Page 33 of Hard Hitter

Noah stepped over to the sidewalk and plucked me off the ground as if I weighed nothing. I’d seen him throw full grown men around like drunken dolls, so maybe to him Ididweigh nothing. He gripped my waist, and my hands landed on his shoulders as he set me gently on the ground.

Neither of us moved for a long beat, and I thought the heat of his skin might sear me. My pulse roared in my ears, deafening with the need to explore. I wanted to drag my fingers down his chest to the ridges of his abs. Instead, I let him go and stepped back.

New me cheered at the restraint, but old me howled with repressed need. The back and forth was getting exhausting. I needed to get all the parts of me on the same page for once.

11

“Ice cream?” I asked brightly, trying to mask my sudden retreat.

A flash of regret crossed his face, then he nodded at the squat building. “One of my professors told me about this place. All their flavors are locally made, and they’ve ruined me for any other ice cream.”

I let out a dramatic gasp. “Even Blue Bell? Don’t let any native Texans hear you.”

He dragged a hand through his hair as he led me across the street. “I don’t understand the obsession with Blue Bell. It’s good, but so are a lot of other brands.”

Up close, the white paint could use a new coat and the window had a crack running from top to bottom. A middle-aged guy with sandy blond hair, a green apron, and a huge smile greeted us from the other side.

“Good to see you, Noah. Who’s your friend?”

“Chloe, this is David. He owns the place. David, Chloe.”

David leaned his elbows on the counter in front of him and shifted his smile to me. “Nice to meet you, Chloe. Got a flavor in mind?”

“Strawberry?” There wasn’t a sign anywhere with the options, so I went with my go-to. Everybody had strawberry.

David winked at me and turned to Noah. “Want the usual?”

Noah nodded, and the man moved away to scoop from the giant freezer behind him.

I raised a brow. “How often do you come here?”

A blush crept up his neck. “A couple times a week.”

“Does Mac know?” Maclovedsweets. There was no way he’d known about this hidden ice cream stand and kept his mouth shut.

Noah scoffed. “I’m not sharing David’s genius with that garbage disposal.”

On cue, David reappeared with two cones. I took the pink one interspersed with chunks of strawberry, and Noah got something white with dark chunks.

“Cookies and cream?”

“Horchata and espresso.”

I smirked at him, sort of sad I’d taken the easy route. “Fancy.”

Noah chuckled as he led me back across the street to sit on the wall since the shack didn’t offer seating on the small patch of grass surrounding the building. A breeze pushed warm air past us, and I had the strangest sensation of peace. I had nowhere to be and no responsibilities I was failing to fulfill.

No expectations and no failures. I felt good. Just good. Noah had given me that.

I peeked at him, and my eyes landed on the wing of his phoenix cupping his shoulder. The tattoo was beautiful—sinuous curves stretching across his back accented with vibrant slashes of red and yellow.

“Are you going to eat or stare at me?” he asked.

“I can do both.” I took a bite, and my eyes nearly rolled back in my head. “Oh my god,” I groaned.

Noah shifted next to me, but when I recovered enough from my sudden foodgasm to look his way, he was calmly eating his ice cream.

“Good, right?”

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