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He had on simple jeans and a dark blue tee, the color making his blue eyes all the more blue in his stupidly good-looking face.
If possible, he looked better dressed down than up. Maybe because this material clung to his wide shoulders, his strong chest. I could even see the indents of his abdominal muscles through the shirt. His arms were on display as well, and never before had I thought a man's arms were sexy. But, yes, his arms were sexy, barely able to be contained by the sleeves of his t-shirt, the forearms corded and strong.
"Hi," I said lamely, shaking my head at myself.
"Hi," he said back, smiling like he found my clumsy attempts at conversation charming. "You work here a lot?" he asked, sounding almost surprised at the idea. I guess when you lived in a place like where I lived, you figured no one inside it must have to work at some ice cream stand on the boardwalk.
"Well, this job is seasonal. I work here three nights a week. Then there is the diner. And I do some weekends at a bar."
"Bartender?"
"Waitress," I corrected. "But some of the bartenders have been giving me some tricks and teaching me recipes."
That I would hopefully use in my new life. I'd make more money that way. Enough, I hoped, to support myself and Helga.
"So, what is on the menu?" he asked, eyes pinned to mine, making a heat rise on my cheeks for a moment before I reached for the menu I had used to fan myself.
"A boat, huh?"
"That is for a family of four," I told him, shaking my head. "It has twelve scoops of ice cream. You can't eat that much."
"Want to bet?" he asked, lips quirking up at one side at the challenge.
"Bet what?"
"If I win, you come with me after your shift."
"Come where?"
"From what I hear, they do concerts on the beach here."
They did.
They just started a few weeks ago, and I had yet to be able to go because my shifts usually ran through them. If the crowd on the boardwalk was thin enough, sometimes I could hear it though.
"You know you want to," he added, smiling.
"I've been hearing good things," I hedged, not wanting to come off as eager as I felt. "But there is no way you are finishing twelve scoops. With toppings."
"Try me," he invited, eyes watching as I reached for the boat-shaped bowl.
"Alright. What flavors?"
"Surprise me."
"Oh, that is not a good idea," I said, a wicked smile pulling at my lips as I scooped out ice cream in the oddest flavors we served.
Cotton candy.
Root beer float.
Carrot cake.
Caribbean coconut.
Cherry pie.
Pistachio.
Two scoops of each.
Topped with gummy worms, rainbow sprinkles, chocolate syrup, and whipped cream.
"Jesus Christ," he groaned when I produced the finished product. "What the fuck is that pink flavor?"
"Cotton candy," I informed him, sticking a spoon in the side.
"I don't trust that smile."
"You shouldn't," I agreed, watching him take the boat. "No one likes that one. They are going to discontinue it. It's too sweet even for the kids."
"You're evil," he declared, moving off toward the side as someone else walked up, eyeing his ice cream like it was going to jump up and bite him.
"You asked for it," I reminded him, smiling as I wiped down the counter. "Hey Connor," I said, giving him a genuine smile.
Connor Collings was sweet on me.
He had never actually said the words, but there was no mistaking it. We'd known each other for a few years, once working at the same place when his old man got sick of him lounging around on the couch during his summer break.
I had figured it was something fleeting that would pass easily, but once he had found out where I worked this summer, he suddenly started showing up. Not every night. Not so much that it was creepy, but enough that it implied he was coming to see me. I'd see him maybe one night a week at the diner, or the ice cream shop. And since he found out about the bar, he came in there once in a while too, always staying until closing, demanding I let him walk me to my car.
I didn't know why his attention was so focused on me. Especially since learning he was about to head off to the academy to train to be a cop. Like his father. Like his grandfather.
What would a soon-to-be cop want to do with a daughter of a drug dealer?
He was a nice guy too.
And attractive.
Maybe not Charlie's over-the-top kind of good-looking, but pleasing to the eye with his tall, solid build, leaning toward stocky, but not overweight, just big-boned, solid, brown hair he kept almost obsessively trimmed to perfection, and keen eyes.
If I had any plans to stay, if I even had the mind to date, I would have considered him.
