Page 24 of Hard to Judge

The woman’s shoulders immediately lower a good five inches, and she slows to a hurried walk. “Thanks.” She buzzes by. “I can hardly keep up with her.”

“Better than me.” Hota laughs.

I don’t know what to say, so I just watch as she hits the ice and transforms into an Olympic-level speed skater to catch up with who I assume is her daughter. But Hota isn’t looking at the mom or the little girl. No, his gaze is locked on Hailey in the center of the ice.

Her arms are by her sides as she turns in a tight circle that gets tighter and faster as her arms move closer to her body. Thepoint of her chin is aimed at the night sky, elongating the grace of her neck, while her legs make a pretty point from hip to toe.

“Your psychologist doctor girlfriend raises money for women and children, speaks Japanese, and ice skates like a young Michelle Kwan.” He says this while staring at her swooping about the ice. “Please, tell me she hates sucking dick.”

“Can’t. We don’t lie to each other.” The appendage in question goes hard. I adjust myself and grin at Hota.

“Fuck.” Hota adjusts himself and nearly falls over again.

“She came while sucking me off, just from the friction of her thighs and her love of blowies,” I add.

Hota groans like I socked him in the belly.

I hook my arm through his and grin. “Let’s go.”

“How many times do I have to tell you that I don’t speak the language before you believe me?” Hailey slips the spoon with pistachio ice cream into her mouth. “And stop looking at my ice cream like that.” She pulls the spoon through her lips, cleaning it before shaking it in front of my face. “It is not old lady ice cream.”

“It is.” Arlo backs me up, licking the edge of his simple cone with a single scoop of plain vanilla ice cream. It’s the only vanilla thing about him.

“At least three more times,” I admit. “I’m not looking at your ice cream, which, as I stated when you picked it, is an old lady flavor. I was looking at your mouth.” I draw a deep breath. “And now I’m looking at his.” I shake my head, looking back and forth between their gorgeous lips. “Ice cream was a terrible idea.”

Our little group huddled around a space heater near the entrance of Van Leeuwen erupts into cackles. It has to be the sugar high or our sore asses or the amount of stories we have from the evening spent getting owned by a toddler on the ice.

“It’s only terrible because you chose ranch-flavored ice cream,” Hailey refutes between laughs as she pretends to gag into my fancy cardboard cup of melting ice cream.

“I like to try new things.” I shrug. “They don’t always work out.”

“What’s something else you tried that didn’t work out?” Hailey asks.

“Don’t try to change the subject.” I narrow my gaze at her. “Where did you learn to speak Japanese?”

“I don’t speak it.” She shakes her whole cup of ice cream at me. “I’m learning. I only know a few words.”

“You pronounced the old proverb like a native speaker.” I dip my finger into her grandma-flavored ice cream, scoop up a bit, and slip it into my mouth. The flavors burst onto my tongue. I wish it was her climax I was tasting instead.

“You like my old lady ice cream.” She beams, and I swear the sun is rising.

“So you admit, it’s old lady ice cream.” I like Hailey, not her pistachio-flavored excuse for ice cream. I’m not about to admit it. Even to myself. Even if my best friend says he won’t care.

“Mio,” Arlo chimes.

“What about her?” I slide my narrowing gaze at him, suddenly suspicious of his intent in bringing her up.

“She’s the one who helped you with the pronunciation?” He waves his vanilla at Hailey.

She nods, and my hackles lower.

“Hota, what’s something you tried that didn’t work out?” She doubles down.

I raise the cup, slip from our tightly knit cluster, head to the garbage can to toss it, and place the spoon into the recycle container. When I return, she’s still looking at me expectantly. “Ranch ice cream.”

“Not even a good try at diverting,” shetsks.

“Keto?” I try.

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