Page 61 of Until Then

With a nod, Derrick steps around me and heads into the little shop.

I bite my lip and watch him at the counter, surreptitiously ogling him. A plain white Hanes T-shirt clings to his muscular chest, practically suffocating his biceps, and his gray cargo shorts hug his shapely ass in a way that has me thinking about things I most definitely shouldn’t be. Not about my sister’s boyfriend’s dad. About myfriend’sdad. God, this is so fucked up.

I need to have sex, that much is obvious.

I’ve been relying way too heavily on my vibrator.

If I go out and have a little fun, then I’ll be good. I’ll stop thinking dirty thoughts about Derrick.

I try to convince myself. Really, I do. But who am I kidding? There’s not a chance in hell that I’ll stop. Not only is he hot, but he’s kind and caring in that quiet, gruff way of his.

He drops a couple of bucks into the tip jar, and when he turns to head back out, I nearly break my neck turning away from the window and hoping to god he didn’t catch me staring.

“Fuck,” I curse under my breath when I find that my ice cream has melted. It’s not a total loss—I wasn’t ogling him forthatlong—but it’s a bit soupy for my liking.

The wrought-iron chair across from me scrapes across the sidewalk, and Derrick settles his big body into it while somehow making the chair look comfortable.

As he gets situated, I assess that space between his neck and shoulder.

What would it be like to press my face in that crook? What would he smell like?

Oh my God, I am certifiable.

Despite my previous thoughts, I’m not interested in going out and hooking up for a night. I did plenty of that in my early twenties. So that means the minute I get back to Derrick’s house, I’ll be ordering new toys. Because I need something, anything, to take this edge off.

“What flavor did you get?” I ask by way of distracting myself from my sex-starved thoughts.

“Cosmic brownie.”

“Like the Little Debbie kind? That’s the brand, right? With the rainbow sprinkles?”

I’m rambling. About a brownie I haven’t eaten since I was probably seven. But I can’t help it. I babble when I’m nervous. It’s not my best trait and often gets me in trouble, since I invariably spew out the very thought I’m trying to suppress.

Like the thought I keep having about how I very much want to feel the weight of Derrick’s naked body on top of mine.

God, I bet he’d take such good care of me. He’d be sweet, but a little rough, attentive.

“That’s the one,” he answers. “You want a bite?”

I swear my heart stops. I force a harsh breath in and drop my attention to my ice cream. “No, I’m good,” I say as I scoop up the soupy mess and shove it into my mouth. While keeping my eyes set on my bowl, I sort through the files in my brain for something safe to ask him, and when a topic finally comes to me, I clear my throat and dare a peek up at him. “What were you up to before you stumbled upon us?”

On my lap, Wonton has his nose stuffed all the way into his cup, and he’s grunting as he tries to get ahold of the bone. I grab it with my left hand and hold one end of it steady so he can nibble.

“I had to run by the hardware store for a few things.”

I frown and look at the ground by his feet. “You don’t have any bags.”

What the hell, Izzy? Are you trying to make it sound like you think he came foryou?

“Loaded them in the truck already.” He thumbs over his shoulder, gesturing to where his truck is parallel parked. “I saw you guys then. I wasn’t sure if you saw me, so it felt rude not to come over.”

“Plus, who can say no to ice cream?”

He cracks a grin. “That, too.”

That look melts my heart, making it as gooey as the ice cream I’m finishing. It’s way too easy being around him, talking to him. Even when I’m nervous and losing my shit over my own thoughts. And it’s pure torture.

Why does the first man I’m seriously attracted to in years have to behim?

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