Best Served Cold

He shrugged the shoulder I wasn’t lying on. “We both enjoy the same things. Woodworking is fun. I guess it makes me feel as peaceful as you feel when you make ice cream.”

“That’s not always peaceful. It can be stressful. Like when I have to make six tubs of vanilla for someone who orders his ice cream in, and he didn’t even pay me.”

“I bought you dinner.”

“But you didn’t flirt your way to extra fries. So you still owe me.”

He shifted and looked at me. “Let me get this straight. You’re lying in bed next to me, totally fucking naked, and complaining that I didn’t flirt with another woman to get you extra fries?”

I blinked. “Yes. Also, six tubs of ice cream. That totally means you should flirt for fries.”

“That sounds like the working title of one of those stupid girly movies you watch.”

“What, flirt for fries?”

“Yep.”

“They’re called rom-coms, and I would be all over watching that one.”

“I’m stuck on the part where you want me to flirt with another woman.”

Sighing, I rolled onto my stomach and met his eyes. “There are three kinds of flirting. One,” I said, holding up my finger. “The casual flirt. You’re just being nice to someone, but if you’re kind of a flirty person, it’s not so bad.”

“Right,” Chase said slowly.

“Two, the deliberate flirt.” I held up another finger. “This is when you walk into a bar and deliberately flirt with someone you’re attracted to. This is not okay.”

“Obviously.”

I added another finger. “The third one is the kind of flirting where you exploit someone’s attraction to you to get what you want. Totally acceptable, especially if you’re trying to get something for your girlfriend.”

“I have two questions.”

I swallowed. “Yes?”

“Is this like when women flirt with guys in a bar to get free drinks?”

“Yes. Ten points to Gryffindor.”

“I’m a Slytherin.”

“Then ten points to Gryffindor and ten from Slytherin.” I grinned. “What was your second question?”

“Did you just call yourself my girlfriend?”

My mouth opened and closed a couple of times before a weird squeak escaped my lips.

Chase burst out laughing, wrapping me totally in his arms and pressing me against his body. I grumbled something, but he was laughing so hard at me that it didn’t matter.

Also because my face was smooshed against his chest so even if he weren’t laughing, I doubted that he’d be able to hear me anyway.

“You look like I just told you I ran over your kitten,” he laughed into my hair. “Relax, Rae. You don’t need to answer.”

“I don’t?”

“No. We both know you are.” He kissed me quickly and bolted, sending me rolling across the bed with an ‘oomph.’

“Wait, what?” I scrambled up, grabbing the sheet to wrap around me as I chased him. “Chase!”

He darted out from behind the wall and pulled me into his body, wrapping his arms around me from behind. His arms had mine held in place so I couldn’t wrestle my way out of his grip.

“What?” he murmured, kissing the side of my neck.

“We don’t both know I am!”

“Do I need to drag you back into that bedroom and fuck you again to prove you wrong?”

I stilled. “You can’t possibly go again.”

“I bet I could.”

Yeah, well, I couldn’t. Vaginas weren’t meant for constant pounding, no matter what porn told you.

“I’m not your girlfriend.” I wriggled against him.

“Rae…”

“Fine. Maybe I’m a little bit your girlfriend.”

He laughed, spinning me in his arms and looking down at me. I was still locked in place against him because he was unfairly freaking strong.

His lips twitched to one side. “You’re my penguin.”

I hated the way my heart beat against my chest at that. “Yeah, well, you’re a dork.”

“I’m your dork.” He wiggled his eyebrows and released me. “You want Pop Tarts?”

“What?” I frowned. Talk about an abrupt topic change.

Chase pulled the box down. “Strawberry Pop Tarts. Your favorite. Do you want one?”

My stomach rumbled.

He grinned.

“Yeah,” I said, tugging the sheet around me a little tighter. “I could eat a Pop Tart.”

***

Grandma stuck her tongue out of the corner of her mouth as she worked on the huge chalkboard that was slowly becoming my new menu. Her artistic streak ranged from paintings to baking to typography, and now, I was super thankful for that last one.

I had the handwriting of a ten-year-old boy on a good day. I certainly couldn’t create a menu as pretty as hers would be.

“How was your night?” she asked, focused entirely on what she was doing. “You didn’t come home.”

I blushed as I dipped the brush into the paint. “I texted you.”

“I know you did. I’m just terribly nosy.”

I laughed as I painted the second coat of pink onto the underside of the main counter. “It was good. We ate burgers, and I found out that lobsters don’t mate for life, but penguins do, and otters pick a rock to be their favorite.”