Page 69 of Cream and Punishment
Psh, don’t be ridiculous.
I put away the dish I’d finished and dug two pints of ice cream out of my freezer. “Triple Ripple or Motor City Mayhem?”
“I don’t think I’ve tried either of those, honestly.” He dried off his hands and laid the last few dishes over his towel to air-dry. “How can I choose?”
“Well” —heat flushed through me, though I had no good reason for it— “if you don’t mind sharing a few more germs, we could each take one and share?”
“Nowwe’re talking.” His jaw flickered as he swallowed, his Adam’s apple bobbing way more sexily than something with a name like that had any right to. “What’s a few germs between neighbors, anyway?”
“Exactly.”
I spun to get spoons, praying my thoughts wouldn’t spontaneously project out of my head and snitch on all the ways I’d concocted for us to share germs. None of which I’d actuallydo, of course, because I was a dignified lady.
Alright. Technically the “dignified” part was debatable. But Iwasa lady. So there.
We each took one side of my raggedy couch, which groaned like a goat in active labor as it supported our weight. Half a cushion’s worth of space sat empty between us. This was especially impressive considering there were only two cushions on the little loveseat. Let the record show, though, we’d transferred my army of throw pillows to the floor and coffee table rather than him using them to make a wall between us, so I must not be acompletetroll.
When we were comfortably situated, him with only Ned the nugget behind his back and me hugging Debby the drumstick between my legs, Max raised his pint of Motor City Mayhem in my direction. “Cheers?”
I chuckled but tapped my own pint against his. “What exactly are we toasting to?”
“Life?” He offered a boyish smile before digging into his ice cream. “Do we need a specific reason to celebrate?”
A month ago, I would’ve said yes. Now, though, sharing another evening with Max and knowing he’d only be a wall away at the end of the day, I had more than enough blessings to toast to.
“No,” I said quietly, unable to look away from him. “No, we don’t.”
He held my gaze captive with his—a willing prisoner if ever there was one—and dragged the spoon out of his mouth painfully slowly. Deliberately. Overturned so the concavity slid along his tongue out of my view, leaving me to fill in the blanks with my imagination—which was all too eager to supply alternatives for his tongue to taste.
Heat smoldered in my belly until the steam flushed my cheeks. I bit my lip and tore my eyes away from the unreasonably seductive movement to root through my own ice cream instead.
It was probably a perfectly normal speed, a perfectly normal way to eat ice cream. But when you’re falling hard for someone, it takes precious little to seduce you. A look. A spoonful of ice cream. An Adam’s apple.
That last one was especially embarrassing. But the neck gods had smiled upon Max, okay? I stood by my weird turn-ons… unless one of my friends learned about them. Then I’d deny everything, build a raft out of donut boxes, and sail into the sunset.
“What’s in the Triple Ripple one?” Max asked, pursing his lips to indicate my pint.
“Oh, uh” —I rotated the container to read the label, since my brain was still fantasizing about spoons— “chocolate ice cream with swirls of peanut butter, peppermint, and marshmallow.”
“Wow. I don’t think I would’ve thought of combining those flavors.”
I laughed. “They seem like they wouldn’t fit together, right? But it works surprisingly well. Especially since you can usually only fit one or two of the swirls in one spoonful.”
A smile pulled at the corner of his mouth. “Challenge accepted.”
“What challenge?”
“I’m gonna fit all three swirls in one bite.” He held his pint out. “Switch?”
I put my spoon in my mouth to free up my hands, and we swapped. Our fingers brushed as we did. Our eyes locked and my lungs forgot how to breathe. And then I remembered the spoon sticking out of my mouth like a lone walrus tusk.
It figured. He got to look like a model while eating, and I got to look like blubbery wildlife.
We retreated to our respective corners of the couch. Both of us pointedly watched the TV and our ice cream, never straying toward the other person in threat of death.
The Motor City Mayhem ice cream was my favorite, while Lex favored the Triple Ripple. They were both delicious, of course, but the creamy cherry ice cream with brownie pieces and fudge ribbons were a downright lethal combination, even before the Pop Rocks hit your tongue. It lived up to its chaotic name, and I could appreciate that.
It wasn’t until the episode was about to end that I finally braved looking in Max’s direction, only to find him already watching me. He clutched his spoon in his mouth again, but instead of torturing me with its movement, he tapped the handle like he’d forgotten it was even there. His eyes looked darker than normal as they fixated on my mouth. The unfamiliar expression on his face cranked up the heat inside me until I was positive my ice cream would melt in my hand.
