Birthday Girl

by Penelope Douglas

  “But?”

  I shrug, feeling a little guilty. “I kind of liked helping today, I guess. It’s fun to get dirty.”

  He laughs under his breath and shifts the truck into gear. “You haven’t been dirty yet,” he teases. “Fasten your seatbelt.”

  A half hour later, I’m yelping and gripping the handle above the door as he speeds down the muddy canal. He jerks the wheel, so we vault up over the side and back onto high ground, and I laugh, bouncing in my seat.

  Oh, my God, this is fun. I feel like I’m going to die. My eyes water, I’m laughing so much.

  “I can’t believe you’ve never done this before,” he says, looking over at me like I need to surrender my Small-Town-Girl card. “In my day, this was the place to take a girl to show her how badass you were in your truck.”

  I tumble left and then right as the truck navigates all the muddy dips and puddles. He’s let me have complete reign of the stereo and Bruce Springsteen’s Glory Days plays from the tape I put in. I turn up the volume and grip the dash for support. “It still is,” I inform him. “In my day, though, it’s becoming harder and harder for guys you date to keep a valid drivers’ license.”

  He chuckles. “I believe that.”

  Rain and mud kick up around us, and I can see splatters of both hitting the sleeve of my raincoat nearest the door and my bare thigh. Pike insisted we roll down the windows, not caring in the least that his interior might get dirty. He said it would heighten the experience.

  “Did you bring your dates here?” I ask.

  “From time to time.”

  I quirk the corner of my mouth into a knowing smile. “And then you took them to Hammond Lock to make-out after?”

  He darts his gaze to me, looking surprised. “What do you know about Hammond Lock?”

  I shrug. “Oh, I heard that’s where the old folks took their dates back in the day, is all.”

  He feigns a scowl and revs the gas, barreling us down into another ditch. My stomach drops into my feet, and I yelp again, laughing.

  “Stop!” I plead. “You’re going to tip us!”

  The front fender crashes into the bottom, kicking up a wave of mud and water in front of us. My body jerks forward into the seatbelt, and I scream in excitement, squeezing my eyes shut.

  Shit!

  But I can’t stop laughing. He’s right. How have I never done this before? I’ve been missing out.

  Cool rain falls lightly through the window, misting my leg, and I open my eyes again and wipe off my cheek, seeing streaks of mud on my hand.

  Turning to him, I see his eyes meet mine, both of our bodies shaking with quiet laughter.

  “Ok, it’s my turn!” I blurt out excitedly.

  Unfastening my seatbelt, I pull the door handle, moving to get out.

  “No, just slide over,” he tells me. “I’ll get out and come around.”

  I stop and turn, seeing him open his door, and instead of stepping down, he pulls himself up and swings around into the bed of the truck behind us. I quickly slide across the seat and in front of the steering wheel. The perk of his truck being so old is that it has a bench seat. I don’t need to hop over a console.

  I fasten my belt and gaze out the windshield, a surge of heat coating my stomach as I smile.

  “Watch out for the mud!” I call out the window to him.

  I have no idea how deep it is outside the passenger side door.

  But I wait as the truck rocks with his movements in back, and then the passenger side door opens, his hand appears at the handle, and he leaps inside, never once touching the ground.

  Sliding into the seat next to me, he slams the door and runs his hand over his now-drenched hair.

  My eyes fall to his T-shirt molded to his chest, defining his collar bone and the muscles of his pecs and broad shoulders.

  He turns to me. “What?”

  I blink and clear my throat, recovering. “Nothing. You’re just still pretty nimble for your age, huh?”

  His eyes flare. Swiping his hand outside the door of the truck, he brings it back in and whips it at me, mud slicing across my face.

  I gasp, closing my eyes on reflex and twisting away. “Stop!” I laugh, holding my hands out as more mud comes flying. “I’m just kidding!”

  “Since when did thirty-eight become a goddamn senior citizen?” he growls, but I can hear the amusement in his voice.

