Page 74 of 1 Last Shot

And if our mornings together weren’t enough, he’s also been picking me up at the ballet school every day. I don’t even mind that it means I have no use for my car anymore, I’ll happily trade it for a fifteen-minute bike ride with Kane where I have free rein to touch him however I want.

When I hear the knock on my front door, I grab the fresh coffee from the Keurig machine and try, unsuccessfully, to tamp down on the excitement bubbling in my chest. I thought for sure this schoolgirl crush would eventually die down, but it's become obvious that isn't the case at all.

The more I get to know Kane, the more I want to be around him.

My smile is about to split my face when I open the door. He looks tired, the way he always does after his all-night shift, but there's still that twinkle in his eye that says he's happy to see me.

"Hi," I all but squeak.

"Hi, princess," he says in that deep voice that never fails to make my knees weak.

I extend the coffee so as to keep myself from throwing myself at him.

"How was work?" I ask, walking over to my own cup of coffee. "Any rowdy patrons?"

"I think you have the wrong impression of the excitement level at my job," he answers, his voice giving away his amusement. When I turn to look at him, he's stepped into my apartment and the corner of his lip is lifted in a half-smirk as he goes to take a sip of the coffee.

"I think I have exactly the right vision of what bouncing at a strip club is like," I quip, turning on the espresso machine. "Drunk, feral men everywhere that can't take their eyes off of the hottest women on earth doing incredible acrobatics on stage. I think that's the definition of excitement."

Kane's amusement only multiplies during my description. "Remind me to never take you to the club ifthat'swhat you think it looks like," he says, taking a seat at my little kitchen table.

"How far off am I?"

"You're not even in the same realm."

I take my cup of espresso in hand and walk over to my fridge to grab some ice. But when I open the freezer door and come face to face with the vanilla ice cream, I'm momentarily distracted.

I bought the gallon yesterday when my week-before-period sugar cravings started up. I rarely ever ate sweets when I was dancing, but if Idideat them, it was always with the excuse of my period. It became somehow ingrained in me that I could only eat them during that week. And since I'm still a few days out, I haven't touched the container yet. I just stare at it and drool every time I open the freezer.

I drop an ice cube in my espresso and close the door with a wistful sigh. When I turn around to return to my conversation with Kane, I realize he noticed my pause.

He quirks an eyebrow before his gaze darts back to my freezer. Then he stands up and walks across my kitchen.

"What're you—?”

He doesn't say a word as he opens the freezer and takes the ice cream out. Or while he takes a spoon from my drawer and uses it to scoop some from the container and drop it directly into my glass of espresso.

The only time he talks is when he presses the concoction into my hand and says by way of explanation, "You didn't look like you'd be open to scooping right out of the gallon at 6 a.m."

I can only stare at the glass in my hand.

"Try it, it's delicious," he says, settling back in his seat and reaching for his own coffee.

Tentatively, I take the spoon Kane left in the cup and scoop up some of the already-melting ice cream and caffeine mixture.

"Oh my God, that's so good," I moan as it melts on my tongue. "How have I never thought to do this?" Taking a seat across from Kane at the table, I immediately dig in for another spoonful.

By the time I've eaten the ice cream and drank the last drops of espresso, it's been a few minutes of nothing but the occasional sigh of pleasure and the sound of my spoon scraping the bottom of the glass. When I finally move my attention back to Kane, I find his heated gaze glued to me—specifically, to my lips.

I swipe my tongue over them as I feel my face heat in embarrassment. Hurriedly, I place the glass on the table and slide it away from me. But before I can try to gloss over the fact that I just inhaled an entire scoop of ice cream first thing in the morning, Kane's already grabbing the spoon from my hand and jabbing in into the still-open gallon container on the table.

I'm only confused for a second, because then Kane is immediately scooping more ice cream onto the spoon and lifting it to my lips.

"We're eating ice cream for breakfast?" I ask with a nervous laugh. "I thought we were going to make omelets today."

He shrugs and eats the bite himself. "Ice cream sounds better, don't you think?" Digging into the container, he lifts the spoon to my lips in offer. When I hesitate, he says, "Come on, princess. Live a little."

That thought has me melting faster than the ice cream. I wrap my lips around the spoon… and almost purr in pleasure when the sweet vanilla bean graces my tongue.

---