15

 

Mr. Freezy's Custard and Cream is packed when we arrive ten minutes later. Rowdy children chase one another as they scream at the top of their lungs, exhausted parents seem to be second-guessing if sugar-loaded ice cream is really the best choice for their hyperactive kids, and workers are bustling behind the counter, handing out samples and scooping orders as fast as they can manage.

Near the cash register are some of the soccer boys, cold desserts already in hand. A kid with dark, unruly curls, Mark, points at Weston as we get in line.

"There! Him! He's paying for us!"

Mark jogs over as Weston reaches into his back pocket.

"How much?"

He flips open his wallet, pulling out a few ten dollar bills.

"$75."

Weston's brows shoot up. "Seventy-five bucks? What the hell, man? There's only five of you up there."

One look at Mark's quadruple scoop of ice cream covered with what must be at least ten different toppings explains the hefty price tag.

"Wait." Mark glances over his shoulder, nods, and then faces W. "It's not $75."

Relief crosses Weston's face, but it's short-lived.

"It's $80," Mark corrects. "Jamie just got a cookie."

"Dude. Didn't realize I needed to bring a hundred bucks cash for freaking ice cream." Weston shakes his head. He shoves the bills back in the wallet and hands Mark his credit card. "Don't add anything else to the order. I'm not your damn ATM machine."

Mark mumbles out some sort of acknowledgement before sprinting off with the plastic.

As we slowly inch forward in the long line, Weston messes around on his phone and Sydney turns to Bev.

"What do you want, Short Stuff?"

"Yeah, Short Stuff." I join the convo, utilizing Syd's cliché-but-accurate nickname. "What's it gonna be? You need a stool?"

The girl's so dang tiny she has to balance on the very tip of her toes like a ballet dancer to survey the choices.

"I can see, Giant." Bev rolls her eyes and stretches a little bit taller.

"Are you sure?" Syd asks helpfully. "I can read the flavors for you if you want."

"Oh my God. I can read, too, Giantess."

"Giantess? Hey, I'm like 5'7'' and a half. I take offense to that," Sydney quips.

Bev just shrugs. "You're a giantess to me—sorry not sorry."

Sydney and I exchange an amused glance before I raise a brow at the kid. "Well?"

"There's so many to choose from." She frowns and turns to me. "What are you getting?"

"Rocky road," I answer. "Can't go wrong with marshmallows, chocolate, and almonds."

"I want that, too," she says.

"Cup or cone?"

"Cup, I guess."

"Alright. Two orders of rocky road. Got it." I turn my attention to Sydney. Her shoulder rests against the glass, her eyes trained on me instead of the colorful display. "You already know what you want?"

"Mhmm." She nods. "Orange sorbet with Red Hots and Reese's Pieces. That's my go-to."

"Orange sorbet with Red Hots and Reese's Pieces..." I repeat her order and my brow crinkles. "Really?"

"Yes?" She cocks her head at my dubious tone. "What?"

"Sounds, uh..." I try to think of a polite way to put it, but there's no beating around the bush here. "Honestly? Sounds fucking gross, Syd."

I laugh as she immediately springs into action to defend her choice.

"It's delicious!" and "Don't knock it 'til you try it!" fly past her lips, the extreme enthusiasm causing a few fellow line-dwellers to send intrigued glances our way.

Her fiery passion for the shitty ice cream flavor is cute, but I'm not even close to convinced.

"Yeah, no," I say with a grunt. "No freaking way that tastes good. Especially with the peanut butter Reese's. That doesn't mesh at all."

"What?! The Reese's Pieces are what make it awesome," she insists. "They're a must!"

But when we reach the front of the line and she tries to order the topping, the employee tells her they're all out.

"Awh, really? Dang." Her disappointment is evident, but she quickly shakes it off. "It's fine. Chocolate chips will do."

We make our way to the register. After I pay for the four of us, I hand everyone their order and stuff the receipt in my pocket.

I'm just about to dig into my ice cream when Bev's jaw drops.

