Waiting until Alex returns with our drinks would be the polite thing to do, but I’m starving and it looks delicious. I skim the slice with the edge of my fork and gather a thin layer of whipped cream and bits of meringue. It’s the perfect combination of creamy and crunchy, dissolving as soon as it touches my tongue. I sigh in sensory ecstasy.

“Is it good?”

Alex startles me as he sets my green tea latte on the table. He’s close enough that I can see a tiny nick on his chin from his razor and the flecks of green and gold in his otherwise hazel eyes.

He moves his chair closer to mine, so we’re side by side instead of across from each other, and settles into the soft velvet.

“It’s heaven.”

“Can I have a taste of heaven?”

I don’t think he means for it to sound suggestive. He bites his lip as I dig my fork into the cake and pass it to him. Instead of taking it from me, he clutches my hand and raises the fork to his mouth. His lips part and close over the tines. Good Lord, I want to fuck his mouth with my tongue again.

He savors the bite, his expression pensive as he swallows. “Want to trade?”

“No thanks.”

“Are you sure? Maybe you want to go halves? Why don’t you try mine?” He jams his fork into the cake, ready to spear me a bite.

“I’m not parting with my cake.”

“Suit yourself.” He separates a hunk of cake from the thick piece. It’s dense, dripping with chocolate syrup. His eyes drift close, and he makes a low sound in his throat. It’s almost a growl. “If yours is heaven, then this is a mouth-gasm.”

“Mouth-gasm?”

He leans in and lowers his voice to a whisper. “It’s an orgasm in my mouth.”

In the middle of a sip of my latte, I raise my hand in time to prevent it from spraying him and the table. I get my palm and sleeve instead. He grabs a napkin and dabs at the mess.

His cheeks flush, and he shakes his head. “Sorry. I shouldn’t have said that.”

“It’s fine. I’m fine. It was unexpected.” I remember vividly what it was like to have an orgasm in his mouth. It was pretty amazing.

He stirs his chocolate-whatever. It’s covered with whipped cream and drizzled with more chocolate syrup. I see a trend here. “I’m really glad you agreed to see me.” One second he’s being all flirty and the next he’s being sincere and vulnerable. I don’t know which side of him to trust, if any at all.

“You wanted the chance to explain.”

My stomach twists, so I leave the cake alone and focus on my drink. He clears his throat, staring into his hot chocolate. The table vibrates from the restless tapping of his foot against the floor. He’s such an enigma. I want these glimpses of sweetness and his awkward fumbling to be authentic, not a facade he wears to get women into bed with him. He takes a deep breath and looks up.

“The way the media portrays me is inaccurate.”

“Uh-huh.” Of course he’s going to say this.

“Uh, excuse me.”

The interruption breaks the tension. Two guys stop in front of our table.

“Are you Alex Waters?”

“Hey.” Frustration lies under Alex’s smile.

“I told you, man!” He smacks his buddy on the arm, his excitement gaining momentum and volume. “I told him it was you! This is so cool. You’re like the best player in the league, hands down!”

“Thanks, man. Listen—”

“Can I get your autograph, man? No one’s gonna believe this!”

“Yeah, sure.” Alex shoots me an apologetic look.

He’s genuinely trying to be nice to this guy whose social skills have lapsed in the face of idolization. The guy pulls out a piece of crumpled lined paper, rambling on about how he plays defense in Junior As and how he wants to go pro. He’s a skinny little guy and clearly a college freshman. Alex lets him go on for a few minutes, snapping selfies and asking questions. He gives them the “Keep working hard and you can reach your goals” speech. I understand why he’s the captain of his team. Once they’re done fawning, Alex gives me a pained smiled.

“I’m sorry.” He dips his pinkie into the whipped cream and slips his finger between his full, soft lips . . . and I’m wet. I want to skip the make out session and go straight to naked. I’ll suck the whipped cream off any damn thing he dips in there. Including the monster cock.

“It’s okay.” I clear my throat and shift around, trying to get comfortable. I need to get a handle on my hormones. We’re supposed to be having a discussion, and my mind is in the gutter.

“What were we talking about again?” He takes a small sip of his drink. Whipped cream forms a mustache he quickly licks away.

“You’re not the person the media portrays you to be. Yet, you sure seem to play the part.” I give him my resting bitch face: squinty eyes paired with pursed lips. It makes Buck run for cover, and Sidney usually finds somewhere else to be if it comes out. Alex sinks in his chair.

“When I started playing for the NHL, the rumors were somewhat justified. The media likes to blow things out of proportion. I won’t deny there was some accuracy. I was eighteen and a rookie. There were lots of girls . . .”

I guess I can understand this. If you’re a single, hot professional hockey player, women are going to throw themselves at you. I’m a case in point, although his appeal was only physical before the Fielding comment.