Page 8

Chapter 8

Dessert

Robyn

O f course we ordered dessert. How could we not, when he explicitly told me to be myself? He knows how I live for a sweet treat. Our server came around with the dessert cart, and when the wildflower honey crème br?lée caught my eye, I didn’t fight it. That sweet, custardy goodness sang to me.

“Enjoy,” our server says, placing two spoons and walking away.

I’m about to tap into the thin, torched-sugar crust when Dell stands up and moves his chair right next to me. When he sits again, his long leg brushes against mine. He leans in close. “Would you feel comfortable showing more affection at this point?” he murmurs, and my downstairs region clenches.

There’s only one word that flashes in my head like a billboard at night. “Yes.”

Wordlessly, he takes the spoon from my hand and breaks the sheet of crispy, burnt sugar, then drags a delicate scoop. With one arm resting on my chair back and the other elbow propped on the table, Dell grins lazily and whispers, “Open for me.”

What kind of dizzying liminal space am I in? Because I’m simultaneously floating in this aura we’ve created and burning from his attention. His minty fragrance mingles with the honey and vanilla of the crème br?lée, and suddenly, I’m swept away—lost entirely to him and the gentle taste of sweet custard and crispy sugar melting in my mouth.

“You’re gorgeous, you know that?”

Can he hear my heart pounding against my chest? Can he feel the vibrations from my body causing the entire restaurant to reverberate? He’s too close to me, yet not close enough.

He feeds me another spoonful and laughs softly. “Now might be a good time to say something similar back to me.”

“Oh,” I say breathlessly. “Y–you have a nice…face. It’s a good face.”

He takes a bite of the crème br?lée and smiles. “Watch out, Shakespeare.”

“I mean, I…” My eyes travel from where he’s licking his bottom lip to his surprisingly long lashes. “I could get lost in your eyes. I want to fall into them like Alice in Wonderland.”

Dell looks pleasantly taken aback. “There you go. You sure know how to make a boy twirl his hair.”

Throwing caution to the wind, I tuck a long strand of hair behind his ear. My fingers gently comb through his silky mane until I catch myself playing with the ends. I’ve never touched his hair before—and now, the idea of stopping feels wrong.

“I like your fingers in my hair,” he hums.

“I like you,” I whisper without thinking.

Dell’s eyes snap back to me as something invisible shifts between us. He clears his throat and pulls away only a few inches, but those inches feel like a mile. “You’re really good at this, Robyn. Flirting, that is. Let’s, um…” He swallows and looks around for our server. “Let’s get the check and move on to the next phase of our date.”

“There’s another phase?”

Ten minutes later, the two of us are walking under the streetlights when he takes my hand in his. The warm summer night air is nothing compared to the heat of his palm. “You really did great at dinner, Robyn.”

“I don’t know,” I grouse. “It felt more like flailing.”

“Well, if that’s flailing, keep doing it.” He smirks down at me and squeezes my hand a little tighter. “It was very charming.”

He’s my dating coach. My flirt coach. The man I pay to keep my body in top-performing shape.

“Are you going to tell me where we’re going now?” I ask. “I’m not sure how much farther I can walk in these heels.”

“I know. It’s not much farther. Have you ever been to ChaCha’s?”

Lightning strikes through my body at his question. “I love ChaCha’s! We’re going dancing?”

“We are,” he grins effortlessly. I wiggle in delight like a dog that’s just found her favorite toy. “I thought you might enjoy that.”

“You ain’t ready for this,” I taunt, letting go of his hand and stopping on the sidewalk to pop, lock, and drop it .

His chuckle is loud and carries down the old street. “Come on. Let’s see how you are in a club setting.”

When we walk into ChaCha’s, I’m immediately thrown into all the memories I’ve made here over the years with my teammates. We usually end up here after wins, for birthday parties, and breakup blowouts. I’ve never had much luck here with guys, though. I’m not sure what Dell has in store for me, but I’m excited.

Thankfully, ChaCha’s isn’t the hottest or newest club in the city, so there’s no line outside. This place is slept on, I swear. The best music. Affordable drinks. Queer-friendly.

When the beat of the music becomes my own heart’s rhythm, Dell hands me a margarita and takes a drink of his own. I’m gonna ace this part of the date. Before I can say anything, he’s holding my hand again and pulling me to the dance floor.

“Alright, girl. Show me what you got.”