"I didn't know the cones had sprinkles on them," she says as she eyes my waffle cone with envy. "I would've picked that instead of the cup."

I pause, mouth mere centimeters from taking that first bite of rocky road. Pulling my head back, I hold out the treat in offering.

"Switch me."

"Really?!"

"Sure, whatever. Doesn't matter to me."

We trade ice creams, and for the first time since I've met the girl, she gives me a true and authentic smile.

"Thanks. You know what, Giant? You're not the worst person in the world."

"Coming from you, kid? That's a serious compliment."

Sydney drapes an arm over Bev's shoulder and nods. "I have to agree. He's not so bad after all."

"Well, shit. If I'd known buying you guys some ice cream would win y'all over this easily, we would've hit up Mr. Freezy's weeks ago," I joke.

"Don't worry, Cam." Syd puts on a mischievous grin. "You've got plenty more time in the semester to make up for it."

Weston grunts. "Sorry, Collins, but I'm gonna break the chain and let you know you are the worst dude on the planet." He shovels a few bites of mint chip into his mouth and smirks. "Somebody had to give you the hard truth. These girls won't do it, but I definitely will. You suck."

And because each and every swear word is apparently back on the menu, I give him a shove and let out a lighthearted, "Fuck you, too."

We're interrupted by a bell jingling, the concordant sound signaling someone's entrance to the shop.

"Carlos!" The boys hoot and holler as he walks in. "You showed!"

Bev lets out a little yelp of excitement, her reaction countering the frustrated groan Weston emits.

"I thought I told you to get your ass to the library, 'Los," he calls out. "What gives?"

Carlos lifts a graphing calculator and a packet of papers in the air. "I brought the study guide. Jamie's gonna help me out."

"Jamie?" Weston's forehead crinkles at the news. "Jamie failed Algebra, man. Twice."

"It wasn't my fault!" Jamie jumps up on his chair in protest, the piece of furniture letting out a worrisome creaking noise. "Mrs. Vick flunked me on purpose because she's evil. I'm actually a numerical genius—I can help him!"

Before W can argue, Mark lets out an ear-splitting belch that echoes off the walls. Another kid shoves an entire scoop of ice cream into his mouth, the boys wheezing with laughter as he endures the brain freeze that follows.

"OwwWwWwww!"

It's a fucking madhouse in here.

"Holy shit. Why did I agree to this?" Weston takes a quick bite of his mint chip, rolls his hazel eyes, then heads over to supervise the gang of hooligans.

Bev waves at Carlos before glancing up at me with eager eyes. "I'm gonna go sit over there, too. Okay?"

"Cool with me."

As she scampers off in the direction of Weston's scolds and whistle blows, I face Sydney. Her cheeks are still rosy from practice, the golden S necklace around her neck shimmering against bronzed skin.

"Guess it's just me and you, Baby Blue." I lift a brow. "Unless you wanna join them?"

"So tempting," she says sardonically, "but I think I'll pass."

"Good choice. Odds are they'll get kicked outta here within the hour."

"That's generous." She swivels her head, watching as Mark does the chicken dance on the table top. "I give them thirty minutes tops."

With a grin, I motion for her to follow me. "Come on."

I lead us through the busy establishment, scouring the place for somewhere to sit. It takes a few minutes, but we finally find an unoccupied spot.

The pink, heart-shaped table is squeezed into an isolated corner of the ice cream shop, one small bench behind it. A sparkling chandelier dangles over the private space, a few rose-scented candles burning in the center of the table.

Kinda awkward for the two of us, but everything else is taken.

"This okay?" I tip my chin at the booth. "You better say yes 'cause the only other option is eating outside on the curb, and I'm pretty sure both of our asses would prefer the cushioned seat."

When I smirk, she emits a contagious laugh.

"This is perfect."

We squeeze onto the upholstered bench seat, side by side on the red vinyl. Sydney gets comfy, sets her cup on the table, then gives me an appreciative glance.

"It's so quiet and cozy back here."

"Yeah." I nod in agreement, the hustle and bustle of the main room just a distant white noise. "It's nice, huh?"

