Page 7 of Dating the DILF
“Don’t you just hate it when they don’t have your favorite flavor?” I force a smile and turn to move away, desperate to leave this moment of disappointment and mortification behind, when the deep timbre of his voice stops me.
“Trust me, nobody feels more passionately about ice cream than I do.”
I glance up and take in his easy expression. He’s running a hand through his slightly unkempt, dark blond hair, a grin stretching across his face. I notice that his hair isn’t artfully tousled. You know the kind of messy that guys spend far too long on, in an effort to make it look effortless? Instead, it looks as though he spends his days running his hand through it, with zero care for his appearance. I try not to question why that endears this stranger to me.
“If they don’t have myCherry Garcia,I will burn this place to the ground.” He leans toward me conspiratorially. “Can I trust you to have my back if shit goes down?”
My answering laugh is loud and unexpected. Somehow this guy has managed to put me at ease and soothe my awkwardness.
“Of course. Who better to have by your side at a time like that than a fellow ice cream annihilator, stranger or not,” I reply, my face the picture of earnestness.
“See, now, you get it!” He shakes his head gravely. “Not many people do.”
“Well, fortunately there is plenty ofCherry Garciafor you.” I nod toward a row full—full!—of his addiction. “So it looks like Whole Foods will live to see another day. But unless they get in more mint choc chip pretty damn quick, I can’t guarantee how long that will stay true.”
His smile matches mine and I try to remember when I have felt such an instant connection to a guy before. Have I ever? If I was a different person, I would flirt a little, and maybe ask him out for a drink. That’s what a normal twenty-nine-year-old would do on a Friday night, right?
“I’m Miles, by the way.” He offers me a large hand. “I figure if we’re plotting to take down grocery stores together, we should probably be on a first-name basis.”
I stare blankly at his hand for a moment, trying to remember the last time someone shook my hand in any setting other than business. Failing to find one, I slip my much smaller hand into his and smile at the warmth that immediately fills me.
“Charlotte.” We stand there, probably looking like idiots, slowly shaking hands, our eyes glued to each other and I am pretty damn sure the dopey smile he is wearing is mirrored on my own face.
That’s when it hits me. We’re having a moment. Amoment, moment. Like in my romance novels when the guy and girl meet and BAM! Instant connection that inevitably leads to a happily ever after.
I’m having a goddamn real-life meet cute. Who knew those things ever actually happened? Not me, that’s for freaking sure.
His eyes, that have been slowly moving over my face like a gentle caress (because, yes, this moment isthatswoony), suddenly zero in on something over my shoulder and widen with delighted excitement.
“It looks like today is both of our lucky day.” He points behind me, and when I realize what he is showing me, my grin widens. A lone pint of my adored ice cream has been pushed haphazardly in amongst a row ofStrawberry Cheesecake. As I stare at the tub, I have to fight the urge to show Miles my gratitude with my tongue. Because if I lick it, it’s mine, right?
Shaking my head to dislodge the image, a satisfied sigh slips out on an exhale. Ice cream and a hot guy all in one night? Maybe it is my lucky day.
“I could kiss you right now.” Turning, I bend down to grab the ice cream, trying to ignore the pounding of my heart that began the instant his eyes heated at my declaration.
Unfortunately, that’s when it happens. The unmistakable sound of fabric tearing. I freeze, the moment suspended in time, as I realize the snug fit of my pants across my ass is now feeling pretty damn comfortable.
And breezy. Definitely breezy.
I’m frozen in horror, my eyes squeezed tightly shut, when the humiliation seeps in and I fully grasp the fact that my thong-clad ass is now on full display for Miles to enjoy.
I guess it’s safe to say our moment is well and truly over.
“What did you do?” Adelaide screeches at me, her face a picture of horrified glee.
“I dropped the ice cream and ran out of there as fast as I could with my purse covering my ass.” My face is on fire and I am just as embarrassed now, recounting the story, as I was on Friday night. “If I’m ever tempted to let my gym membership lapse again, or I forget to take my dry cleaning in and am forced to wear pants that haven’t fit since I was a college senior, you have permission to remind me of this horror.”
Adelaide smirks at me and I can already see her formulating some smart-ass reply, so I cut her off before she can make me feel any worse.
“I know, I know. You’ll be happy to send me a continuous stream of memes that will succeed in never letting me forget the moment or live it down.”
Her eyes widen innocently. “It’s what anyrealfriend would do, Charlie.”
“Get out!”
She snorts out an unattractive laugh and makes her way out of my office before pausing at the entrance.
“Charlie?” she starts, in a very un-Adelaide-like way. I hesitate for a moment, but then give her the nod to continue.
