The Ice Cream Shop Boy #2 (Erotic Romance)

by Mimi Strong

  The Ice Cream Shop Boy #2 (Erotic Romance)

  © 2012 Mimi Strong

  Description: Laura returns home to Columbus, Ohio, and tries to resume her life. Her honeymoon is over, but at least she has someone new: Princess, the rescue dog. Princess finds a new friend at the dog park: Duke. He has pale blue eyes. Just like his doggy-daddy. Laura's not sure if she should go on a relationship diet, or if she should indulge by sampling every flavor of dating. Things are about to get very tasty.

  Length: 16,900 words, or 68 book pages long. This is the second story in a 3-part series.

  Spice Level: Erotic and romantic. This story contains super-hot sex, M/F. For adults, 18+ only.

  1: The Competition

  Shawn, the ice cream shop boy, said I “woke him up,” and I would say he did the same for me.

  I returned to Columbus, Ohio, a changed woman, and not just because my total lifetime number of orgasms had doubled, thanks to him.

  Walking back into the empty apartment in Short North, the one I had once shared with Lars, my former fiance, I felt decidedly neutral. The two-bedroom place held old memories, both welcome and unwelcome, but it also held potential. A coat of paint might be the solution.

  “Welcome to your new home,” I said to Princess. She ran in, her toenails tapping on the hardwood floor, and set about sniffing every corner. Her fluffy little gray tail went still when she found interesting smells, and whipped happily when I spoke to her, giving verbal encouragement.

  Shawn had adopted her as a rescue dog, and while she had Pekinese aspects, she was no purebred. She was simply Princess.

  I said to her, “If you're Princess,” she wagged her tail so fast, dust bunnies moved behind her, “I guess that makes me the Queen?”

  She trotted around me, fascinated by my unpacking, and then by my dinner preparations.

  As I ate my dinner and she ate hers, I talked to her about Shawn, referring to him as “your daddy.” We agreed that he was a nice young man, and we both missed him. Princess wasn't sure what it meant that he hadn't sent us a text message. I'd sent him one as soon as I'd landed at Port Columbus International Airport, but there'd been no reply.

  “I guess it was just a fling,” I said. “Sometimes flings are nice. Not everything is forever.” She jumped into my lap and nudged my hands. “Except for me and you. I won't let you go, and you'll be mine forever. I promise.” She gazed up at me. “Til death do us part.”

  She settled in for a snooze, and I spent the next hour alternating between staring at my cell phone and the enormous flat-screen on the wall, fast-forwarding through the recorded shows I had no interest in watching.

  At ten o'clock, we went out for the last pee and walk of the night, along with the silent brigade of other dog owners in the neighborhood. I wouldn't typically walk around at that time on a Sunday night, and was surprised by how many of us there were … and how many were attractive men.

  I spent ten minutes discussing what breed Princess might be with a very hunky man sporting dreadlocks, before I realized he wore a gold wedding band. I couldn't tell if he'd been flirting with me, or with Princess, and his Golden Lab was quite forward as well. Either way, my pooch and I both enjoyed the attention.

  We were crossing a grassy meridian when Princess surprised me by taking one more dookie than I had plastic baggies for. I waved at a woman walking a French Bulldog, hoping she'd have a spare, but she didn't seem to notice me.

  I was considering a dookie-and-dash when a man was suddenly in my face, handing me a baggie. As he stood upwind of me, I got a sniff of his cologne. He smelled like how handsome looks, and he was equally cute.

  “It's an amazing equation,” he said, nodding at Princess. “How they seem to put out even more than you feed them.”

  I accepted the bag and took care of the business, thanking him. “This is Princess,” I said, instantly regretting not renaming her a better name—or any other name, really.

  He laughed. “Princess, meet Duke.”

