting ice cream.

She walks toward me.

“What are you doing here?” she asks.

“I brought you something.”

I hold out the carton.

She looks down at it. “Ice cream?”

“Chocolate.”

“I can see that.”

“It’s melting.”

“I can see that too.”

Her gaze lifts to mine.

“Why did you bring me ice cream, Grayson?”

Because I haven’t slept since I left you. Because every time my phone rings, I hope it’s you. Or maybe because I have spent three days imagining how easy it would be to ignore every reason we shouldn’t be together.

But what I actually say is “I wanted to see how you were doing.”

“You could have called.”

“I could have.”

“But you didn’t.”

“No.”

She’s licking a triple scoop of chocolate, her tongue swirling around the cone I’m already imagining the dirty things I want to do to her. Putting my cock somewhere warmer and wetter.

“You’re gonna make a mess if you keep that up,” I say. The ice cream’s dripping down the side of the cone, cold and brown, and her lips are glossy from the first taste.

She grins, slow and knowing, and sucks the ice cream off of her thumb before answering. “Maybe I like things messy.” The words come out muffled, but I catch them anyway. The tip of her tongue flicks out to catch a drip that slides down her wrist. It’s the most erotic thing I’ve ever seen.

“Fuck,” I mutter, rubbing a hand over my jaw.

She takes another slow lick, this time dragging her tongue along the edge of the cone before pulling it free with a wet pop. Her eyes flick up at me through her lashes. “Keep your dirty thoughts to yourself…” She winks.

I can’t. I want to lick that ice cream off her body. There’s no better use as far as I’m concerned. I reach out, thumb brushing the corner of her mouth where a smear of chocolate lingers. She doesn’t pull away. Instead, she sucks my thumb into her mouth, cold and wet, swirling her tongue around it like she’s teasing me with the same motion she used on the cone.

I groan, my cock already stiffening against the fly of my jeans. “You’re making this hard.”

“I’m making what hard?” She takes another slow lick of the ice cream.

She’s playing with me. I love it. And I hate it. There’s nothing more I want than to play back. I could put her in my car right now and show her exactly what’s getting hard.

But then a car door slams behind me.

“You’ve got to be kidding me.”