Birthday Girl

by Penelope Douglas

  “If you want,” I broach gently, “you can just bring the kids over here. They can swim.”

  She finally meets my eyes, and I notice hers are red. She’s unhappy, but she’s trying to hide it. Jesus.

  She shakes her head, looking apologetic. “You just got off work. You want to relax, and they’ll be noisy.”

  She drops her gaze again, looking nervous.

  Is it me or is it something else? I did the right thing last night. I don’t want her to feel rejected, because she’d make any guy the luckiest man in the world.

  Someday.

  Maybe she’s not angry I stopped it, though. Maybe she’s upset it happened at all.

  I take another step, lowering my voice like I’m afraid the neighbors can hear us. “Are you mad at me?” I ask her.

  She pops her eyes up, answering quickly. “No.” And then she searches for her words. “I’m just trying to sort through some…things in my head.”

  I can see tears welling in her eyes, and I hurt everywhere. Why do I always want to hold her so much?

  She bows her head, trying to hide the tears she can’t stop, and I step up to her and only hesitate a moment before putting my hand on the side of her face. My fingers wrap around the back of her head, and she doesn’t push me away.

  “I’m here, okay?” I whisper. “Nothing’s changed. I still love the smell of your candles and the sound of your music in the house.” I pause and then add, “Although I’m not a huge fan of the cucumber wraps you snuck into my lunch yesterday.”

  She breaks into a quiet laugh, her shoulders shaking.

  I rub her cheek with my thumb. “I’m not going anywhere.”

  And I pull her in, hugging her to my chest and just wanting nothing more than to protect her and give her every damn thing she doesn’t have.

  I wrap my free arm around her, and after a moment she gives in and snakes her arms around me, too, melting into me. We hold each other so tight that I don’t know if I’m holding her up or she’s holding me up, but for a moment, I’m afraid I’ll fall if I let her go.

  “Bring ’em over,” I tell her. “It’ll take the pressure off you having to entertain them. I’ll get the floaties ready and order some pizza.”

  She pulls back, sniffling, but there are no more tears pouring out of her eyes and she quirks a half-smile.

  “Kids like cheese only,” she says, an air of peace settling back in her expression.

  “Yeah, I remember.” I think Cole still likes cheese-only, actually.

  She drops her bag by the door where it was before and casts me a look before leaving, an understanding settling between us. I’m not here to hurt her.

  And providing I can stay the hell off her better than I did last night, then I won’t.

  “I can’t do it!” Jensen yells, water dribbling off his lips.

  The seven-year-old treads water, the goggles huge on his face. Below him, three dive rings stand upright on the bottom of the pool, and after I got him brave enough to hold onto my neck while I dived down to retrieve them, I thought it’s time he try.

  Cramer is a twat, but his kids aren’t bad.

  “Try to go feet first then,” I tell him. “Here, put your face in and watch me.”

  The pool only goes to six feet, but I swim anyway, putting myself above the rings. Jordan is in the shallow end with Ava, who’s only two, and showing her how to blow bubbles in the water. I was relieved to see her come out in a more conservative bikini than that damn sea shell one, but I’m not finding the no-cleavage halter top of this one any easier to take, unfortunately.

  “Ready?” I say, tearing my eyes off her soaked hair plastered to her back and look at Jensen.

  He nods, like his head is too much weight for his body, and I suck in a breath, launch up, and then fall feet first to the bottom of the pool, releasing air as I descend and pushing the water up with my hands.

  My feet hit the floor, I grab a ring, and I push myself back up to the surface, taking in another deep breath. He pops his head out of the water, sputtering a little water.

  “Did you see?” I ask, wiping my eye. “I let out bubbles and pushed the water up above me, and it helped me sink to the bottom.”

  He nods again.

  “Wanna try?”

  He shakes his head.

  I laugh, slicking my hair back. “Okay. Another time then.”

  Just then, a stream of water pummels my back, and I look over my shoulder, seeing Jordan shooting me with a squirt gun. The little girl on her hip laughs, and Jordan scrunches up her nose, making a battle-ready face and aiming the water at my head. I jerk away, hearing the little girl cracking up behind me.

