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The clink of the ice cream scoop against the glass echoes in the near-empty parlor as the teenage boy finally hands us our treat. I grab the bowls, one in each hand, and lead Brielle to a corner booth, away from the judgmental eyes of anyone who might walk in. She wobbles on her heels, giggling like a fool, and I slide an arm around her waist to steady her.
“Here, sit.” My voice is more commanding than I intend, but I can’t mask my irritation any longer. As she sinks into the cushioned seat, I slide in across from her, my frustration simmering just below the surface.
“Levi—” she starts, but I cut her off with a sharp look.
“Can you even remember half the things you did tonight?” I demand, my words laced with disbelief. “You swam, drunk, in your underwear. How can you be so…reckless?”
Her smile falters, and she looks down at her bowl, her fingers playing with the edge of my jacket. There’s a vulnerability there that almost softens me. Almost. “I don’t understand why you care.”
Neither do I. “I don’t. It’s just stupid.”
“Levi, you always call me stupid,” she whispers, and the hurt in her voice tightens something in my chest. “It’s like…it’s like you hate me one second and then you…” Her voice trails off, but I can fill in the blanks. I know exactly what she means, and it gnaws at me.
“Kiss you the next?” I finish for her, my voice barely above a whisper.
Her gaze lifts, meeting mine head-on, a silent challenge. “You make me feel like I’m nothing to you, Levi. Nothing but a stupid girl you can toy with when it suits you.”
Her words are a sucker punch to the gut. I stare back at her, the icy sweetness of the vanilla bean forgotten, melting around my spoon. I want to rage, to deny, yet the honesty in her eyes pins me to my seat. She’s right. I’ve been walking this tightrope of desire and disdain, never fully choosing a side.
“Is that really how you see it?” I ask, my voice rough with emotion. It’s not a confession, not an apology, but it’s all I can manage without tearing open a world of complications.
“Sometimes,” she admits. “Sometimes that’s exactly how it feels, Levi.”
The heat from Brielle’s thigh sears through the fabric of my jeans as she slides it against my leg, a silent plea etched in the gesture. Her eyes, heavy with more than just alcohol, lock onto mine. I’m caught, trapped in their emerald depths that flicker with candor and want.
“Levi,” she breathes out, her voice laced with a drunken slur but underscored by a sharp edge of seriousness. “Don’t mess with me. If you want me, take me. If you’ve got someone else, then leave me the hell alone.”
I know it’s the alcohol making her say it, but that doesn’t make the words have any less impact.
Words lodge in my throat, clogged and useless.
She scoops up another spoonful of ice cream, but as she brings it to her lips, a dollop lands precariously on the corner of her mouth. Instinctively, my thumb reaches out, grazing her soft skin, and I swipe away the creamy smear. The fleeting touch ignites something primal within me.
Her gaze snaps to mine, pupils dilated, breath hitched. The air between us crackles, charged with electricity. We’re playing with fire, and neither of us seems willing—or able—to stop.
“Levi…” She whispers my name like a mantra, a call to action that tempts me to break every rule I’ve ever set for myself. I’m drowning in the sea of her need, and damn if I don’t want to dive deeper.
“Shh,” I murmur, trying to quiet the storm brewing inside us both. But the truth is, I’m just as lost as she is.
The bell above the ice cream shop door jingles, slicing through the thick tension between us. Conrad’s figure looms in the doorway, his silhouette a stark contrast against the neon lights outside. I sense it before he even steps foot inside—the weight of something unsaid, an undercurrent of urgency that wasn’t there before.
“Done with the ice cream?” His voice is steady, but his eyes are searching, probing for something beneath the surface.
Brielle nods, her spoon clattering against the empty bowl as she pushes it away. The sound echoes too loudly in the quiet space. She tries to stand, but her balance falters, and Conrad’s arms are quick to steady her. There’s a practiced ease in the way he supports her weight, his hands molding around her arms like they belong there.
Am I jealous?
“Let’s get you back,” Conrad murmurs to her, but his gaze lingers on me for a split second longer than necessary—a silent conversation passing between us.
I scoop up our trash. The crinkle of the paper napkins feels loud in my ears, every small noise amplified by the sudden shift in atmosphere. With one last glance at Brielle—her face buried in Conrad’s chest—I toss everything into the bin.
Outside, the night air bites at my exposed skin, and I shudder, not just from the cold. We shuffle to the car. Conrad opens the back door, guiding Brielle into the seat with gentle firmness. Her head leans back, eyes closed, lashes casting delicate shadows on her cheeks.
“Thanks,” she mumbles, barely audible as Conrad clicks the seat belt into place—a safeguard against more than just the road ahead.
“Of course,” he replies, though his attention is already shifting, his thoughts churning behind an unreadable expression.
I reach over to close the door.
