Chapter Twenty-Seven
Nico
“Wait, wait, wait.” I shut the passenger side door to the truck and turn around as Alex meets me along the sidewalk. “So if I get a waffle cone, does that mean—”
“Oh, shit,” he cuts in, frowning. He runs a hand through his hair with a sigh and then pulls out his phone. “I, uh . . . I actually don’t know. Maybe it’s fine?”
I step closer as he opens up a browser tab and googles our question. We both groan as the search results pop up. He scrolls for a second, skimming the summaries under each of the links. Then he sighs in frustration and shoves his phone back into his pocket.
“So . . . how do you feel about cake cones?” he asks, grimacing as he looks back up at me.
He’s about due for a haircut and a touch-up, if he’s going to keep it dyed blue—his natural blond is showing through at the roots, and it’s getting a little too long for his neat style.
And now it’s messy too. I want to reach up and brush it back into place, but I manage to keep my hands to myself.
Instead, I shrug and pretend to think on it. “Hmm, I dunno. How long did it say we’d have to wait?”
“Really? Really, Nico?!”
“I’m just weighing all of my options,” I tease with a smirk. “I mean, you’re asking me to choose between a waffle cone and kissing . . . I’m really not sure. It’s a huge sacrifice.”
He groans again, but there’s a small smile tugging at his lips.
I can tell he almost wants to swat at me, but he doesn’t do it.
He just shakes his head and turns to look toward the ice cream shop down the street.
There’s a line out the door, and all of the tables outside are filled with loud groups, mostly people our age.
I immediately recognize a bunch of them from school, including several guys whom I’m not too fond of.
I blow out a breath and drop my eyes to the sidewalk, trying to ignore the rush of uncomfortable feelings and memories. Voices calling me names. Nico the Freako. Punching Bag. Other things. Worse things.
Suddenly, even my light tease about Alex’s cinnamon allergy doesn’t feel good.
I bite my lip and lift my eyes up just as he glances back at me, his expression tight. “I’m kidding, of course,” I say, and he nods.
“Yeah, I know.”
“I’ll take whatever type of cone you usually get. What did you call it?”
“A cake cone.” He looks down at his shoes and scuffs the toe of one into the ground. “I’m sorry, uh . . . That’s something I hadn’t really thought about before, you know? I hate to ask you to—”
“—make a tiny adjustment to my eating habits so we can be together safely?” With a smile, I reach out and brush my fingers against his.
It’s a tiny gesture, but the need to reassure him is strong.
I link my pinkie with his for just a second before letting my hand drop back to my side. “It’s fine. Really.”
He lifts his eyes and then holds my gaze for a count of five. His cautious smile fades into a grimace. “You won’t be saying that when you have to turn down a cinnamon roll. Or snickerdoodles. Apple pie. A lot of desserts, actually. And curry. Mole. Barbacoa. Oh, and Coke and Dr. Pepper.”
“Damn.”
“Yeah. Eating out can be kind of a minefield. That’s probably one of the reasons my mom cooks so much. She can substitute for other spices when she’s cooking, and there’s no, uh, cross-contamination, I guess you’d call it.”
I just nod, and together, Alex and I start down the street toward Harley’s. Each step closer makes my chest tighten more, and an uncomfortable buzzing starts in my fingers. It’s familiar, accompanied by a growing irritation in the back of my mind.
I fucking hate it.
Alex’s hand touches my back briefly, as though he can sense the change.
He probably can. And though it helps knowing he’s here with me, it doesn’t get rid of the feeling completely.
There are too many people. Too many people who are assholes.
Even with all the struggles of the last week and a half since school ended, I’ve been lucky to at least not have that to deal with, too—the bullying, the pressure of having to be around so many other people I don’t trust.
I’m walking slower now, and Alex adjusts his speed next to me. His hand is no longer on my back, but he’s close. I drop my eyes to the sidewalk just as we reach the end of the line. The couple in front of us turns around, and I’m surrounded by voices.
They know him, because everyone does. They say hi, and there are handshakes or fist bumps or whatever.
More words, more voices. A few others come over.
I shrink back just a step. If Alex notices, I can’t tell.
The conversation goes on, lively and loud.
It’s probably not even that loud. It’s probably just me.
I hear every few words, especially if they’re Alex’s, but whatever everyone’s talking about really doesn’t register. The line moves forward, and I gravitate with it, as does the group surrounding us.