  More mud flies at me, and I cower with my back turned to him, trying to protect myself. “I’m sorry! I didn’t mean it!”

  But I can’t stop laughing.

  Two hours later, the sky is dark, and I’m blissfully relaxed. I can’t think now even if I try. Cole’s and my bills sit in my room, the tuition that I’ll go further in debt with student loans to pay is coming due in a couple months, and the nudge I feel at my back, knowing I can make more money if I just have the guts…. Everything is miles away right now. I’ve been smiling non-stop the entire afternoon.

  “That was fun,” I tell Pike, both of us veering around his house toward the backyard.

  We’re muddy and don’t want to track it in though the living room, so I suggested cleaning off with the hose in the backyard a little first.

  Glancing up at Pike, I see mud on his neck and his eyes staring off, unfocused, as if he’s lost in thought. A small smile plays on his lips.

  “What?” I ask him.

  He finally blinks, taking in a deep breath and shaking his head. “I just realized I never do anything,” he says, pushing the wooden fence door and holding it open for me. “I haven’t laughed like that since…I don’t even remember when.”

  My heart leaps. I’m glad I’m not the only one who enjoyed it. I’m glad he liked spending time with me, because…

  Because I’m getting used to him.

  I find myself looking at the clock and getting more excited the closer it gets to five every day. I look forward to him, and I wish I didn’t. I’m going to leave eventually. I don’t want to get attached.

  The shower flashes through my mind, and I remember his loofah, and my cheeks warm.

  I feel good with him, and I’m glad he feels good with me. I just can’t feel that good.

  We come around the back of the house, toward the back door, and I bend down to twist the faucet. Water pours out of the hose, and I pick it up off the ground.

  Standing upright, I run my hand under the hose, thankful the water is still warm from the day’s sun.

  I hand it to him, and he takes it.

  “Thanks for coming today,” he says quietly. “We needed the help.”

  I nod, pulling off my sneakers and hat. “It’s my town, too.”

  He rinses off his face, arms, and construction boots, and I notice the water pouring down his clothes and still leaking mud.

  We’re just making it worse.

  “There’s some towels in the dryer,” I say absently. He can go inside and change into a towel while I stay out and rinse off.

  He pulls his shirt off over his head, and I take it, twisting it in my fists to force out the water, while he runs the hose over his shoulder and down his back.

  “Is all the mud gone?” he asks.

  He turns around, still holding the hose and showing me his back, and all of a sudden, I can feel the heat of his body next to me. My blood starts heating up under my skin, and I’m afraid to look at him.

  “Yeah,” I say, barely audible.

  I pull out one of my rubber bands and start to take apart a braid, my skin is burning. He’s looking at me.

  I close my eyes for a moment, absorbing it.

  I want him to look at me.

  I hear him chuckle, though, and I open my eyes to see him reach over and take my other braid in his hand. He raises the hose and rinses off the tail.

  Oh, the mud…

  “Yeah, thanks for that, by the way.” I force a sarcastic tone.

  “You asked for it.”

  Yes. I did. He’s fun to tease.

  My scalp tickles at hi
s touch, and while I’m no longer relaxed, I’m smiling again. He’s only touching the ends of a few hairs, and I’m lightheaded.

  I swallow the lump in my throat and slowly turn, whispering, “Would you check my back?”

  I wait a moment, my pulse racing in my ears and the sound of the water spilling from the hose onto the ground.

  But then I feel him. The soft, barely there brushes of his fingers across my shirt and the cool water seeping through the fabric as he clears away the mud.

  He’s so quiet, and it’s so loud, it’s throbbing in my ears.

  At first, he’s quick. I hug my arms to the front of my body, nervous like this is the first time I’ve ever been touched.

  But then it gets slower, his hand staying on my shoulder blade longer and growing in pressure as he presses into my curves and runs his fingers down the slope of my neck, my spine, and then my hips.

  The pulse between my legs begins to throb, and my eyelids flutter.

  His hand hits bare skin at my hip, lingering for a moment, and I breath out, so nervous right now but excited.

