“Would it have helped if I wiggled my brows while saying it?”

“No,” she answers like the grump she knows how to be. “Are we going to push the bike back to camp?”

“I mean, it’s not that far away, so we can try biking again.”

“Yeah, we can, I guess.”

“But first, I think we need some ice cream,” I say and then take her hand, pulling her toward the gas station. “Have you ever been into a Stewart’s before?”

“Uh, I don’t think so,” she says while I open the door for her.

“Pips, they have the best ice cream.”

Her face contorts in confusion when we get to the ice cream counter. “This gas station has hand-scooped ice cream?”

“Yup, one of the great things about Stewart’s. And you can even buy cartons of it if there is a flavor you really like. My dad, before his accident, would come home from work on Fridays during the summer, and he’d bring home a carton of ice cream.”

“Really? That’s sweet. What was his favorite flavor?”

“Crumbs Along the Mohawk,” I answer. “It was everyone’s favorite.”

“What’s in that one?”

“It’s graham cracker–flavored ice cream, caramel swirl, and graham cracker pieces.”

“Ooo, that sounds good. I think I want to get that.”

I smile. “Cup or cone?”

“Cone.”

“Good girl.” I wink and then pull out my wallet and walk up to the counter, where I put in our order and pay. I hand her the first cone, grab some napkins, and head out toward where we parked the bike.

We both take a seat on a bench, and I loop my arm around her while she takes her first lick.

From the sight of her tongue running against the ice cream, I feel my mouth go dry, envisioning what her tongue did to me last night.

Then she moans, her eyes closing. “Mmmm.”

That moan immediately sends me into a tailspin of desire.

“So good,” she whispers and then licks again, but this time, she moves her tongue over the top, like she’s rimming it.

“What the hell are you doing?” I ask as I shift in my seat.

A grin spreads over those delicious lips as she says, “I thought we were supposed to flirt.”

“That is not flirting,” I say seriously. “That is taunting.”

“Are you saying you can’t handle a little ice cream licking?”

“I’m saying I can’t handle you rimming your ice cream like you’re running your tongue over my goddamn piercings.”

She chuckles. “Quite the imagination on you.”

“Oh, you know what you were doing. Should I flick my ice cream like I flicked your clit last night?”

“Have at it. Show me what you’ve got.”

I purse my lips, studying her. “You know what? No, I’m not about to give you a free show.”