Maddie asks if we can switch our outing to an ice cream excursion when she sees the place with the homemade waffle cones. Not certain about ice cream before nine in the morning, I agree anyway because I’m so eager to hear more about why she thought I was amazing during her appointment when I felt like I was steam rolling everyone with my research.
When they won’t let Maddie get a mixed cone, I agree to order peach and share with her as she devours her pistachio cone, making sexy moaning sounds I shouldn’t be responding to before work on a weekday. I cross my legs to mask my arousal.
“How did you know they’d ask about those specific tests,” she asks, leaning over to take a big lick of my ice cream.
I let her, braving a small lick of her cone. I’ve never had pistachio ice cream before
