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“You really like slamming me against your car door,” I groaned, rubbing my shoulder.
Trace waggled his eyebrows and put the car in park. “What can I say? Slamming you into things has a certain kind of appeal,” he looked me up and down.
I gulped, my eyes widening like a cornered rabbit, as I grappled for the door handle.
Trace chuckled. “I was just kidding…unless you’re into that kind of thing,” he winked.
Oh my God! He needed to stop it before I did something stupid, like tell him he could slam me against anything he wanted.
My cheeks flamed at my thoughts. Apparently, after a year, Avery’s ways were finally rubbing off on me. She’d be so proud.
Trace continued to chuckle as he got out of the car. I climbed out, and followed him into Dairy Queen, my legs shaking like limp noodles. All Trace had to do was suggest something remotely sexual and my body immediately
responded. As Avery liked to say, he was the kind of guy that could make you have an orgasm just by talking.
I covered my cheeks with my hands, willing the heat in them to leave. Maybe Avery could give me a lesson in not blushing. In all the time I had known her, she had never blushed, while I seemed unable to turn it off.
“What do you want?” He asked, motioning for me to order.
“Oh,” I mumbled, stepping up to the counter, scrutinizing the menu. “Um, I’ll have the double fudge cookie dough blizzard,” I mumbled and stepped back. I didn’t see how I could go wrong with that.
Trace ordered a pineapple sundae and we stood off to the side and waited.
Once we were handed our ice cream, we took a seat on the other side, away from the commotion of the counter.
The seats were old fashioned, with blue and red, shiny cushions. A mural of various ice creams and candies decorated one wall, while the opposite wall was made entirely of windows.
We sat down at one of the tables next to the windows. It was dark outside, but it seemed brighter with the light from inside the Dairy Queen, and the various shops across the street.
“Pineapple?” I raised a brow as Trace took a bite.
“I like pineapple,” he shrugged, “therefore pineapple and ice cream are a winning combination. I can also delude myself into believing it was semi healthy when I feel guilty later.”
I laughed. “You sound like you have a vagina.”
He snorted. “I don’t, but feel free to check it out if you want.”
“I’m good,” I looked away, taking a bite of my ice cream. “So, you don’t eat a lot of sweets?” I asked.
He frowned. “I try not to, but Skittles are my guilty pleasure.”
I laughed, remembering the bowl of Skittles on his coffee table.
“I try to eat healthy, not like most guys living on their own,” he explained. “My mom made sure that my brother and I could cook.”
“Those stuffed shells you made were delicious,” I licked my lips free of ice cream.
He grinned. “I knew my stuffed shells would impress you.”
I rolled my eyes, silently scolding my cheeks for flaming at his words. “How do you manage to make everything sound dirty?”
He smirked cockily. “What can I say? It’s a gift.”
“That’s some gift,” I laughed.
“Not everyone can be this talented,” he winked, and then swirled his tongue around the spoon, licking away every drop of ice cream.
I think my ovaries may have exploded.
