“I saw.”
“Some of them were pretty…”
“Pretty?”
“Suggestive.” She bites her lip, and my knees buckle.
Jesus, dude. Get ahold of yourself. Becca’s hot for sure, but she doesn’t need you secretly lusting after her like some desperate creep.
I clear my throat. “I’m guessing you don’t wanna film any of those.”
Her full cheeks flush, and she shakes her head. “Of course not. But you sort of laid the gauntlet down when you asked for people to leave their thoughts. We can’t just leave them hanging.”
I sit down at our usual table and pat the seat next to me. “Let’s scroll through the suggestions together and find one we can film. One that makes you feel comfortable.”
She quickly agrees and joins me. She sets her phone on the table between us, and we sift through the hundreds of comments.
Becca’s blue eyes bulge. “I had no idea people could make ice cream so…sexual.”
“Anything can be sexual in someone’s dirty mind.”
“I guess that’s true. Oh wow…” Her finger stops scrolling. “A human hot fudge sundae.”
“Creative.” I chuckle. “But not as creative as…” I squint at a comment. “Licking ice cream off of each other’s faces.”
Becca bursts out laughing. “That’s ridiculous. And gross.”
“Agreed.”
“This guy is offering to pay us ten grand to fill a tub with ice cream and bathe each other in it. He wants to film us.”
Becca rolls her eyes. “No way.”
“We seem to be on the same page about what turns us off. Go us.”
She chuckles. “This person thinks we should blindfold each other and feed each other different ice cream while trying to guess the flavor.”
“Damn. That’s some old-school stuff right there. Straight out of9 1/2 Weeks.”
Becca aims a confused frown at me. “Nine what?”
“It’s a movie from the eighties, an erotic thriller…” Her blue eyes go wide, making her look even more innocent and adorable. Of course sweetheart Becca hasn’t seen it. “Never mind.”
She focuses back on reading the comments. “I guess I missed the…”
I look up when she trails off. She’s clamped her mouth shut, and her eyebrows are knitted together.
“What’s wrong?” I ask.
She doesn’t answer; her gaze is still fixed on her phone screen. I look back down at it.
Whipped cream bikini!
I roll my eyes. That’s such a predictable suggestion.
I scoff. “Come on. At least be creative, right?”
I look over at Becca, whose shoulders are hunched over. Her cheeks are flushed yet again, but her expression is totally different now. Instead of playful and teasing, her eyes look shy, like she’s ashamed of something.
