So now that she’s standing in front of me, wanting to spend more time with me, I know exactly what my answer is.

“I would love some ice cream.”

“Good answer,” she says with a smile.

And then to my surprise, she takes my hand in hers and guides me out of the bar, her short frame leading the way. When we exit into the humid night air, she doesn’t release my hand but rather leans in closer to me.

“Are you a Drumstick fan?” she asks.

“Yeah. Never can go wrong with a Drumstick.”

“I would have assumed you were a strawberry shortcake kind of guy.”

“Why would you assume that?” I ask her.

“You’re not quite vanilla, definitely not commanding enough to be a chocolate lover, which leaves you as a strawberry shortcake.”

I pause and face her. “If you’re referring to how I fuck, then you’ve got me completely mislabeled. There’s nothing strawberry shortcake about me.”

Her eyes roam me again, more intensely this time. And when she’s done, she says, “Yeah, maybe I am mislabeling you, but I guess I won’t ever know.” Then she starts moving forward again.

I fall in line with her strides and drape my arm over her shoulders. “Yeah, you probably won’t,” I say, just to see her reaction.

“Firsthand experience with you in the sack, yeah, I think I’ll pass.”

“Same,” I say. “A night with you in my bed doesn’t quite scream a good time.”

“Not even close.” She reaches up to my hand on her shoulder and links our fingers together. “Glad we established that. Would hate to put in all this time just to get back to your place and be bored out of my mind while you attempted to pelvic thrust in my direction.”

“Yeah, saving ourselves a shit load of time.” I pull her in closer so her side is right up against mine.

When we turn the corner, the convenience store comes into view. I open the door for her, and she goes straight to the freezer section where the individually wrapped ice creams are. We each grab a Drumstick, and when she goes to pay at the register, I say, “I can take care of it.”

She holds her hand up to me. “No, this one is on me. I owe you after all.” She pulls a five from her back pocket and tells the cashier to keep the change before picking up our ice creams and walking out of the store.

Across the street is a small park, so we make our way in that direction and find a bench to share. She hands me my ice cream and then unwraps hers.

“What’s your favorite part of a Drumstick?” she asks.

“The bottom, obviously,” I answer. “Where all the fudge has collected. Easily the best bite.”

“Hmm, maybe you’re not so bad after all, Bisley.”

“Not so bad, huh? Was I a monster before this?”

“Borderline eel-man.”

“Eel?” I laugh out loud as I drape my arm over the back of the bench while she turns toward me and sits cross-legged. “What kind of eel are we talking about? Because if it’s an electric eel, then I’m game.”