"It is." Her eyes venture from the chandelier to the candles before landing on our lower bodies, just inches apart in the small booth. "It's very...intimate. Sort of feels like we're on a date."

My chest instantly squeezes at her undeniable observation. A deep, yearning feeling forms in the pit of my stomach, a crazy thought accompanying the sensation—part of me wishes we were on a date right now.

What the fuck, dude?

The other part of me strongly disagrees. No fucking way I should be having that reaction to the thought of wining and dining Sydney Steel.

I clear my throat, push the intrusive feelings aside, and jerk a thumb at her ice cream.

"You gonna eat that monstrosity or let it melt everywhere?"

The abrupt subject change works.

She digs into the concoction and takes a massive bite. After she swallows, she puts on a show with exaggerated moans and ridiculous exclamations, like it's the absolute best thing she's ever tasted.

"Mhmmmm mhmm! Amazing. Incredible. Life changing!"

I roll my eyes at the spectacle. "You're so full of it, Steel."

"It's not an act!" She pushes the cup in front of me. "Try it."

"I'm good. Thanks, though."

"Cammm."

"Sydddd."

When I imitate her begging voice, she lets out a gasp.

"Oh God. Do I really sound that whiny?"

"Nah." I shake my head. "You sound much worse."

"Do not!" She grins and pokes my side. "Now you have to try it just to make up for that comment."

She grabs her cup, fishes out a bite, and holds it in front of my face. "Here. It's really small. It won't kill you."

"You just don't quit, do you?"

"I'm not a quitter, Cameron. You should know that by now."

"Stubborn as shit." I smile and shake my head.

"And proud of it!" Her laughter rings in the air. "Now open up!"

Opening wide, I let her shove the spoon inside. The combination of cinnamon and fruit and chocolate is just...not palatable.

After a beat, she pushes her head forward, awaiting my verdict.

"Welllll? What do you think? Good? Great? A frozen masterpiece that should be a staple at all ice cream shops nationwide?"

I rub my jaw. "I choose D: None of the above."

Her face drops in mock defeat and I nudge her shoulder.

"Chin up. It's not as nasty as I thought it'd be," I assure her. "Just not something I'd ever put in my mouth again."

"It'd be better with the Reese's," she insists. "You'd be singing a much different tune if you had the full package."

"I'm sure I would—"

My sarcastic response is interrupted by a square piece of paper falling onto our table.

"What's that?" Sydney asks.

"Dunno." I pick it up and flip it over. There's an image of a college-aged guy and girl, both smiling up at me. "Looks like a Polaroid picture."

She squints. "Where'd it come from?"

We glance behind us, just now noticing the plethora of pics taped to the wall. Some are shiny and recently taken. Others are obviously old based off the subjects' fashion choices and the faded coloring of the photos. Despite the multiple decades these photos cover, each of them have one thing in common: they're all taken in this exact booth.

Sydney plucks the image from my hand, grinning at the happy couple cuddled up with their desserts. "Awh, how cute. It says it's from 1972. Jeez. This place has been here for a while."

"Oh shit." I point at a Polaroid a few rows up. "I think that's Liam and Ellie. See them?"

She follows my index finger, beaming when she recognizes our friends. "It is! They look like babies! That must've been their freshman year."

"I wonder if anyone else we know is up there."

"There are so many pics," Syd says in awe. We continue scanning the images. "Check out this guy with the '80s hair-do. He's on a date with four girls. Four!"

I laugh. "What a stud."

"Stud? Ugh. More like total player."Sydney playfully scrunches her nose before spotting another eye-catching image. "Now this dude's a stud. That is one impressive handlebar mustache. He must've been the leader of a motorcycle gang back in the day..."

As the night progresses, we chat about soccer, commiserate about classes, and make up ridiculous shit about the couples in the Polaroids. Sydney's elaborate stories and hilarious vocal impressions have me laughing so hard I think I'm good on core work for the next week.