  Duke was a spotted dog with a black patch ringing one of his gorgeous blue eyes. He looked like an Australian Cattle Dog, but much smaller. Tongue lolling out, he seemed like a mellow guy. Duke's human companion also had pale blue eyes, and dark hair, cut very short all over. This yummy-smelling man had a square jaw, full lips, and a proud nose with a bump on the bridge. He wasn't just real-life-cute, but more like movie-star-cute, and I struggled to find words in the presence of such cuteness.

  “I'm Laura,” I finally managed. “How old is Duke?”

  As the two dogs sniffed each other in a friendly manner, both of them with their ears friendly and attentive, the man said, “I wouldn't know. I picked him up just the other day to help me meet women.” He had a bit of a foreign accent, a different cadence from most Columbusites.

  I turned and started to walk away, perplexed by his forwardness and not in the mood to be hit on so boldly.

  “He's seven years old,” the man said, taking big steps to catch up with me. “I've had him since he was a pup, and I was kidding about picking up women.”

  “That's fine,” I said, picking up my pace. I'd walk up to the corner store and lose this creep there, so he wouldn't know what building I lived in.

  “I'm Zach.” He reached his hand toward me.

  “Nice to meet you,” I said, nodding, but not taking his hand. He kept walking alongside me, not taking the hint.

  As we reached the end of the darkened block, he said, “Are you a Buckeyes fan? I understand it's critically important for me to be a Buckeyes fan if I'm to fit in here.”

  “I guess,” I said.

  His dog stopped to sniff a mailbox, and Zach stopped as well. I kept on going, taking my opportunity to ditch him.

  I felt better once I put some distance between us.

  What's that saying? When it rains it pours. Men never used to hit on me when I was engaged to Lars, and now, men were being drawn to me like hornets to a barbecue. The man who'd sat next to me on the airplane had tried to give me a neck massage, and the cab driver who drove me from the airport offered to set me up with his cousin.

  I liked the attention, liked knowing I was at least visible, but my heart was both happy and sad over Shawn.

  He still hadn't called or messaged when I climbed into bed that night. Princess curled up obediently on her own pillow, on the floor near me. I yearned to cuddle with her when I slept, just so I wasn't alone, but knew that was bad for training her. I didn't want her to think she was the boss in our little family.

  As I was drifting off to sleep, I thought about Zach, and the possibility of running into him on my next dog walk. In my hazy state, I slipped one hand down over the surface of my panties and touched myself through the cotton. I gasped in surprise at how good it felt.

  At work the next day, I had a zillion things being thrown at me, so I had no choice but to get up to full speed immediately. People were abuzz with rumors about the company being sold, but I just rolled my eyes and got to work.

  As the assistant to our clothing label's buyer, I did mostly entry-level work, answering emails and setting up phone calls, but I was getting more and more responsibilities. I worked under the fabric buyer, Delphinia, and we were close enough friends that I knew she and her husband were trying for a baby. She'd hinted I might take over for her when she went on maternity leave, and after that … perhaps it might be permanent. The company did like to promote from within.

  Some of the people at the company were workaholics, and others were what I'd lovingly call “eccentric,” but they were fun people. The owner was a woman whose husband had very deep pockets, and the clothing label had started as her little vanity project. The busine
ss was her alternative to lunching with other rich ladies, and nobody was more surprised than her when the label had taken off, and actually started making money instead of costing money—not that she and her husband needed it.

  The business operated out of a renovated warehouse in the Brewery District, with the offices and design facilities sharing the same building. Actual production was done overseas, though we were always on the verge of setting up a factory locally, it seemed. We were always on the verge of something, and yet things never actually changed.

  Princess came with me to work, since I hadn't made other arrangements for doggie day care, and didn't want her piddling in the apartment. Everyone freaked over her, but in a positive way. They loved Princess, and she was officially given the title of office mascot, as well as invited to come to work with me every day.

  Things were working out so well in my life, yet one thing kept my day from being perfect.

  I still hadn't heard from Shawn. He'd mentioned flying in to see me, and maintaining a long-distance relationship, but I'd left in such a hurry we hadn't had time to do much but kiss and exchange phone numbers. Perhaps I was being ridiculous, thinking about a future with a young man, barely twenty-one, with whom I'd spent only one night.

