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“Eh. I only lived there for a year, then my buddy Cooper and I got our own house. I can party, but no one needs to party that much.”
“You came to the wrong city for that mindset.” I laugh.
“I think I’m in the right one.” He glances over, and his eyes meet mine for only a second before they are back on the road. I’ll give it to him, the guy is smooth. He’s also extremely attractive in his dark blue jeans and light blue button up rolled to his elbows. Damn those forearms. Maci told me he played football in high school. I’d do something shady in trade for seeing him in his old uniform. Ugh. The effect he’s having on me is terrifying.
He pulls into one of the parking spaces outside a strip mall. I look up and see the worn white sign. It saysMashti Malone’sin green capital letters on top andIce Creamin red below it. There’s a four leaf clover on the side. “Irish ice cream? Is that a thing?” I say it more to myself, but Troy answers me as he pulls the key out of the ignition.
“No.” He laughs. “I mean, maybe. This place is actually Persian, but when the owner took over this space to open his shop he could only afford to change half the sign. It’s been around since the 80s.”
“Look at the outsider teaching me new things about my city.”
“I could teach you a lot of new things.” His response is quick and laced with everything but innocence. He’s playing my game, and being on the other end of it is torture. I ignore him and the desire between my thighs begging to know what exactly he means.
A glass display case filled with twenty colorful tins of ice cream is to the left when we enter, and I can already tell they aren’t typical flavors. Fine by me. I tried a lot of weird foods at celebrity events when I did makeup. “Are you picky?” Troy questions.
I chuckle at our parallel thoughts. “Only with men.”
He doesn’t seem phased by my comment. “How do you feel about me ordering and us sharing?”
“I don’t want your cooties, Troy,” I tease.
“Wouldn’t be the first time you had them.” The direction he’s headed is clear, but what his aim is, I have yet to figure out. “And it won’t be the last.” The words sound playful, but his voice is steady and serious.
Our eyes lock, and the moment we share makes my stomach flip. I think it's sexual tension, but whatever it is makes me uneasy.
“You can choose the flavors.” I leave him at the counter to escape the tensity and find a seat at one of the two round metal tables outside.
A few minutes later, Troy joins me. He sets a single clear plastic to-go container between us. There’s a big, sticky cookie on the bottom. According to the sign inside, they make fresh middle eastern pastries with honey and rosewater. I’m guessing that’s what this is.
“I got saffron rosewater with pistachio and persian cucumber. Whatever the hell that is. I like to live on the wild side.” He holds out a spoon to me.
I dip my spoon into the bright yellow ice cream, and as I’m bringing my bite to my mouth, Troy’s phone vibrates on the table between us. It’s face up, and I can’t help but look at it. The table is small enough, and we are sitting close enough that it doesn’t take much straining for me to make out the notification on the front of his screen.
Lauren:What’s the verdict? Are you coming over tonight? Or never again?
There’s a winky face emoji at the end.
I’m pretty sure it’s the girl from the other night who he claimed wasjust a friend. That text doesn’t exactly scream friendship.
I finish my bite, the cold cream exploding my taste buds with floral flavor. Damn, this is good. I go back for a second bite. I don’t care about whoever is texting him. If anything, I only want sex from Troy–to fuck any non-platonic thoughts out of my head. I’ve only slept with one person since Nolan. I’m due for some human contact. He’s just an itch I need to scratch.
When he speaks, it startles me. “Lauren is my friend you met the other night.”
I take a second to respond, diving in for a bite of the persian cucumber, the sweet and crisp flavor drastically contrasting the first one. “She seems cool.” I mean it.
“She is. She said the same about you.”
I lean back in my chair and study his face, trying to decipher those words. It’s unlike me to attempt to read more into anything a man says.
“I am pretty cool.” I shrug and rip off a piece of the sticky cookie. I shake my head and lick my fingers. Troy’s gaze follows my actions. Damn. I thought I was good at reading people, but there’s no way he’s thinking the thoughts it looks like he’s thinking.
“Lauren and I are just friends,” he reminds me. “Well, that’s not really true. At the risk of my honesty backfiring here, she and I have an arrangement.”
I’m intrigued, but I don’t tell him as much. I take another bite of persian pastry and feign indifference.
“I could try to make it sound better than it is, but long story short we’re fuck buddies.”
Huh. I wasn’t expecting him to say that. “The directness is refreshing, although I’m not sure why you felt the need to tell me.”
