Page 77 of The Best Bad Decision

He grins as I approach, two cones of waffle fries in his hands. It takes us a moment to juggle them between us, but we manage to swap a cone for a cup, so we both have one of each, and after he kisses me softly on the lips, we climb back into the car to await the movie.

As the opening notes of the soundtrack fill the night air, I glance over at Cam to find him watching me with a soft smile. I know the movie by heart, but I still can’t help but get transported to Long Island, 1922.

Once or twice, I glance around; fellow movie-goers walk by the car to get food or use the bathroom, and I glance over at Cam when he rests a hand on my thigh. Every time I look up, he’s watching me with a small, goofy smile.

“Watch the movie,” I whisper, resting a hand atop his on my leg.

“I’d rather watch you,” he shrugs. “Do you have any idea how beautiful you look, so caught up in Gatsby’s whatever?”

I feel a light flush rise from my throat to the tips of my ears, and I squeeze his hand once.

“You’re missing out,” I say. “It’s the greatest movie ever.”

Cam takes me for ice cream after the movie. He had suggested dinner, but after the enormous cones of fries, neither of us is especially hungry.

Then, on our way back into town, we pass by an old-fashioned ice cream parlour, lit up for the holidays and boasting some limited-run seasonal flavours. He swings the car around and we backtrack to it, parking in an empty space right outside the door.

Cam opens my door for me and offers a hand to help me out, and the way he looks at me, I don’t think I’ve ever felt so treasured in my life.

“I can’t choose,” I whine. “Please don’t make me.”

The flavours sound incredible. Spiced orange, candy cane, egg nog—I want all three. And the regular display offers a classic rocky road, as well as a creamy chocolate-coconut flavour which caught my eye. My sweet tooth wants to sit here all night and sample each one.

“So, let’s get all of them,” Cam says, and it almost sounds like he’s holding back from addingduhon the end. He turns to the woman behind the counter. “Can we get a scoop of all three of the seasonal flavours, plus a rocky road and a—which one, beautiful? Choco-coconut?”

I nod, and he slides his credit card across the counter as the woman prepares our scoops in small cardboard cups. We carry the treats to a high table in the corner and slide onto tall stools.

Well, Cam slides; I hop up as awkwardly and elegantly as I can muster in heels and a tight dress. With our treats between us and a tiny plastic spoon in each cup, Cam reaches across the table to take my hands in his.

“Thank you for coming out with me tonight,” he says. I’m stunned. I’ve been on dates before, but no one has ever looked at me so tenderly and thanked me for spending time with them.

Cam is nothing like any man I’ve ever known. Katy’s been saying all along that he’s book boyfriend material—a walking green flag—and maybe, now, I can agree. My lips curve into a smile, my eyes locked on his.

“Of course,” I say. “There’s nowhere in the world I would rather be than here with you.”

He pulls one of my hands to his lips and kisses my knuckles tenderly. I could swoon. I’ve half a mind to steal the car keys from his pocket and take him home right now and show him just how happy I am to be with him.

But our frozen treats won’t stay frozen for long, and the cinnamon scent of the spiced orange is tickling my nostrils. I need to know if it tastes as good as it smells. Cam has the same idea, because he drops one hand to pick up the cup and holds out a spoonful of ice cream to me. I lean in and suck it from the plastic, eyes closed, a small moan escaping me as winter spices mingle with sharp citrus and cool cream on my tongue. I open my eyes to see Cam swallowing hard against the desire darkening his eyes.

“Keep that up, baby,” he says lowly. “You keep that up, and you won’t be tasting anything but me for the rest of the night.”

I shudder, not from the cold of the ice cream I scoop onto my finger and suck into my mouth, but from the intensity of his gaze and the warning that sounds more like a promise. He groans, a quiet, strangled yelp as he shovels a small spoonful of eggnog ice cream into his mouth.

“Brain freeze?” I ask sweetly. He glares, playfully shaking his head.

“You always did like to play with fire, my little devil,” he says.

Fuck. Me.

“I just like a little burn, that’s all,” I say quietly, repeating the same words we exchanged in New York. It comes out breathy and hoarse. I’m flustered; Cam’s eyes are burning into me like the fire I’ve been playing with since we sat down. He lines up a spoonful of each untouched flavour, holding them out to me in turn. I swallow down the cool flavours without tasting them. Then, with our treats unfinished and melting in place, he stands from the table and hauls me down from my stool.

“Come,” he commands, holding out a hand, and I think I probably could if he so much as touched me.

Halfway home, on an empty road, Cam pulls into a lay-by under a street light.

“What are we doing?” I ask. My breathing has evened out some, and I’m no longer on a knife-edge. He doesn’t answer, just slips out of his seat and comes around to the passenger side, opening the door and offering me a hand once again, helping me to climb out into the night.

“Dance with me, beautiful,” he whispers. My inhibitions are gone—not that there were many of them left—and my face splits into a wide grin as I step into his arms. There’s no music out here, just thecrickets and the quiet hum of the desert at night. The stars and moon watch over us as he spins me out wide, then catches me close. His scent surrounds me along with his arms, and I’m overcome with a sense of peace, the likes of which I don’t think I’ve ever felt before.

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