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He shot his gaze down to her. “Hm?”
“What are you going to get?”
“Oh, uh…” He let his hand skim up and down her back, these little touches becoming more and more natural with every passing day. He wasn’t even aware he’d done it until she leaned her shoulder against him. “I think I’m going strawberry. With rainbow sprinkles.”
“Really? You don’t seem like a strawberry and sprinkles kind of guy.”
“Real men eat strawberry,” he said, echoing her words from earlier, pressing his fingers into her waist. Because why not pile innuendo onto his dumbass delayed gratification strategy?
With one thin eyebrow raised, a playful curl spread on her lips. “Did that sound as dirty to you as it did to me?”
“What can I say, I really love eating strawberries.” He threw his arm around her shoulders, towing her into him, until she pressed her cheek against his chest. He kissed the top of her head then dropped his mouth to her ear, whispering, “Don’t you love it when guys eat strawberries?”
“Oh yeah,” she said, tipping her head back, her tongue slipping over her lips to wet them. “Especially in the morning before I’m even really awake and the sheets are warm. A special treat to start the day.”
And now all he could think about was Samantha first thing in the morning, wrapped up in the sheets, her hair all wild, and—according to his imagination—wearing nothing but one of his T-shirts.
“Hi, what can I get for you?”
Mike blinked over to the young girl behind the counter, clearing his throat. “Uh, yeah. Sam?”
“I’d like a scoop of peach and a scoop of chocolate in a cup, please.”
The girl grabbed an ice cream scoop to fill her order, and Mike grimaced. “Peach and chocolate? That sounds disgusting.”
“Sounds gross, but it’s so good.”
The girl handed Samantha her ice cream then looked to Mike. He ordered his strawberry with sprinkles in a cone and paid before they looked for a table. A middle-aged couple was not quite finished with their ice cream, but the man eyed Mike’s leg and promptly got up from the table. “Do you need a seat?”
Mike waved. “No, we’re good. Thanks, though.” Then he led the way outside to find a seat on a bench. “This okay?”
She nodded, and they both sat. After a minute of them eating in silence, she asked, “Was that weird for you?”
“I’m used to it. I’ve gotten used to the stares or assumptions, the questions. I’m in an online group for amputees, and the posts are…” He shook his head. “It’s amazing what some people think is appropriate to say. But, for me, it’s the fawning I can’t stand more than anything else.”
He turned to face her and her interested gaze, like he was a puzzle she was trying to put together. She asked questions because she was interested. As opposed to some morbid curiosity other people sometimes had.
“I got hurt doing my job. It really sucks, but I don’t want to be treated any differently than a construction guy who hurt himself while roofing or something.”
She tapped her spoon on her bottom lip, and he focused there as she spoke. “Makes sense, but you were also hurt doing something that most people won’t or can’t do. If Superman fell from the sky with a broken arm, I certainly wouldn’t know what to do or say.”
“I’m not Superman,” he said, stretching his arm along the back of the bench.
“No.” The corner of her lips twisted up into one of her snarky smiles. “Just a cog in the industrialized military complex. So says one of my friends.”
“Too right.” Mike let out a bitter laugh. He joined the Marines because he was a kid who didn’t want to go to college, and the recruiter was a smooth talker. The guy promised a life of travel and brotherhood and security, a life the military would provide for him. So, he signed up, and they sent him off. Like most of the guys he served with, he was simply trying to make a living.
He gestured with his cone to her cup to move on to a different topic. “How’s your…gross peach and chocolate?”
“I’m telling you, it’s delicious. Here, try it.”
She spooned up a bit of peach and chocolate and held it out to him. He paused only momentarily before leaning forward to have a taste. Their eyes met as he wrapped his mouth around the spoon, the two different flavors mixing on his tongue. It was delicious, and the glint in her eyes showed she knew it.
“You’re right. It’s good,” he said, licking his lips, noticing how she mimicked the motion with her own.
“I told you.”
He held out his ice cream cone, offering it to her, and without words, her pink tongue peeked out of her mouth to lick across the top scoop of strawberry, taking some colored sprinkles with it. Instead of tasting the ice cream on her tongue, like he wanted, he changed the subject to the least erotic thing he could think of, willing the temperature of his blood to cool.
