“I’m okay.” I stare longingly at the caramel crunch cake.
“Are you sure? These cakes look too good to pass up. I’ll feel bad ordering one if you don’t have anything in front of you.”
Cake isn’t the same as real food, so I give in. Alex orders, and the girl behind the counter is saccharine, practically fucking him with her congeniality. Two can play at that game. Moving in closer, my boob presses against his arm. “Thank you,” I whisper in his ear.
His eyebrows rise in surprise, followed by his easy smile. “It’s entirely my pleasure. I’m glad you’re here.”
Alex insists I have a seat while we wait for our drinks and desserts. He even helps me out of my coat and hangs it on the rack near the fire. I sink into the plush chair and sigh, running my hands over the velvet covered armrests. I stare at his ass while he waits patiently at the counter for our order. I also pop a couple of lactose pills.
I’m not the only person in the café looking at him. His presence is as big as he is. The guys seem just as interested in him as the women. A lot of people appear to recognize him. Maybe a college hangout isn’t the best place to have coffee with a famous hockey player.
He brings the cakes to the table. His dessert is some kind of peanut butter chocolate concoction. Mine consists of pecan meringue nestled between layers of whipped cream, topped with caramel drizzle.
Waiting until Alex returns with our drinks would be the polite thing to do, but I’m starving and it looks delicious. I skim the slice with the edge of my fork and gather a thin layer of whipped cream and bits of meringue. It’s the perfect combination of creamy and crunchy, dissolving as soon as it touches my tongue. I sigh in sensory ecstasy.
“Is it good?”
Alex startles me as he sets my green tea latte on the table. He’s close enough that I can see a tiny nick on his chin from his razor and the flecks of green and gold in his otherwise hazel eyes.
He moves his chair closer to mine, so we’re side by side instead of across from each other, and settles into the soft velvet.
“It’s heaven.”
“Can I have a taste of heaven?”
I don’t think he means for it to sound suggestive. He bites his lip as I dig my fork into the cake and pass it to him. Instead of taking it from me, he clutches my hand and raises the fork to his mouth. His lips part and close over the tines. Good Lord, I want to fuck his mouth with my tongue again.
He savors the bite, his expression pensive as he swallows. “Want to trade?”
“No thanks.”
“Are you sure? Maybe you want to go halves? Why don’t you try mine?” He jams his fork into the cake, ready to spear me a bite.
“I’m not parting with my cake.”
“Suit yourself.” He separates a hunk of cake from the thick piece. It’s dense, dripping with chocolate syrup. His eyes drift close, and he makes a low sound in his throat. It’s almost a growl. “If yours is heaven, then this is a mouth-gasm.”
“Mouth-gasm?”
He leans in and lowers his voice to a whisper. “It’s an orgasm in my mouth.”
In the middle of a sip of my latte, I raise my hand in time to prevent it from spraying him and the table. I get my palm and sleeve instead. He grabs a napkin and dabs at the mess.
His cheeks flush, and he shakes his head. “Sorry. I shouldn’t have said that.”
“It’s fine. I’m fine. It was unexpected.” I remember vividly what it was like to have an orgasm in his mouth. It was pretty amazing.
He stirs his chocolate-whatever. It’s covered with whipped cream and drizzled with more chocolate syrup. I see a trend here. “I’m really glad you agreed to see me.” One second he’s being all flirty and the next he’s being sincere and vulnerable. I don’t know which side of him to trust, if any at all.
“You wanted the chance to explain.”
My stomach twists, so I leave the cake alone and focus on my drink. He clears his throat, staring into his hot chocolate. The table vibrates from the restless tapping of his foot against the floor. He’s such an enigma. I want these glimpses of sweetness and his awkward fumbling to be authentic, not a facade he wears to get women into bed with him. He takes a deep breath and looks up.
“The way the media portrays me is inaccurate.”
“Uh-huh.” Of course he’s going to say this.
“Uh, excuse me.”
The interruption breaks the tension. Two guys stop in front of our table.
“Are you Alex Waters?”
“Hey.” Frustration lies under Alex’s smile.
“I told you, man!” He smacks his buddy on the arm, his excitement gaining momentum and volume. “I told him it was you! This is so cool. You’re like the best player in the league, hands down!”
“Thanks, man. Listen—”
“Can I get your autograph, man? No one’s gonna believe this!”