I was whining, and I didn’t even care. I was way too butthurt to care.
“It’s not fair,” I said, bobbling a little.
Joel frowned at me from his station in the front of the shop before glancing at Veronica. “What’s the matter with her?”
She took my shoulders gently, angling me to him as I pouted. “Bodie hasn’t called her.”
“New fuckbuddy?” he asked.
“Doesn’t he like me?” I asked, my voice squeaky.
“I’m sure he does, honey,” Veronica cajoled. “Maybe you should just text him. You obviously want to see him again.”
I groaned. “I know, but it’s date three! And instead of turning into a pumpkin, he’s gonna turn into Brad.” I tossed a hand at the trashcan as if those flowers explained everything.
Joel sighed. “You like the guy, right?”
I nodded.
“Then fucking text him, you weirdo.”
“But what if—”
“Who cares? You want to see him, so see him. If it falls apart, deal with it.”
I was still pouting. “Why do you make everything seem so simple?”
“Because it is.” He rested his meaty, tattooed forearms on his knees and leaned toward me. “Listen, your afternoon job canceled, right?”
“Yeah,” I answered begrudgingly.
“It’s too hot in here, and your booth is the hottest in the shop. Go cool off. Cold shower. Ice cream. Something.”
“But what about the walkins?”
“Max is here for walkins. You just get outta here.” He jabbed a finger at the door with authority.
I sighed. “Fine. But only because you said ice cream, and that’s my weakness.” I could already taste the cold salted caramel on my tongue. This also made me a little sad — it reminded me of Bodie.
Who even ARE you right now?
I walked back over to my station to grab my bag, stopping by Veronica’s station next to Ramona, who leaned on the short wall.
“Just text him, Pen,” Ramona said. “You’ll feel better.”
I nibbled my bottom lip. “Even if he gets clingy? Even if he bugs out?”
She laughed and kissed me on the cheek on my way out. “Better him than you.”
I sighed and headed into the sweltering sun, slipping on my sunglasses.
My problem was this: I was obsessing.
I was so predictable, I could have been a fucking atomic clock. I’d always been this way, and it was one of the many reasons why I didn’t date. I didn’t like how I felt, which reaffirmed that the three-date rule was just as much for myself as it was for them. And here I was, after only two dates, already all itchy over Bodie. He was just so dreamy and funny and smart, and I couldn’t stop thinking about him.
All of this was dangerous.
Of course, it was entirely possible that I’d gotten weird simply because I was holding out. Maybe if I just ripped off the Band-Aid and saw him again, it would take care of itself. Once he got all gooey on me, I’d probably lose interest anyway.
That placating and naive thought put a little spring in my Chucks and a smile on my lips.
We could have our last hurrah and let the chips fall where they may. Let fate take its course. Which, in my experience, meant I’d be absolutely over him and ready for whatever was next.
My heart folded in on itself at the fleeting thought that it might be me who’d be gooey over him. But I waved my thoughts away like bumblebees after the honey pot and resolved to text him when I got home.
But when I pulled open the door of the ice cream parlor, I stopped dead in my tracks as a smile spread across my face like peanut butter on toast.
I didn’t have to text him after all because he was standing right in front of me.
His broad back was to me as he waited in line, peering into the cooler at the flavors on display.
I swear to God, my heart did a roundoff back handspring and stuck the landing as I walked up to him.
“If I went binary, you’d be the one for me,” I said as I brushed against his arm, my knuckles grazing his.
He whipped his head around, blue eyes bright. And when they connected with mine, his smile could have lit up midnight.
He let out a laugh. “That was a good one. I didn’t know you spoke nerd.”
I shrugged, smiling. “I don’t. I speak Google.”
“What are you doing here?” he asked, sounding surprised.
“Getting ice cream. Isn’t it obvious?”
Another laugh as the attendant asked him what he wanted.
Bodie turned to me. “Want to join me?”
“I’d love to.”
“Know what you want?”
“A scoop of salted caramel in a waffle cone, please.”
The attendant nodded and looked to Bodie.
“Mint chocolate, one scoop in a waffle cone too. Thanks.”
We stepped over to the register, and Bodie pulled out his wallet to pay.
“How’ve you been?” he asked, the question tight from hiding another — Why haven’t I heard from you?
But I smiled. He was still interested, and that right there was proof.
“I’ve been good, just working a lot. You?”
“Same. Jude kicked me out since I hadn’t seen daylight in days. It’s too hot to go outside without the promise of the ocean or ice cream.”
We were handed our ice cream cones and turned to find the inside of the shop packed.
I frowned. “Way too hot, but outside we go.”
He followed me to a table for two on the patio, and we took seats across from each other.
I grinned. I couldn’t help it. I swear he’d gotten hotter in three days — his eyes were bluer, his hair blonder, his smile brighter as he grinned right back and put on his sunglasses.
Either that or my imagination was a sad, sad substitute for the real thing.
“Highway to Hell” came on the overhead speakers as I took a long lick of my ice cream and moaned.
Pretty sure Bodie was staring at my mouth from behind his shades.
“I’ve been thinking about you,” I started, sticking out my tongue to run my ice cream across it.
He wet his lips and smirked. “Me too.”
When he licked his ice cream and flicked his tongue at the top, I felt warm all over, and it had nothing to do with the ninety-five degree weather.
I crossed my legs, my mouth undeterred as I licked that ice cream like my future depended on it.
“It was so hard not to text you.” I closed my lips over the top of my scoop.
“How hard?” he teased me back.
I just kept watching that creamy ice cream on his tongue, squeezing my thighs together like a goddamn vise.
“It just kept getting harder and harder with no hope of release. Cruel really.”
“So why didn’t you text me?”
I shrugged, playing coy. “Didn’t want you to think I was easy.”
We both laughed for a minute.
“So how much did you think of me?” I asked innocently, fondling my cone.
“Oh, only about every minute of every day.” His feet sandwiched my foot on the ground and squeezed, shifting his sneakers up and down in slow, opposite strokes, just an inch or two’s distance.
Somehow, it drove me completely insane.
“You?” he asked.
“A time or two. Once when I was in the shower.”
“Mmm,” he hummed with his cone in his mouth.