  I’m not imagining this. I’m not imagining the way his touch feels.

  Gulping, I slowly look to the side, seeing his form over my shoulder, and I reach down, grabbing the hem of my shirt, hesitating only a moment before I pull it over my head. Then quickly, I reach over and pick up a clean towel off the stairs, hugging it to the front of my body.

  I want him to look at me, but I’m so scared he’ll push me away.

  I drop my soaked shirt and stand there, fear and desire eating away any rational thought. For a while, the steady stream of water just falls, burrowing a hole into the grass below.

  And then, it’s on me. Cascading over my shoulder, down the blades of my back, as his hand follows its fall, clearing away any dirt still lingering. I close my eyes, dizzy.

  It’s warm at my back, and I realize he’s closer now, towering over me from behind.

  I hear him swallow. “Towel’s going to get wet,” he says, his voice raspy.

  A smile pulls at my lips, but I don’t let it out.

  Opening my eyes, I pull the towel away from body and toss it back on the stairs, excitement like an electric current under every inch of my skin. I don’t remember ever wanting something this much.

  He cleans my back, my arms, and tilts my head for me side to side to make sure there’s no dirt there, as well. I finish unbraiding my hair and comb my fingers through it, feeling some wet strands mixed with the dry ones.

  I want to see him and know what he’s thinking, but I’m afraid to break the spell, and if I look at him, we might both get scared off.

  And this feels so good.

  “Are my legs clean?” I ask over my shoulder.

  I know I’m being wicked, but I don’t want him to be done yet.

  It only takes a moment, but then I feel the water hit the backs of my legs, and slowly, he takes a knee, trying to get a better vantage point.

  I close my eyes again, diving deep into my head where everything I want in this moment but am too afraid to voice is safe. It’s not only his touch. It’s how he does it. The long, languorous caresses down my thighs and the way the tips of his fingers trail just a centimeter higher than they probably should. And how he tries to avoid the insides of my legs, but he keeps flirting close like he wants to go there and is struggling to hold himself back.

  He finishes my calves and my feet, and I finally look over my shoulder and down at him.

  “My turn,” I say.

  He raises his gaze, his chest moving up and down in shallow breaths. His lips are parted, and there are a hundred different emotions in his eyes. But I recognize the same ones I’m having. Fear and longing, turmoil and need.

  We want it, but we know we shouldn’t.

  I turn and take the hose from him, and his gaze falls to my breasts right there for him and only covered by my thin, pink lacy bra with roses on it.

  I’m a girly-girl at heart, and I think he likes that.

  Without a word, he rises and stares at me, unflinching as I bring up the hose and start to rewash him. Neither of us had much mud on us in the first place. We could easily make it into the house and to the showers, and we both know it.

  I run my hand over the smooth skin of his chest, tracing the mural he has inked across his shoulder, pec, and down his arm.

  I don’t look into his eyes, but I know he’s watching my face.

  “Did you get all these tattoos when you were younger?” I ask quietly.

  “Most of them,” he says, raspy. “Back when I didn’t have other things to spend my money on.”

  “Do you regret any of them?” I see mud under his ear and arch up to my tiptoes, putting us chest to chest.

  “No, I…” He stops, his heavy breath falling on my cheek as I hover close.

  “You have some mud,” I explain, looking up at him with my body pressing into his.

  I fall back to my feet and continue. “You were saying?”

  He clears his throat. “Uh, yeah. I’m a…I’m a little tired of some of them by now, I guess, but at one time,” he tells me, “they were exactly who I was and what I needed to say about myself.”

  I nod, understanding. I trail around to his back and wash off his neck, his shoulder blades, and let my fingers fall down his spine. He shifts under my touch, and heat filters through my hand, rising up my arm, and I’m so turned on. I don’t want to stop touching him, but using my hands doesn’t feel like enough anymore. I want to feel his again.

  What is Pike Lawson like when he takes?

  He turns his head, asking softly, “Aren’t you going to ask me what the tattoos mean?”

  I step back around to his front, watching my fingers as they graze his muscled arm. “Someday,” I whisper back.

