I can imagine something else slipping between those pretty lips. Willing my mind out of the gutter, I press the nozzle and fill her mouth with swirls of cream.

“Mmmm,” she says, her cheeks puffing out like a chipmunk. “That is good.”

“See? What did I tell you? And to think you’ve been missing out on this your whole life.”

“It’s a travesty,” she agrees. I give her another hit.

“You’ve never lived until you’ve done that in the store.”

“In the grocery store? No way.”

“Yes.” I tell her how my friend and I used to go to the Fresh and Easy Market when my mom and I lived near Camp Pendleton. I’d keep an eye out for the manager while he took a hit and he’d do the same for me.

She laughs.

Normally, I don’t like talking about when I was a kid. But with Ivy, for some reason, my past and everything in it doesn’t seem nearly as dark.

The microwave beeps and I pull out the two mugs of hot water.

“Is it too late to change my order to hot chocolate?” she asks, licking the last of the whipped cream from her lips.

“Not at all.” I grab two packets and dump them into the cups.

“You mentioned Camp Pendleton. Was your dad in the military when you were little?”

Ha. “My father is the last person who’d join the military.”

“What if there was a zombie apocalypse and all the remaining people needed to become soldiers to defend the human race? Would he join then?”

Where does she come up with this stuff? I shake my head, laughing. “Yes, even then he’d figure out a way to avoid it.”

“Hmmm. Then he’d probably be one of the first to be infected.”

“Let’s just say he’s the ultimate narcissist. He’d never do anything where he had to be a team player or a small cog in a greater machine. He needs to be the one on top. The one getting all the glory and attention. If you don’t fit into his world or serve a purpose, he has no need for you.”

“And by you, you mean you?” Her tone is soft.

I exhale a long, slow breath. “Pretty much. He left my mother when she was pregnant with me.”

“Before you were even born? Wow, Jon, I’m sorry.”

“Yep. Told her he wasn’t interested in being a father.” I stir the chocolate, add some whipped cream, and hand one to her.

She swirls it around, but doesn’t take a sip. She’s chewing the inside of her lip like she’s trying to figure something out. “Do you have a relationship with him now?”

“Never met the guy.” I don’t tell her that I have seen him—in occasional tabloid articles and online gossip sites.

“He sounds like a jerk.”

She doesn’t know the half of it. “When I was a kid, I wanted to meet him so bad. All my friends had dads and I wanted one, too. So when I was seven, I drew a picture at school of what I thought he looked like. Basically, it was a self-portrait, only he was taller and had bigger muscles. I can still remember the drawing. Stick figures, of course.”

Ivy smiles. “Of course.”

“I came home and told my mom I wanted to mail it to him. So she got an envelope and helped me address it. He was living in New York City at the time.”

“And did you hear from him?”

I shake my head. “The letter came back marked Return to Sender. Printed by hand, not a stamp. My father didn’t even bother to open it. Just saw that it was from me, his son, and sent it back. Had he just thrown it away, I could’ve imagined that he’d read it and displayed the picture on his fancy New York refrigerator to show to all his famous friends. But no. It came back unopened and unread.”

“Your dad is such a fool.”

“I’m thinking more along the lines of fucker, asshole or douche.”

She sets down her hot chocolate and looks me square in the eye. “He’s a fool, Jon, because he doesn’t know, doesn’t even have one clue, that he’s fathered a pretty amazing guy.”

My first reaction is to refute her words, but she’s staring at me so intently, as if she’s daring me to contradict her. And then she does something that blows me away. She lifts her hands and signs, You’re amazing.

My heart races. My throat tightens up. I try swallowing, but I can’t. I turn away, not sure what I can say. Or do.

Quietly, she comes around the island as I stand frozen on the other side. She places her hands on either side of my face. At first, I think she’s going to kiss me. Her lips are parted and her eyes are so intense with emotion, they almost burn right through me. But no. She’s holding my face so that I’m forced to look at her without turning away.

“You’re a good person, Jon Priestly. And if your dad is so self-centered and self-absorbed that he can’t or won’t be bothered to see the kind of son he’s fathered, then I’m incredibly sad for him. One day, he’s going to die. And you know what? He’ll never have known how much better his life would’ve been had you been a part of it.”

She rises onto her tiptoes and pulls my head down to hers. Her lips are soft against mine.

I’ve ignored her for weeks. Stopped calling and texting. Even ignored her in the one class we had together. By all accounts she should be disappointed in me, but she’s not.

“Ivy,” I choke, grabbing fistfuls of her hair as I draw her to me as tight as I can. “I—”

“Shhh. Just kiss me and stop trying to argue.”

I lift her in my arms and her legs go around my waist, then I carry her up the stairs to my room.

Ivy

Jon slips into bed, the mattress briefly dipping under his weight. This close to him, alone, here in his bedroom, my heart races out of control. It’s pounding loud enough that I’m certain he can hear it.

I stare up at the darkened ceiling, surprised I don’t have a headache right now. I figured it was inevitable, given what happened tonight to Maddy. Although I’m tired, I’m headache-free. “Thanks for everything. Coming to get me. Bringing me over here.”

“Sure,” he says, rubbing my hip. “No problem. I hope you’re not still scared.”

“I’m not.” I nestle in closer until my body is pressed to his, our contours matching. He feels like a man should feel. Strong, but respectful of those who aren’t. Protective, but not smothering. And capable of so much good. His hand slips over my hip to rest on the bare skin of my belly. His lips are in my hair. I shift slightly and… There. I feel his erection against my butt. A thrill skitters along my spine, then outward to my fingers and toes. Our contours don’t quite match anymore.

“Ivy, you need to stop moving around.”

“I’m just trying to get comfortable.” What I really want is for him to slip his hand into my pajama bottoms. A delicious warmth gathers low in my abdomen at the thought.

“You’ve been through too much. It’s late. You need to get some sleep.”

It’s like he can read my mind and thinks he needs to put a stop to my desire. I turn in his arms and kiss him. “Jon, I…I want this. With you.”

He groans, the sound vibrating through his lips against mine. I can tell he wants this as badly as I do. The ache between my legs is almost unbearable. Just when I think I might have to take matters into my own hands, he pushes my pajama bottoms down, runs his hand down my belly, and slips a finger inside me. I gasp in surprise. It’s so sudden. His finger strokes me intimately. I bend my knee to open myself to him and, oh my God, his thumb starts rubbing against me, shooting electricity throughout my body.

With his free hand, he guides mine to his erection. It’s velvety smooth and hard like a pipe. I stroke it, trying to match the rhythm of his hips. Suddenly, he produces a condom from somewhere and quickly sheaths himself. I know this is a really lame time to be thinking of one’s ex, but Chase used to lie back with his hands behind his head as I put it on him, but toward the end of our relationship he’d get impatient and do it himself. Just another way Jon is different.