  I was sorting fabric samples for Delphinia and looking for a specific shade of teal—not too green—when my cell phone beeped with a message.

  Was it Shawn?

  My insides fluttered and my palms were sweating as I checked my phone, holding my breath.

  The message read:

  Dear Laura, you should know that Sharise and I are back together. Thank you for hanging out with me. I hope you have a good life. Shawn.

  I didn't know what to do next. The nausea rose up.

  I thought of my white wedding dress.

  My mother crying.

  All my emotions, a dark cloud, sickened me.

  This time, unlike my wedding day, I didn't throw up on myself. I managed to pull my blue, plastic recycling box out from under my desk and throw up in there, on top of some expense reports.

  Delphinia heard the noise and came over, her face showing concern. “Tell me you're not pregnant,” she said.

  Between heaves, I said, “I'm on the pill.”

  I pointed to the phone on my desk, so she picked it up and read the message.

  “Oh, honey,” she said, and she stood beside me, rubbing my back. She gathered up my hair in one hand so I could get down on my hands and knees and really let those expense reports have it.

  That was Monday.

  I got dumped by Shawn on a Monday morning. By text. Oh, the humiliation.

  When I walked Princess that night, my usually-friendly block in Short North felt menacing. The women with their dogs were haggard and angry; the men were leering and furtive.

  I thought I saw the man with the spotted dog, Duke and his human companion Zach, but I rushed Princess down the street and back into my apartment lobby before he could talk to us.

  I successfully avoided bumping into him the rest of the week, until Friday.

  On Friday, Zach was waiting outside my building. He sat on the stone wall surrounding the building's raised flower beds. The blue-eyed, spotted dog, Duke, lay at his feet, eyes low and watchful. Zach was smiling at something on his cell phone screen, and quickly pocketed the phone when I stepped out of the building.

  I froze, considering going back in, but decided to shut him down for once and for all, so I could walk my dog in my own darn neighborhood in peace.

  My voice cool, I said, “Do you know someone in the building?”

  “I know a pretty girl with a little gray dog.” Grinning broadly enough to give himself dimples, he held his hand level in front of his eyes and said, “About this tall. The girl, not the dog. The dog is significantly shorter.”

  “Not interested,” I said, walking past him briskly.

  He followed.

  After a few paces, he said, “Don't tell me you don't like ice cream.”

  I stopped in my tracks and whirled around. “What the hell is that supposed to mean?” Who was this man, and how did he know about my recent fling with the owner of an ice cream shop?

  Duke barked and positioned himself between me and his human. Princess growled.

  Zach held his hands up and stepped back. “I'm sorry, I'm sorry! I swear I'm not usually like this, but I think I've seen you around. I feel like I see you everywhere, and that must mean something, right?”

  I rolled my eyes. “I'm average height, with brown hair. You're probably as bad with remembering faces as you are at picking up hints.”

  He handed me a business card, then took another step back, giving me space.

  As I looked over the card, which was pink with scalloped edges, he said, “Princess is everywhere, too. I swear you two were in one of my shops yesterday, in the Warehouse District.”

  I glared at the feminine card. I had gone out for some ice cream Thursday, to get an almost-Friday treat for everyone at the office. The ice cream place was a new one, and ridiculous, too, with a hundred flavors and even more toppings that they mixed into the ice cream to create new combinations. I'd brought the ice cream back to the office, but hadn't been able to eat any myself, because ice cream reminded me too much of Shawn.

  “You work here?” I asked, even as I noticed the name on the card: Zach Mikhelson, CEO, Butter Spoons.

  “Sometimes I put on an apron and scoop the ice cream myself. It's an enjoyable business.” His accent came and went as he spoke, and only now, seeing his last name of Mikhelson, did I realize the accent was a Russian one. As he continued talking, telling me about his family's restaurant chains, and their recent expansion into Ohio, I realized the accent was not just Russian, but sexy. So sexy.

