Chapter 29
twenty-nine
. . .
Bex
Ice cream. For a date.
Fuck, what do I do?
Nick rounds the car and opens my door, then offers his hand. I slide mine into his, the comforting press of his calloused palm calming my racing heart.
The inside of the shop is adorable, with frosted-glass panes separating each faded, red vinyl booth. Upbeat pop music plays through the speakers, a modern-day anachronism to the place’s classic style.
A high-top counter spans half the shop, with an old-fashioned soda fountain and a display case of ice cream tubs on the other half. This is where Nick beelines, practically dragging me with him in his excitement.
“Welcome to Miss Edna’s,” a pimply teen in a red-and-white striped smock and silly white hat says. He’s clearly bored out of his mind. “What can I get you?”
Ice cream has never been my poison of choice; it’s always been cookie dough—raw, straight from the package. But when I indulge, I like to go all in. Really treat myself.
A moment on the lips, a lifetime on the hips.
My mother’s voice echoes in my head, repeating over and over and over again. I squeeze my eyes shut, trying to block it out, but I can hardly hear myself think.
Finally, I break. “Do you have frozen yogurt?”
Nick fixes me with a plaintive look. “Please tell me you’re not serious.”
“What? I like frozen yogurt.”
He shakes his head. “This isn’t that type of place. Real ice cream. Full sugar, full fat, full delicious.”
“I don’t need ice cream.” If he wants to date me, I’ll have to watch what I eat much more than usual.
“Bex.” His voice softens. “You can eat whatever you want. If you really want frozen yogurt, we can go somewhere else. I just want to share this with you.”
The sincerity in his voice eases the doubts from my mind. I unwind, and look over the options. There are so many unique flavors, plus the classic ones. I’m torn between my favorite chocolate chip cookie dough or trying a different flavor.
This is the start of something new, me and Nick. It won’t kill me to step outside my comfort zone.
“A scoop of caramel fudge ribbon, please,” I order.
Okay, maybe not too far out. I still like what I like.
“Cup or cone?”
I’d like to be the kind of woman who seductively licks an ice cream cone in front of a man…
but the idea of the ice cream melting and getting all over my hands, or the cone leaking and making my hands all sticky, makes me want to curl up in the fetal position and cry.
I’d never feel clean again, no matter how many times I scrub or apply hand sanitizer.
“Cup, please.” I glance at Nick out of the corner of my eye. In for a penny, in for a pound. “With whipped cream and hot fudge, please.”
“Sprinkles? Cherry?” He nudges me.
I shake my head. “Wrong texture.”
“That’s valid,” he says, squeezing my arm. “I’ll have the brownie sundae with rocky road, please. And I will take sprinkles and a cherry on mine. No nuts, though.”
“Rocky road ice cream has nuts.”
“Yeah, but I don’t like the chopped nuts on top. It’s not mixed together, it’s just by itself, and it’s lonely.”
“I’ve never thought of ice cream toppings as lonely before.”
He grins over his shoulder as he scoots past to tap his card at the register. “I’m full of insightful observations. Get used to it.”
The kid behind the counter finishes the transaction, then pulls on a pair of gloves and scoops our desserts.
He passes my cup over, then a second, both piled high with toppings.
Nick takes them both and I snatch a pile of napkins from the dispenser before following him to the last booth in the back.
He slides in across from me, then removes his coat and rolls up his shirtsleeves. My eyes are drawn to his corded forearms, the subtle sign of his strength. As I watch, he pushes back the bulky silver watch on his wrist, pulling my attention to his large hands.
I let out a little whine, deep in the back of my throat. Fuck. Why is that so hot?
His warm chuckle has my face flaming. “What is it with women and their obsession with forearms?”
Cocking my head, I survey him, but he doesn’t look like he’s mocking me. It’s like he’s actually interested in what I have to say. Like he trusts that I’ll know.