More handshakes. Something that sounds like an invitation to something in Omaha. For Friday night. Maybe.
Alex seems interested.
My stomach hurts.
Then, the others leave, and we’re alone in line again. There’s a group behind us now—a family with some young kids—and we shuffle forward as one of the children screeches at the top of their lungs. The mom gently reminds the child they have to wait until it’s their turn.
I shove my hands into my pockets and take another step forward as the line moves.
Alex is talking now, and it takes me another moment to realize he’s talking to me, his hand on my upper arm, giving me a soft squeeze.
“So, what do you think? I know it’s not your thing, but it could be fun?” He sounds hopeful as fuck, and I clench my jaw.
“S-sorry, what do I think about what?” I stammer, shifting just slightly so he has to drop his hand from my arm.
We’re at the doorway to the ice cream place now, and we both squish to one side to let the people exiting get by.
Then we step all the way in. The chill of the building’s air conditioning cools some of the heat simmering below my skin, but I’m still not okay, especially when the child behind us screams again and the mom isn’t quite as gentle with her words this time.
Alex scoots closer to me, and his hand finds my back. “Everyone from school is getting together on Friday night, heading into Omaha to go to Dave and Buster’s.”
“Oh, right. Um. Cool.” There’s no sincerity in my voice at all, and I’m sure Alex hears it.
He laughs, and his hand presses into my back, guiding me forward a step. We’re finally almost at the front of the line. I’m not even sure if I want ice cream now.
“We don’t have to go,” Alex says, and even though my mind wants to invent things, I can’t hear any disappointment or negativity in his voice at all. “It sounded kinda fun, but I wouldn’t want you to be uncomfortable.”
I’m actually not sure how to respond, especially right now when I’m starting to feel lightheaded and everything seems to be closing in around me. Fucking anxiety. “C-can we talk about this later, maybe?”
“Yeah, sure. Of course.” Alex’s hand drops from my back, and a moment later, he steps up around me to the counter and orders.
A double scoop of mint chip in a cake cone for himself and then chocolate peanut butter brownie in a cake cone for me.
He gives me a look to confirm, and I manage a tight nod.
A few minutes later, we’re stepping back outside in the early evening heat, ice cream cones in hand.
Alex walks just behind me, and my stupid ass is imagining he’s doing it to make me feel safer.
His free hand finds my back, and he leans in and says, “How about we head out to the river? We can eat the ice cream on the way, and it should be quieter there, so we can just relax and talk.”
“Yeah, okay,” I agree, my voice low and shaky. And though he doesn’t respond, I can almost feel his apology in the way his hand brushes my back lightly, guiding me in the direction of his mom’s truck.
“Ugh, this is so good,” he says, and when I glance sideways at him, I’m immediately distracted. He’s licking around the base of the ice cream scoop, catching the melting drops before they can slide down the cone.
It’s a fucking good distraction, really.
His eyes meet mine as he starts around the ice cream again, and he slows his tongue just enough that I’m sure he knows I can’t have missed it.
Fuck. How is eating ice cream sexy now?
My eyes dart down to the cone, and I watch, my dick stirring with interest, as he licks up another drop of ice cream about to fall.
“Yours is melting too,” he says with a smirk. We stop at his mom’s truck, and he glances back over his shoulder in the direction we came before turning to face me again. His eyes are hungry as they drop to my ice cream cone. “Don’t want to make a mess.”
“Mm-hmm, yeah.” I give him just as good a show as he gave me, slowly tracing a path with my tongue around the edge where the ice cream meets the cone.
I even close my eyes and moan a little—because chocolate peanut butter brownie is fucking good.
My eyes flutter back open in time to see his cheeks flush and his gaze darken.
I recognize the look. It’s the same one he had in the hallway last week when he was watching my ass as I walked away.
I lean back against the truck, holding his heated gaze, and he steps closer, licking the ice cream from his lips. He stops just a few inches away, now biting his lip, his eyes drawn to my mouth. The tension in the air is sharp, and he swallows hard and drags his eyes up to meet mine.
“We should go,” I whisper, and he nods eagerly, which makes me laugh. Before he has a chance to move away, I tease him one more time, running my tongue around the outside of the cone again.
He groans, and I laugh as he opens up the passenger side door for me. “Get in before I kiss you right here in front of everyone,” he says, his voice almost a low growl.
Fuck, that’s hot, too.