  “Do you like to treat yourself?” he asked.

  I giggled.

  He said, “Sprinkles? Marshmallows?”

  Princess tugged on the leash, as did her friend Duke, so the four of us began walking down the sidewalk together, a respectable distance between the humans.

  Zach kept naming ice cream flavors and toppings until I stopped him, saying, “I'm quite open. I like to try a different flavor every time.”

  He reached a friendly arm out, like he was about to hug me to him, but pulled back. “You're the best kind of customer,” he said. “There's a coupon on the back of the card, so you can get a free ice cream. The ice cream is on me.”

  As he said the words “on me,” I imagined what he might look like under his thin windbreaker jacket. Zach's shoulders were broad, his waist trim, and he moved with grace. So help me, I was imagining him on his back, with scoops of ice cream down his center. On top of the ice cream, I imagined sprinkles, marshmallows, and chocolate sauce.

  I said, “You're very brave to expand into Columbus. We already have Jeni's, and Jeni's is Columbus, practically.”

  “That's what people keep telling me, but how busy was the shop when you came in?”

  “Busy.”

  “Exactly.”

  I chuckled. “Something tells me you enjoy a good challenge.”

  He changed the topic, saying, “What line of business are you in?”

  We continued our stroll, the dogs leading the way to the park, and I told Zach a little about my job. The sky was dark, well past sunset, but the summer evening was still warm and enjoyable.

  He said, “Sounds like you do a bit of everything. You'd be an asset to any business. Please call me if you ever find yourself wanting a career change.”

  “I'm happy.”

  “Laura, you don't seem that happy. You're smiling now, but there's sadness in your eyes.”

  The nauseated feeling I'd been having all week returned with a jolt. “How did you know my name?”

  “When we met on Monday, you told me.” He stopped in his tracks and looked around. “I'm making you uncomfortable. This was not my intent. I thought, because we both have dogs, we could be friends.”

  I took a deep breath, feeling more
comfortable at that word: friends. Despite his sex appeal, and those beautiful hands of his, so refined yet strong-looking, and his dark eyebrows and captivating blue eyes, I wasn't ready for a man like Zach Mikhelson. I didn't know if I'd ever be. From the look of him, and his refined manner of speech, something told me he didn't have a half-dozen video game consoles at his place.

  He was a real man, and he probably dated powerful women who were sure of themselves in the bedroom.

  “Friends,” I said, extending my hand.

  As he gripped my hand in his, sparks shot from him to me, setting the area between my legs a-tingle and making my throat feel hot and exposed.

  “Until we are more than friends,” he said, giving me a mischievous grin. There were the dimples again. When he smiled, he looked younger, more boyish, and I thought maybe.

  We arrived at the park, let the dogs off their leashes, and stood watching as the two of them rolled and cavorted on the grass. The stars were out above us, though being in the city, we could only see a few of the brighter ones.

  I asked him, “Do the stars look the same in Russia?”

  He laughed. “The stars are blurry in Russia. We moved to America when I was ten, and that was before we discovered I needed glasses.”

  “So are the stars blurry now?”

  “I had the laser treatment a few years ago. Marvelous. No contacts, no glasses, no problems. Look, you can't even tell.”

  He turned and stared into me, his eyes wide, the pale blue ghostly in the park's streetlamps. His eyelashes were enviable, thick and dark and long. I wanted to reach up and run my fingertips over those eyelashes, feel them tickle my fingers.

  I said, “Yes, your eyes look fine to me. I'd never have known.”

  “My eyes are very good at spotting opportunities.” He didn't explain further, but I felt a trembling in my belly, because his eyes were moving now, roving over my body. He looked at my mouth, then my neck, and paused on my breasts. He moved on, and I felt like he was touching me, caressing me. Oh, the things I was imagining. I wanted to know what his mouth felt like on mine, what his skin tasted like.