“Do you want the neuropsychological answer, or the real answer?”
“Both.” Digging into his ice cream, he brings the treat to his mouth, and I let myself get distracted by his full lips, the way his tongue comes out to wrap around the spoon.
“Flexed forearms signal functional strength. Not I live at the gym, even though you do, but I can carry things, fix things, hold you steady.” I shrug, finally taking a bite of my ice cream.
“That kind of competence is attractive without being threatening. On a subconscious level, it reads as vitality. On a conscious level? It’s just… hot.”
“Hmm.”
“It’s revealing a piece of you that’s typically covered, especially when the rest of you is fully clothed. A sneak peek, promising more intimacy to come.”
“I never thought of it like that,” he says, regarding me with undisguised curiosity. “I just wanted to get comfortable.”
“And the fact that you’re getting comfortable with me. That you’re letting your guard down.” I shrug. “It’s all psychological. I’m attracted to you, you do something I regard as intimate and appealing, and all those neurotransmitters start firing in the back of my brain.”
“So you’re attracted to me, hmm?” Nick’s mouth curves into a broad smile. Not smug, not arrogant. Just… happy.
My cheeks heat, surely as red as my hair. “Shut up.”
“Hey, Bex,” he whispers, leaning forward like he’s telling me a secret. “I’m attracted to you, too.”
“I’d fucking hope so,” I mutter. After this morning in my office…
Nick is quiet for a long moment, the air growing heavier the longer he waits.
“I know things three and a half years ago didn’t end the way I wanted them to.
I’ve regretted that for a long time. We can’t go back.
But the one thing that’s never been in question for me is that I wanted to know you. Wanted to spend more time with you.”
My stomach sinks. “And I ruined that.”
He reaches across the table, looping his index finger through mine. It’s somehow more intimate than a full handhold. This simple connection tethers us together.
“I’m over that. Once I knew why, I forgave you. Now it’s time for you to forgive you.”
“But all this time—”
“We can’t go back. We can only move forward.” He flexes his finger around mine. “And I’d like to move forward with you.”
“What does that look like?”
He tilts his head, thinking. “Dating? I’d like to be exclusive. There’s a time and place for ethical non-monogamy, but I’m not interested in that. Not with you.”
Warmth floods through me. After all that’s happened with us, it’s a relief to know he’s not interested in playing games. That he wants something real. I’m not simply another notch on his bedpost.
“Do you see marriage in your future? Do you want kids?” I lay my cards on the table.
“I’m not talking about next week or even next year.
But I’m thirty-one, and I want a family.
I don’t know how it’ll work when I’m on the road with the team, and I’ve worked too hard for my career to give it all up now. ”
“I’d never ask that of you.” Nick clears his throat, sitting up straight on his side of the booth. “Yes, I’d like kids. I want to be married first, and I don’t want to rush into marriage, either. I don’t know how many more seasons I have left in me. Too much is dependent on that. If I get traded…”
I wince. “Yeah. You’re at the mercy of your contract.”
“But I do want all of that. I want that with you.”
My stomach flutters. “You barely know me.”
“I know I want to pursue this. That we might be able to make this work.” His massive shoulder lifts in a shrug. “I came close once. Thought I’d met the woman I’d spend the rest of my life with.”
He says that so casually. Like it doesn’t matter to him.
“What happened?”
“She was more interested in being the wife of a hockey player than in being my wife.” His lips press together in a thin line, and then he shakes his head.
“Plus, Elsy didn’t like her. That was kind of the kiss of death.
She ended up with one of my teammates, I put my head down and focused on my career, and then I got traded to New Orleans.
We lost in the playoffs, I took myself on a pity trip to Ohio, and I met you. ”
“And then you met me,” I murmur, the words heavy between us.
“I tried to move on. To forget about you.” The corner of his mouth quirks up. “But it didn’t work. Nobody else ever compared. It’s you, Bex. It’s always been you.”