I laughed at his answer. 'Al right. Al I have is diet fudge
I laughed at his answer. 'Al right. Al I have is diet fudge
bars, anyway. I'd rather have a real sundae.'
He folowed me into the elevator and watched me push the
button for his floor. The elevator could hold and had held
ten people at a time. We had plenty of room but he stood
next to and slightly behind me, so I was aware of his body
heat and the soft sound of his breath.
We barely had time to talk on the short ride to his floor
and down the hal to his apartment, and I didn't bother
with smal talk. Eric, to my relief, didn't try to force the
chatter, either. In five minutes he was unlocking his door
and ushering me inside by stepping back to alow me to go
through first.
'Such a gentleman,' I said.
He paused after he shut the door. 'I try.'
Again, we stared at each other. I was used to men who
made the first move. Eric didn't move, so we stayed stil,
both of us looking.
'Ice cream?' I prompted over my urge to taste his mouth.
'In the kitchen.'
He puled out a chair for me and settled me in it like a
queen before bustling around to pul out a couple cartons
of ice cream from the freezer. He set them on the counter,
then grabbed a jar of fudge from the cupboard and put it in
the microwave. From another cupboard he puled real ice-
cream-sundae glasses, and from the drawer two long-
handled spoons.
'I had no idea,' I said as he turned. I waved at his
preparations, searching for the words that would keep me
on top, but found none.
He grinned. 'I like ice cream. What can I get for you?
Chocolate, vanila or mint chip?'
'A scoop of each?' It had been ages since I'd eaten ice
cream. 'Extra hot fudge.'
'Whatever you want.' Eric's simple words felt anything but simple.
He brought two sundaes, heaped high with ice cream and
oozing with hot fudge, to the table. True to what I'd come
to expect from him, he served me first before taking the
to expect from him, he served me first before taking the
chair across from mine. He waited until I'd tasted my ice
cream before he even lifted his spoon.
'Good?' he asked.
I could only make a murmuring happy noise as my taste
buds, so long denied, practicaly sang. When I scooped a
mouthful of hot fudge, my low, throaty moan was louder
than I'd intended. Eric stopped with his spoon halfway to
his mouth.
I swalowed sweetness. 'It's good.'
He finished his bite, and I watched his lips close over the
