Page 30 of Off Season

“Wanna try some, E?” He holds the cone out to me, his tongue peeking out to lick over his swollen lips.

Or can I act on it? Because if he wants to play a teasing game, then I’ll up the stakes.

Keeping my eyes fixed on his, I grab his wrist and bring his hand to my mouth. Taking a long, slow lick of the smooth ice cream, I imagine I’m running my tongue up his hard length.

His breath hitches. Twin pink circles color the apples of his cheeks, and his eyes dart between my mouth and where my hand is wrapped around his wrist, his cornflower-blue orbs darkening with each second that passes.

“Mm-hmm,” I hum, slowly sweeping my tongue over my bottom lip. “Delicious.”

I let go of his wrist, but it remains poised mid-air. It’s only when a bit of ice cream drips down the side of the cone onto his fingers that he moves.

He’s flustered, and I can’t help but grin. He eats his ice cream with small, tentative licks now, his eyes fixed on mine.

I lower my voice. “What have I said about teasing me, Jacob?”

He swallows, wide eyes blinking up at me.

I lean over, taking another bite of the soft serve as I ghost my lips over his. “It’s a dangerous game you’re playing. You’re too good for me. Don’t waste your wishes on someone who isn’t worthy of you.”

“Don’t you think that’s up to me to decide?”

His voice is strong for someone who was just blushing hard. His hair falls forward in the light breeze, and I reachup, pushing it off his face. I allow my fingers to linger, taking in the softness of it and the way the gesture makes his breath hitch. There’s something in those kind eyes that I can’t decipher.

I’m not able to answer him. Of course it’s up to him to decide who is worthy of him, but it isn’t me. He deserves things I’m not able to give him.

Doing what I do best, I let go of his hair and change the subject. Quickly looking at my watch, I stand up. “Shall we head over to the book shop?”

A line appears between Jacob’s brows. The muscle in his jaw twitches, and I prepare myself for him to call me out on my bullshit, but it doesn't happen. He silently finishes the ice cream and wipes his hands on a napkin, then stands. There’s this uncomfortable silence between us and I fucking hate that I put it there.

He begins to head toward the nearest underground station, and I can’t take it anymore.

I slip my hand into his, giving it a small squeeze. Letting him know without words I’m sorry for fucking up the moment.

We walk into the bookstore ten minutes later, and he stops abruptly, causing me to bump into him. I step to his side, watching as Jacob’s eyes widen in awe as he takes in the high ceilings, marbled floors, endless shelves, and round tables filled with books. I follow closely as he takes off toward the elevators and scans the sign listing the seven different floors and each of the genres.

“What are we looking for?” I ask, pressing the call button.

“Romance.” Jacob looks up at me, his eyes beaming.

Fuck, I love seeing that twinkle in his eyes. I want to be the one to put that look on his face all the damn time.

The elevator doors open, and my hand gravitates to the small of his back as I follow him inside. He presses the button, then bounces on his toes as it ascends. His excitement is palpable, and I want to bottle it up so I can experience it again and again.

Once the elevator arrives on the fifth floor, he heads straight to the section labeled “Romance.” Shoving my hands in my pockets, I watch him from a distance as he picks up a book and flips it over to read the back, the tip of his tongue peeking out in concentration.

He closes his eyes and takes a deep inhale, a bright smile on his face. “The smell of books is up there with cake fresh out of the oven and peonies.”

“I don’t know what peonies smell like.”

His mouth drops open. “Don’t you smell the flowers in your backyard?”

I shake my head. “No. They were there when I purchased the house, and I pay a landscaper to handle the yard for me, or Mom does it.”

He looks at me like I’m insane, then shakes his head, tsk-ing under his breath. I make a mental note to smell every flower in my backyard when we get home before asking him which ones are his favorites, so I can buy some for him when we’re back home.

It’s normal for friends to buy each other flowers, right?

Propping my shoulder against the edge of a bookcase, my eyes follow him with avid curiosity as he moves around the section. He treats each book he picks up with such care and attention, placing it gently back on the shelf beforepicking up another, and when he has two in his hand, I hold my hand out, offering to hold them while he continues looking.

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