  “I want one!” Jensen rushes for the side of the pool and grabs one of the Super Soakers Dutch left when he brought his kids over one day last summer. I grab the other one, and all of us start filling up our weapons, Jordan giving hers to the toddler and getting another for herself.

  For the next ten minutes, we barely stop to take a breath as we laugh, attack, and dart around the pool to escape the onslaught. Everyone turns on each other, the baby shooting Jordan right in the eye, and Jensen hitting me in the head.

  I grab the baby, using her for mock cover, and Jordan squeals, diving under the water to escape shots coming from Jensen, Ava, and me.

  The boy eventually pushes himself up on a step to sit, and both Jordan and I are breathing hard from the exertion. I set the baby on the deck, and she walks over to the picnic table and starts munching on watermelon. Jensen joins her, taking another slice of leftover pizza.

  Déjà vu hits me. I’m surprised I still have the energy for this. Seems like ages ago I was trying to teach Cole how to swim and letting him bring his first girlfriend over in middle school while I covertly kept an eye on them from inside the house. This wasn’t as stressful as I remember it being, though. Maybe because I’m older.

  Or maybe because it’s easier when there are two adults wrangling the kids instead of one. I actually had fun tonight.

  I watch Jordan as she hops up onto the pool deck and sits with her legs still dangling in the water. Taking each water gun, she empties and shakes them out, setting them aside.

  The duality of her swimsuit has the coils in my brain twisting tighter and tighter, and I’m so confused. She wears black on the bottom. Adult, sexy, and beautiful against her tanned skin. And pink on the top. Innocent, sweet, and entirely Jordan, because she can be such a girly-girl.

  Her thighs, toned and smooth, and the cute, studious expression on her face as she furrows her brow and concentrates on her task. Everything about her is young.

  Except her eyes.

  Eyes that can be so patient, because she’s had years of practice being disappointed, but eyes that can also be angry, because you know shit has been hitting the fan in her life since day one and hasn’t eased up one bit.

  You can see her brain working through every decision and every interaction, because she’s so good at assessing consequence and danger by now that it’s become second nature.

  She knows that time always passes and her day will come. Just hang tight.

  She has the smooth skin and body of a young woman, but the eyes of someone who’s seen decades.

  My eyes fall to her mouth, remembering the feel of her kisses, and another rush of heat coats my chest just under my skin. I turn away, running my hand through my wet hair.

  It wasn’t a fluke. I want her.

  I love the smell of her in the house, the way when she sits next to me, either here or in the movie theater that first night, so easily and comfortably like we’re two peas in a fucking pod, and how I’m excited to wake up every day, knowing I can see her.

  “Jesus Christ,” I say under my breath.

  I’m having my first fucking crush in like twenty-years.

  “What?” I hear her ask.

  I lift up my head, turning toward her. Did I say that out loud?

  “Nothing,” I shoot back.

  She peers up at me as s
he empties the last gun, and I pull the noodles up out of the pool and toss them up on the deck to evade her eyes.

  I want more of what happened last night, and I don’t know what I’m going to do.

  A phone starts ringing on the picnic table again, and I look over at her.

  “Your phone’s ringing again.”

  She nods, a slight frown crossing her face. “Yeah, I know who it is.”

  My eyebrows rise a little. Who’s she trying to avoid?

  The phone had rung several times since I’d been home, and to my knowledge, she hadn’t answered it.

  She looks over at me, seeing me staring at her with a questioning look on my face, no doubt.

  She just laughs to herself, explaining, “Guys in town think I’m easy picking now that Cole and I are over.” She runs her fingers through her hair, fluffing the wet strands. “They’re swooping in to comfort me.”

  She says the last with air quotes, and my armor instantly steels. Comfort her?

  But I force myself to back off. It’s actually just what I need to put things in the proper perspective. She should be going out with her friends.