To the surprise of absolutely nobody, the boys are asked to leave the premises after forty-five minutes of obnoxious behavior. Weston tracks down me and Syd to let us know it's time to leave, but we tell him we'll walk home. He offers to drop Bev off at Coach's—I owe you one, W—and starts to head back to wrangle the kids. Just before he goes, he takes a long look at the heart-shaped table, hits me with a warning glance, then pretends to light a match.

My response?

A not-so-subtle scratch of my temple with my middle finger.

After he leaves, Baby Blue and I enjoy the rest of our evening.

Hours go by, at least two or three based on the melted wax candle on the table, but it feels like minutes. Conversation flows easily, laughter bounces off the walls, our natural camaraderie with one another evident.

Syd's just a fucking blast to be around.

I'd never get bored of hanging out with this girl because she's so damn entertaining.

And that has her confession from earlier playing in my mind on repeat.

I don't even realize I'm staring her down until she gives me a funny look.

"What?" She cocks her head. "Why are you looking at me like that?"

"Because," I begin, "I still think you're fucking with me."

"About the ice cream flavor? No." She shakes her head. "I really do think it's the perfect combi—"

"Christ." I cut her off with an amused chuckle. "Not that."

"Oh." She releases a flustered laugh before her dark brows pull together. "Then what is it?"

"How the hell have you never had a boyfriend?"

My blunt question has her eyes going wide in surprise.

"Um, I don't really know," she admits as she scrapes the remnants of her dessert from the bottom of her yellow paper cup. "Maybe because I'm such a tomboy? That's definitely a possibility. Boys weren't exactly lining up to date me in high school. Usually when they approached me, it was to talk about sports, like 'good game last night' or 'you wanna join our fantasty football league?'." Her shrug is one of defeat. "I've always felt like one of the guys, not the one the guys wanted."

I frown. "Their fucking loss."

Sydney gives me an intrigued glance. "What do you mean?"

"If I'd gone to your school, I would've pursued you like crazy."

"Cameron, come on." She rolls her eyes, laughing like she thinks I'm just messing around. "No you wouldn't."

"Yeah I would, Sydney," I state without an ounce of hesitation.

My serious tone has the disbelief in her gaze immediately dissipating. She tilts her head, navy eyes studying me for a moment.

"Really?"

"One hundred percent," I respond. "You're confident, beautiful, talented as fuck. Any dude with half a brain would kill to have you on his arm."

Damn.

I shouldn't be thinking these thoughts, let alone voicing them out loud, but shit.

It's the freakin' truth.

"What about now?" she asks softly. So softly I barely hear her.

"What?"

Blinking up at me beneath thick lashes, she bites down on her bottom lip and repeats the question.

"You said you would've pursued me back then. But what about—"

"Everything all good over here, folks?"

We both flinch at the unexpected interruption. A man in his mid-sixties is at the head of our table, wearing a Mr. Freezy's apron and a big, bright smile.

"Everything's great," I assure him. Sydney nods in agreement and his toothy grin grows bigger.

"Fantastic." He pulls out a vintage Polaroid camera. "Let me get your picture for the date wall. A gorgeous couple like yourselves will go front and center."

"Oh no, we're not a cou—"

"Go on," he demands, ignoring our reluctance. Lifting the camera to his eye, he motions us together. "Squeeze in now."

Leaving no room for argument, we obey his commands.

What harm will one little picture do?

Sydney scoots closer, her coconut conditioner flooding my senses and sending a surge of electricity down my spine.

As she tucks herself against me, so close I can feel the vibrations of her heartbeat, I finally realize Weston's "playing with fire" analogy isn't exactly far-fetched.

Because I'd be a damn liar if I said I didn't feel that spark. That flicker of heat deep in my chest, a small flame burning, slow and steady.

But whatever.

Not a big deal.

I can blow out the blaze anytime I want.

"Say Mr. Freezy's!"

I wrap an arm around Sydney's shoulder, pulling her even closer. Her breasts are flush against my side, her hand splayed across my abdomen as we smile for the camera.

Yeah...

I'll blow out the flame.

Just not today.