16. JACKSON #2
Moose Tracks? My attention flies to his face. “You know my favorite ice cream?”
“Shaney-babe did recon for me.”
My brows lift. Damn. When Shane goes for something, he commits.
Frankie plants his hands on his hips. “Now hurry the fuck up.”
I grin at the top-level sass in his tone and finally get my ass over to his bed. He already has a bunch of pillows propped up against his headboard since he hasn’t been able to sleep flat. He moves the board of snacks to his nightstand.
I pull back the covers—
“I do have one rule for guests.”
I pause.
“No shirts allowed.”
I shake my head with a laugh but quickly pull my plain white tee over my head. I stick my thumbs in the waistband of my joggers. “Pants?”
“Pants stay on,” he says firmly. “Pants for preservation. A man only has so much self-control.” He says this to my abs.
I flex and get a little thrill when he bites his lip.
“Hot fudge?” His gaze roams my chest, and he licks his lips.
My cock twitches. “F-for the ice cream?”
He groans. “Unfortunately, yes.”
Probably for the best. His tongue trailing over my chest…sucking chocolate from my abs… My dick hardens.
“Dear fucking Lord, we need to start this movie,” Frankie says hoarsely. “And you need to put that away.”
I glance down at my dick tenting my sweats.
“Didn’t anyone ever teach you it’s not polite to tease people with things they can’t have? Rubbing it in my face like that is rude.” His head falls back, and a strangled sound flees him. “Ohmygod, and now that’s all I can picture,” he whispers.
I slide into bed, and he punches buttons on his remote, muttering under his breath as he gets the movie started. He passes me my bowl of ice cream, slides into bed, and grabs his. Then he reaches over and grabs a small teacup of something and dumps it on his.
“What’s that?” I ask between mouthfuls. He topped mine with whipped cream and hot fudge and a peanut butter syrup thing. Fuck, it’s good.
“Affogato.” His lips tilt up at the corners. “Espresso over ice cream. I told you there’s nothing vanilla about Frankie.”
A grin tugs at my lips. A jolt of caffeine and sugar. That does seem fitting. “Can…can I try it?”
“Anything for you, sweetness.” He holds out a freshly filled spoonful for me.
I lean forward, and my gaze snags his just as my lips close around the spoon.
Those whiskey eyes go dark. He slowly slips the spoon free, and I can’t help how my tongue trails along the underside.
His nostrils flare, and my groin tightens.
I swallow down the coffee-coated chocolate, a faint moan rumbling deep in my chest.
He pulls away, and we both sit back staring at the TV, panting. Damn.
“Soon, Jackie. Soon.”
I clear the roughness from my throat. “So, what is this movie?”
He lets out a huff of mock exasperation.
“I’m not surprised you have no idea, but it’s still a crime that you don’t know what Dirty Dancing is.
It’s an iconic movie. And Patrick Swayze is a literal wet dream in it.
The way that man moves his hips.” He closes his eyes and lets out a moan.
“Let’s just say, give me Dirty Dancing sans clothes, and I’d be one happy man. ”
“So a sexy guy dancing? Is it like Magic Mike?”
He shoots me an incredulous look. “I honestly don’t know whether to be mad at you for saying that or feel sad for you. No, it’s not like Magic Mike. It’s ballroom dancing.”
It’s my turn to make a face. Ballroom dancing? Um…hard pass.
Frankie’s eyes crinkle, and he chuckles. “It really is a great movie. Forbidden love. Class differences. The pressure of societal expectations. Breaking them and discovering your true self. And sexy people dancing.”
“I’ll take your word for it.” I slip another bite of ice cream into my mouth. “At least there are good snacks,” I snark.
He jabs his shoulder into mine. “Look at you. A natural at this pretend boyfriend stuff.”
My gaze darts away as something warm and fizzy fills my chest. As much as I have a feeling this movie is going to blow, I can’t say I hate this…date night in. The fizzing intensifies. Damn. My first date. Fake date. But still.
I focus on the movie. At least the soundtrack is pretty good. I should probably add some more 80s music to my playlists. I frown. “Baby? Wait, is her name Baby?”
He makes a non-committal noise.
“Weird as fuck.” Also patronizing as fuck. I could see my mom and dad doing something like that if they’d had a daughter.
We finish our ice cream, and Frankie snuggles into my side, his arm around my middle.
His coarse chest hair tickles my skin whenever he shifts or laughs.
I’m kind of obsessed with it, I think. The abrasion.
The way it curls a bit. I have zero chest hair.
I’m like a naked mole rat over here. Which Frankie doesn’t seem to mind if his wandering fingers are any indication.
We throw out comments as the movie goes on and snack on the various candies he chose. I have somehow managed to be invested in the movie. And Frankie was right; there are some pretty hot guys in it. I think it might be the first time I’ve noticed something like that without feeling guilty.
“All right,” I say. “Neil is a fucking tool. Calling it already.”
Frankie’s chuckle whispers over my chest, and goosebumps pop up on my skin.