  “Well, maybe you should give one a chance,” I tell her, forcing the words out. “I want you and Cole to make-up and be friends again, but you should get out and have some fun.”

  The words taste like shit in my mouth, but I feel good I did the right thing. She’ll date someone. I can start seeing someone. We’ll get distracted and invested in new people.

  “I will,” she answers, cutting off my train of thought. “Carter Hewitt invited me to go tubing this weekend, so I said I’d go.”

  My face falls. I don’t know a Carter Hewitt, but…

  “Tubing?” I say, trying to keep my cool.

  I approach her at the edge of the pool. “Uh…no,” I tell her, shaking my head. “No.”

  “Huh?” Her eyebrows pinch in confusion.

  “Six hours of drifting on a river with nothing else to do but drink your ass off?” I blurt out. “By the time he gets you back to his truck, you’ll be three sheets to the wind, and then you really will be easy picking.” I let out a bitter laugh. “Absolutely not.”

  Her eyes round, and her jaw clenches in anger.

  Oh, shit.

  “You are so…” she whisper-yells, so the kids don’t hear, “old school!” She scowls up at me, her lips tight. “This alpha, possessive, keep-your-daughter-locked-up-with-a-shotgun thing is insulting! I’m not an idiot, and you…” She bares her teeth. “Are not my father.”

  I arch an eyebrow as she pulls her legs out of the water and stands up, huffing. I fall back, floating through the water. Yeah, believe me, I know that. The thoughts I have about you aren’t the least bit fatherly.

  “Wrap up the pizza in tin foil before you put it in the fridge,” she orders me. “Don’t just slap it on a plate.”

  I lock my jaw to hide my amusement at her orders. Like I haven’t wrapped up leftovers before in my adult life.

  Grabbing the kids’ bags and towels, she takes Ava’s hand in hers and leads Jensen toward the back gate. “I’m going to run them home and get them in bed,” she tells me and then turns to them. “What do you guys say to Mr. Lawson?”

  “Thank you!” the kids say in their slurred voices with mouths full of food.

  I step out of the pool and grab a towel, drying off my hair.

  “Mr. Cramer said he’d be home by eleven,” Jordan says. “But I know the team usually stops for beers at the pub after the game, so I might be late. I have my key if you lock up.”

  “I’ll be up,” I reply under my breath. I’d trust a junkie to hold my wallet more than I’d trust Kyle Cramer.

  I hear the wooden door swing open and the kids shuffle through.

  Then I hear her voice. “Oh, and you’re a jerk,” she says.

  I peer over at her. “You’ll thank me when you’re not getting date-raped.”

  She makes a face and pulls the gate closed, slamming it hard.

  I stare after her, laughing quietly. She’s so fucking adorable.

  And then my face falls, realizing I’m almost giddy. I’m not a smiler, and I’ve far exceeded my quota since she’s come into the house.

  I finish cleaning up the backyard as the sky slowly turns black overhead, and I make sure to wrap the pizza in tinfoil, as instructed. The pool is cleared, the toys and floaties put away, and the picnic table is clean. Grabbing the damp towels off the deck, I trail into the house and lock the back door, turning off the pool light, as well.

  Tossing the towels into the washer, I leave the lid open, so I can put more in after my shower.

  As I head for the stairs, though, the doorbell rings.

  Crossing the living room, I pull open the front door and see a young man through the screen. My guard rises a little, but I push it open, forcing him to back up.

  “Hey,” he says.

  I nod, taking in the posh, wannabe frat boy who looks slightly familiar, although I can’t remember from where.

  “Remember me?” he says, holding out his hand. “I’m Jay McCabe. Cole’s friend.”

  I shake his hand, studying him. Jay…

  “Is Jordan here?” he asks. “I was told she was staying here still.”

  Jordan? What does he want with…

  And then it hits me.

  “Jay,” I say, realization dawning as my spine straightens steel rod straight. “Her ex-boyfriend?”

  The corner of his mouth tilts up in a smirk and a light hits his eyes. “Yeah, we went out.”

