Page 82 of A Million Times, Yes
“I heard that, Benjamin,” Jordan stammered.
I could feel my face turn red. “It’s very nice to meet you. I’ve actually heard a lot about you too.”
“Cool stuff?”
“Only cool stuff,” I assured him.
“Speaking of ‘cool,’ what’s Uncle J doing with you tonight?” Bettie asked Ben. “I hope there’s something fun planned?”
“He’s taking me ice-skating!”
“That sounds like a blast,” I admitted.
“You should come,” Jordan said.
Three words that made me turn toward the doorway, a spot I’d been trying to avoid since Ben had come into the room. “You want me to go skating with you?”
“Please, Maya!” Ben sang. “Please come!”
My gaze moved between Ben and Jordan. “I wish I could, but I have plans with Emily tonight—”
“The invitation was for you and Emily,” Jordan said. “Ben and I would like you both to come. Wouldn’t we, Ben?”
“Yesss!” He pointed at Emily and me. “Wait until you see how I skate backward. Uncle J taught me, and I usually fall a couple times, but I’m not falling tonight.”
The grin on Emily’s face was so big, I already knew her answer, I didn’t even have to ask.
“Plus, Uncle J said we could get burgers and milkshakesandcupcakes,” Ben added. “The kind of cupcakes that have all the frosting on them like the swirl of an ice-cream cone.” He threw his hands up. “They’re so good.”
“Those are my favorite kind of cupcakes too.” I laughed. “Ben, I don’t know if that’s an offer we can turn down.”
“Then don’t,” Bettie said before she winked.
Chapter Twenty-Three
Jordan
“I don’t think I can eat another bite,” Maya groaned as she set down her cupcake, her fingers covered in chocolate icing.
The desserts I’d ordered from our kitchen had been customized to everyone’s flavor of choice and had triple the frosting of most cupcakes. In my opinion, it was all about the topping—no one gave a shit about the cake beneath.
Emily was chewing her strawberry-flavored one, tackling only a few bites before she said, “That makes two of us. I’m done.”
“Not me,” Ben sang. “I’m gonna eat the whole entire thing.” He bit into the side, almost making the top collapse, giggling while he moaned, “Mmm.It’ssoooyummy.”
We were in our arena, seated at a table in the owner’s suite. A handful of staff had been offered overtime to come in and whip up some burgers and fries and milkshakes and cupcakes; another crew was taking care of the lights over the rink and testing the temperature of the ice and fitting my guests with the correct-size skates.
“Why does it not surprise me that you’re going to eat every bite.” Emily laughed and used her napkin to wipe off some of the vanilla frosting from Ben’s cheek.
Maya was just lifting her napkin—I’m assuming to clean her chocolate-covered hands—when she said to me, “Aren’t you going to eat your cupcake?”
Since upping my mileage—my brain just not ready to go home each morning, where the quietness of my condo would make my thoughts spiral even more—I’d been extra careful about the food I put in my body. My joints were fucking screaming, my muscles aching. Sugar, an athlete’s worst enemy, would only make it worse.
I wouldn’t explain any of that to her.
But as I looked at the thick chocolate coating her fingers, I just couldn’t help myself.
So I leaned toward her hand and surrounded her finger with my lips, sucking on her skin to collect all the icing.