  I do want to know. I want to know everything about him. But maybe, I figure, we’ll keep having a reason to find each other if we save some things for later.

  And right now, I’m desperate to see what else his mouth can do other than talk.

  Touch me. Please.

  Kiss me.

  I drop the hose to my side and drag the fingers of my left hand down his abs, my heart pounding so hard it hurts. They tighten as my nails slide across the muscles, and I’m so afraid to look at him.

  This is wrong. I know it’s wrong.

  But God, he feels good. I can feel his eyes on me, and every thread of my bra is chafing my skin, and I just want to be bare right now. I want him to see me.

  I close my eyes. Oh, God.

  “Jordan…” He grasps my hand, and I can hear him breathing hard.

  I nod, opening my eyes but still unable to meet his. “I know,” I breathe out. “I’m sorry.”

  I’m parched, my eyes sting with tears and I don’t know why, and there’s a need between my thighs that is almost painful.

  Slowly, he tips my chin up. I finally raise my gaze, but he’s not looking at me, either. His eyes are cast down, and his brow is pinched in pain. “You’re just out of sorts,” he says quietly. “You miss Cole, and I just happen to be here. It’s okay.”

  I remain still, my fingers still on his stomach and his hand still on my chin. His chest moves up and down, and for a moment, I think I’m going to turn tail and run. He’s making excuses for me. An easy one to hide behind. It would make sense I’m feeling lost and in need of someone else to escape into.

  But what’s his excuse. I know he looks at me. I know he does it when he thinks I don’t see it, but I do.

  My eyes sting, filling with tears. “That’s not why I was apologizing,” I tell him.

  I raise my eyes, meeting his, and while I’m afraid, I have to dive. I can’t hold back.

  “I’m sorry, because,” I whisper shakily, “this isn’t the first time I wanted you to touch me.”

  And his gaze freezes on me.

  He holds my eyes, unmoving except for the rise and fall of his chest, and I have no idea what’s going through his head right now, but I don�
�t think I’m sorry. No more excuses that this is about me being distraught over Cole.

  The attraction was already there.

  He slowly lets his fingers fall from my chin, both of his hands balling into fists, and he clenches his jaw, suddenly looking angry.

  On reflex, I take a step back, but I don’t get any farther. Grabbing my waist, he hauls me into him, snaking an arm round me and gripping my jaw in his hand between his thumb and four fingers. I gasp, loving the feeling of his body hard against mine but scared, too, because he looks so mad.

  “No,” he growls, baring his teeth and looking at me with fury in his eyes. “Do you understand? It’s not happening. You’re not getting that from me.”

  Tears fills my eyes, and I can barely see him anymore as my body shakes with a silent sob.

  His arm is like steel around me, and I can feel the heat of his rage coming off his skin.

  He shakes me. “You wanna get laid, then you go hunt somewhere else.”

  I suck in air and twist away from him, pushing his body away.

  He’s right. What am I doing? Why would I do that? I feel so stupid, and I crouch down, quickly gathering up my shirt and shoes.

  But I wasn’t imagining it, was I? There was something between us, and it was coming from him as much as from me. Did I just see what I wanted to see?

  I want to scream. Tears stream down my face, and he still just stands there, glaring at me.

  “Go to your room,” he orders.

  I break out in a laugh, the bitter sound dripping with disbelief. “Go fuck yourself!” I stand up, hardening my voice. “I’ll find another bed tonight, thank you. Anyone will do for a slut like me, right?”

  I whip around and run for the back door, but he grabs the inside of my elbow and hauls me back into the wall of his chest. I drop my shirt and shoes, and he forces us forward into the wall of the house. I shoot out my hands, crashing into the siding.

  Jesus.

  I shake, sucking in short, shallow breaths as my heart races and my blood runs hot under my skin.

  What the…

  He reaches around, taking my face in his hand and his hot breath in my ear. “Don’t threaten me with shit like that. If you want to act like a brat, then maybe you should get grounded like one, huh?”