  But I’m not even listening anymore. I run my fingers over my thumb, itching to fist my hands, as my chest starts rising and falling with heavy breaths.

  I step out of the house and walk straight for him, only about an inch taller, but I make sure he knows it.

  His face falls when I don’t stop, and he stumbles back to avoid me walking into him.

  “Hey,” he protests.

  But I keep going. I walk until he’s forced backward, down the stairs and to the fucking grass.

  Alarm sets in his eyes. “Jesus, what the hell?”

  I step up to him and cross my arms over my chest. “I don’t normally throw my weight around a kid like you, but I want to make this clear,” I bite out. “You may have your own little posse of followers who are enamored of you or scared of you, but I…” I pause for effect, “am not. I know who you are and what you like to do. Keep away from Jordan, and I’d really appreciate it if you’d fuck off around my son, too.” I start walking into him again, forcing him off my lawn. “Don’t step foot on my property again, or I’ll put you in a hole under some wet cement, and make you part of the foundation of the next house I build, never to be seen again. Now take a hike.”

  And I gesture with my chin for him to leave.

  “Wha—”

  “Did I stutter?” I cut him off.

  He’s breathing hard, his Adam’s apple bobbing up and down, and he digs into his pocket for his keys, I assume.

  “Jesus,” he says and climbs into his car.

  But all I can see is red. I want to tear him apart. How can my son call that guy a friend?

  He took it upon himself to put his hands on her. He’ll never even set his fucking eyes on her again if I have anything to say about it.

  I watch as he speeds out of the driveway and into the street, taking off as fast as he can. In a moment, any fear he might be feeling will turn to anger, and he’ll talk himself into believing I’m not capable of the threat.

  And part of me hopes he tries his luck again just to give me an excuse.

  I glance over at Cramer’s house, seeing all the lights on but no movement at the drapes, so hopefully she didn’t see him come here.

  Walking back inside, I lock the door but then think better of it and unlock it again. You know, just in case she’s outside and he comes back and she needs to get into the house quickly or something.

  I roll my eyes. Jesus.

  Heading upstairs, I veer into t
he master bathroom and pull open the shower door, turning on the water. It quickly fills with steam, and I pull off my swim shorts and step in, closing the door.

  The hot water hits my skin like a thousand needles, but it quickly follows with warmth that feels so good I’m almost lightheaded.

  Planting my hands on the wall, I dip my head under the spout, letting the water cascade down over the back of my head, my neck, and my back.

  What a clusterfuck.

  I can’t get a hold of my kid, and when I can, he doesn’t want to talk to me. And it certainly doesn’t help the situation that I’m drooling over his latest girlfriend like I’ve never done for any other woman in my life.

  And even worse, now that she’s single, I’m going to have every little asshole in town sniffing around my front door, just dying to get his hands on her.

  I know I can’t have her, but it still won’t stop. The desire.

  I close my eyes, emptying my lungs and feeling her everywhere. “Jordan,” I whisper.

  My dick immediately swells, and I feel it growing hard at just the sound of her name. She kissed me back last night. She’s attracted to me, too. Does she fantasize about me?

  I harden even more at the thought of her in bed, thinking about me. Wanting me.

  I fist my cock, because it’s aching so badly, but I stroke it on accident, and I groan at how good it feels.

  She fills my head, and I swear I can smell her. She’s so close.

  I stroke myself, giving into the fantasy.

  I’m in bed, and it’s pitch black in the room. A knock sounds on my door, and I stir, sitting up.

  “Yeah?” I say, bending one leg at the knee and resting an arm on it.

  Jordan pushes open the door, and I can only tell it’s her by the glimpse of her golden hair.

  “What’s wrong?” I say gently.

  I’m naked under the sheet, but she can’t see anything.

  “It’s storming,” she says, lingering at the door frame. “Can I sleep with you?”

  Lightning flashes through the windows, lighting up her body, and I catch glimpses of her naked legs and sweet face. The water continues to pour over me, and my cock in my hand gets longer. Reality slips away as I dive, chasing the only thing I’ll be able to have of her.