Page 31

I make a big production of checking both cones, making him laugh again.

“My man likes vanilla,” I hand his ice cream over with a pout. “Not even a sprinkle. Have you never experimented before?”

“I know what I like,” he banters back with a sly smile.

“Are you sure?” I wiggle my brows and take a slow lick of my chocolate and vanilla coated with caramel. I twist my tongue across the top as he watches and lick my lips slowly after.

“Siren,” he says in a soft tone of warning. It does nothing to hide the need underneath.

“Don’t leave me hanging, yappy. It’s your turn,” I smirk.

His eyes narrow as I start moving backward, leading him down the sidewalk.

He keeps pace like he’s stalking me. My feet stick when his tongue wraps around the tip of the soft serve. His mouth opens to suck on it next, his eyes never leaving mine. He gives me a satisfied smirk when he pulls the cone away.

“Look who turns sweet after a treat,” I breathe, my face feeling hot.

He takes my hand to spin me around with a happy smile that’s lopsided. My body gets pressed to his side as his arm circles my waist.

“Where to next?” He asks, perfectly content while he tortures me with an ice cream make-out session.

“My place,” I assure him grimly and put my arm around him to start tugging him forward at a faster pace.

He digs his heels in with a smile, pretending to be oblivious to my need to get him alone. It makes me laugh the whole way to the apartment. I haven’t enjoyed myself this much in a long time.

We get to my door faster than I thought we would, despite our silent tug-of-war. It isn’t until I fish my keys out that I balk. He sees it and raises a brow, but doesn’t comment. He’s too busy seducing his ice cream and me by proxy.

“I need to warn you about something,” I chew my lip.

“Go on,” he narrows his eyes, the ice cream forgotten.

“I have a very minor obsession with raccoons,” I look over to see him struggling with a smile. “Stop laughing.”

“I think that’s already been established,” he chokes out and bravely tries to stifle his humor.

I give him a glare for his attempt at a dry tone. “If you can’t handle it, bail out now.”

“Are there adopted raccoons everywhere?” His lips tilt into a smile.

“Yeah,” I tell him boldly. “Brace yourself for greatness.”

My bravado lasts until I swing open the door, and he takes a step into the apartment. When I flick on the lights, his feet freeze. The way he tenses and stops moving has my heart beating hard with sudden dread.

He stands in the doorway, staring with a raised brow. I look around with a wince. There’s no way I could hide this many plushies. It’s beyond a hobby and into a packrat kind of obsession. I’m seeing it for the first time through someone else’s eyes. He’s the only man I’ve ever brought to my place. It’s more than a little concerning that I didn’t even tidy up first.

Raccoon plushies are everywhere. On the TV stand, couch, and in the pile I like to dive into. There are two lying on the table. My bedroom is an absolute nightmare of them thrown everywhere. Thank God the door is shut. I made a mistake going with my impulse to get him here as fast as possible.

“Minor,” he mutters thoughtfully. His eyes slide to me while I blush at his side.

“Tada,” I wave a hand with a shamed smile. “Welcome to the raccoon hideout.”

“Thank you.” His reply is formal and stiff. His trembling lips prove he’s trying not to laugh. He clears his throat.

“Don’t say it, I already know,” I glare.

“I’m honored to be here, everyone,” he says, addressing the plushies.

“Stop that,” I pinch his side in revenge, but he doesn’t react to it.