“Can I kiss you?” His palm is on my cheek, his fingers sliding into my hair. “I’d like to kiss you. If that’s okay.”

And he reads minds, too. “It’s okay.”

He’s an inch from my lips. “I’ve been dying to taste you since . . .”

I wait for him to finish his sentence or follow through and kiss me already. Hold up, did he say taste? Hell, I’ll let him devour me.

He traces my bottom lip with his thumb. His fingers are cold. I shiver and inhale an asthmatic breath. Our eyes lock. I can’t look away.

I do that weird thing people do when someone they want to get it on with puts one of their digits—except for toes—near their mouth. I allow my tongue to peek out and taste his skin. It’s yummy, probably residue from the sugary chocolate beverage he stuck it in earlier. I have the urge to bite his thumb. So I do.

He mumbles a quiet curse. Then his thumb is gone, and his mouth is on mine. Our bodies are flush; he presses me heavily into the frame of my shit heap. If I wasn’t wearing a thick wool coat, I might be able to feel whether or not he’s hard.

He angles my head to the side and sucks on my bottom lip. The kiss grows deeper and more frantic. Well, I’m frantic. I grab for his hair, but his hat’s in the way and my fingers are frozen—courtesy of the mid-March cold. It’s annoying and inconvenient.

Meanwhile, Alex has turned into a jacket-MacGyver. He manages to get two buttons undone. Now I can feel him and he can feel me up. I molest his mouth with my tongue and shamelessly dry hump him for all I’m worth.

It’s fabulous until someone shouts, “Woo-hoo! Give it to her good!”

The mouth fucking ceases instantly. Alex spins to face the would-be voyeur. Taking a protective stance, he blocks me from view. I hide behind his jacket for extra cover. Public dry humping is not something I want to be recognized for.

I peek around his shoulder. Two guys, maybe a year or two younger than I am, stand not more than ten feet away.

“What did you say?” His voice is eerily calm.

One of them loses the cocky edge. He elbows the other in the ribs. I assume this may have something to do with them being skinny and dorky and Alex being broad and angry. Nervous guy’s buddy doesn’t get the hint. Instead he holds up his hand like he’s waiting for a high five.

“Spread the love, man.” He must be drunk. It’s the only explanation for his level of stupidity.

“Uh, Gene, we better go.” Skinny guy eyes Alex nervously.

“Wait.” Gene holds up a finger in his much smarter friend’s face. “It can’t be. No way!” He squints and pushes his black rimmed glasses up his nose. “Oh, dude, it totally is. Alex Waters!”

Word to the wise—NHLers shouldn’t hang out near colleges.

“Don’t you have somewhere else to be?” Alex’s irritation is evident.

“S-sorry.” The guy who isn’t an idiot hauls Gene away.

Once they’re gone, Alex shoves his hands in his pockets and turns to me. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to get carried away. It’s just . . . it been a while since I’ve seen you, and you taste really good, and it makes me want . . . yeah, anyway . . . sorry.”

“Oh, uh . . . it’s okay.” I wave my hand around like it’s no big deal. I enjoyed the dry hump as much as he did. Maybe more.

“So we’re still on for tomorrow night?”

The question confuses me at first. It’s not like it’s his fault a couple of drunk kids walked by while we were making out. Against the side of my SUV.

Alex rushes on. “Please don’t back out on me. I promise I’ll be a perfect gentleman.”

It never crossed my mind, not even for a half second, to flake out on the date. “I won’t as long as you drop the perfect gentleman crap. That’s a deal breaker. My boobs won’t tolerate it.”

“I love your boobs, they’re so fun.” His smile is panty wetting. “I’ll pick them up at seven?”

We’re so weird. I like it. “Seven is great.”

“Perfect.”

“Perfect.” I return the smile. I’ll be counting down the hours until we can resume our make out session.

“I should let you go home.”

Alex holds my door open as I climb in. If I’d been thinking, I would’ve started it while we made out. However, such actions may well have led to an invitation into the backseat where he could have demonstrated how much better bigger is. Those drunk kids would’ve gotten the free show of a lifetime.

I turn the engine over. Alex waits patiently in the freezing cold for me to roll the window down manually.

“Thanks for the latte and the cake.”

“Anytime.”

I motion him closer and kiss his cheek, right where his dimple lives. It pops out at the invitation, and if it wasn’t so dark, I’d swear he was blushing. He’s as sweet as the dessert I polished off in the café. “See you tomorrow.”

“Looking forward to it.”

The 4Runner makes an awful grating noise as I shift into gear. I should get it checked out.

Later on, Alex sends me a cute text to make sure my SUV hasn’t exploded and left me stranded on the side of the road. After forty-five minutes of texting, I say goodnight and shut off my phone, otherwise I’ll be tempted to message him all night. If I’m going out with him tomorrow, I have work to do. By work, I mean some beaverscaping.