Birthday Girl

by Penelope Douglas

  “I have a present for you,” he teases.

  I turn my head, grazing my lips over his cheek. “You already gave me my present.” I run my fingers over the handles of my new four-wheeler and also remembering the orgasm I got at six a.m. this morning. It’s been a very good birthday so far.

  “The four-wheeler was just an excuse to get myself one, really,” he explains.

  I nibble his jaw. “So, what is it then? More antiques for my collection?”

  “Cassette tapes aren’t antiques, Jordan,” he states firmly.

  I laugh. “You’re right, you’re right. They’re considered classics. Like cars over thirty years old. Like you!” I chirp. “You’re a classic.”

  He clamps his hand over my mouth, stifling my laughter and shaking his head. He’s not offended by my running joke. I only tease him about his age, because he still thinks it’s an issue, and I’m trying to lighten the mood.

  And to a few people around town, it is strange. But they mean nothing to us. Cole, my sister, and Shel have all come around, albeit Cole a little slower than the others, but they’re all that matters.

  I bite at his fingers on my mouth, playing, but suddenly, he holds up a small, black leather box in front of me, and I stop.

  My face falls, and I’m no longer laughing.

  Lowering his hand from my face, he remains silent as I stare at the case, a million different thoughts running through my head right now, but I can barely hear them, because the pulse in my ears is deafening.

  Oh, my God. It’s not a…ring, is it? I mean, we haven’t talked about this.

  I always hoped it would come to this, but Pike doesn’t take big steps without a little help. I had no idea…

  Slowly reaching out, I take the box out of his hand and open it, my mouth going as dry as a desert when I see the diamond ring inside.

  Tears sting my eyes, and my mouth falls open.

  It’s a rose. Like the ones on the birthday cake he got me last year and the flowers I planted around the house this spring. A large diamond sits in the middle of platinum petals, adorned with little stones themselves, and it’s unlike anything I’ve ever seen. Beautiful and special and completely me.

  He wants to marry me?

  I let out a little sob, overwhelmed. “Are you kidding me right now?” I snap. “I’m covered in mud!”

  He’s doing this now? When there were hundreds of dinners and breakfasts in bed this past year when I was pretty and clean?

  His chest shakes with a laugh behind me and he wraps his arms around my waist. “You’re beautiful.”

  I rub my thumb over the large stone. It’s real. All this is real.

  “I’ve been planning this for a long time,” he says. “You think I’d know what I wanted to do or say, but I can’t think right now.” His breath falls across my hair as he whispers. “I guess I should’ve gotten down on one knee, huh?”

  “No, don’t let go of me.” My voice shakes.

  I swallow the hard lump in my throat and pull the ring out, setting the box down and trying it on. The cool band slides on perfectly, and I take his hand, putting it on the handle again with mine on top of it.

  His finger doesn’t yet have a ring as I entwine our hands.

  But it will.

  My heart swells like it’s too much for my chest to hold, and I’m speechless. He certainly surprised me. I can’t believe he did this without giving me one clue what he was up to.

  I stare at our hands together, leaning back into him and even more excited now for everything that’s to come. I think part of me—a small part—was still waiting for him. It was always in the back of my mind, that fear that he might still see me as too young or not ready for this or him, but he has to know…

  I’m happy every day. There’s nothing that feels better than him.

  A few raindrops hit my arms, the clouds overhead darkening, and I finally find my breath, inhaling deeply.

  “So, you going to say ‘yes’ or…” He trails off.

  I smile at the small ounce of fear I hear in his voice at my silence. “Yes.” I turn and kiss him. “You make me so happy. I love you.”

  He presses his forehead to mine. “I love you so much it hurts, baby.”

  His mouth sinks to mine again, and he takes my face in his hands, kissing me and teasing my tongue to where I feel it everywhere. My breathing turns ragged, and I’m about to suggest we take this to the truck, since we’re all alone out here, but the rain picks up, hitting my body much faster now.

  I break the kiss and look up, squinting against the rain to see the storm clouds overhead. Summer storms are starting early this year.

  He climbs off, helping me, and we both jog to the passenger side of the truck, him opening my door for me.

  “Can we do it today?” I ask, taking my brand-new, unused helmet off my seat and setting it on the floor.

  “Get married?” he asks. “You really don’t care about the wedding, do you?”

  I look over to see him grinning at me as he pulls off his muddy shirt and tosses it into the bed of the truck.

  I stand in the open door and shrug. It never occurred to me growing up to care about a party and fancy clothes. When other young women dreamed up their theme colors and bridesmaids’ dresses, I just wanted everything after that. The husband, the kids, the home with the smell of cookies after school, picnics and road trips…

  I climb the step, about to get into the truck, but he pulls me back around and into him. I fall into his naked chest, my feet still planted on the step, and wrap my arms around his neck.

  “I kind of do care about it,” he admits, flinching a little as if in apology. “I’ve never been married before, either, you know? I’d love to see you in a dress.”

  Now how can I say no to that? I nod, kissing him again. It might be fun, actually. Engagement photos in the mud? Yes, please.

  “I was thinking Mexico,” he tells me, peering up at me. “A beach on the Sea of Cortez and just you, me, and our close and personals?”

  I smile. “Hell, yes.”

  Sounds right up our alley. Quiet, private, and perfect. And I’d be lying if I didn’t say it excited me to go somewhere I’ve never been. I’ve barely been out of this town, and the idea of having to get a passport thrills me as much as now having to shop for this dress Pike is going to die when he sees me in.

  I’m already bubbling with excitement at the look I hope to see on his face.

  He looks up at me, growing quiet and his eyes serious. “You gonna want kids?” he asks.

  My heart thumps, knowing this is a potentially sensitive subject.

  “One, at least?” I broach, timid. “Is that okay?”

  I understand that starting over is a lot to ask of him, but I would love to have his baby.

  Eventually.

  To my surprise he barely hesitates before nodding. “I’m okay with it,” he answers. “Can’t wait too long, though, or I’ll be getting the senior citizen discount at the kid’s graduation dinner.”

  I break into a laugh.

  “After you get your degree, though,” he tells me, “it’s on, okay?”

  “Okay.”

  I sit down in the seat and pull off my muddy boots, throwing them in the bed with Pike’s shirt, and I take off my hat, my hair falling around my face.

  “You know…” I start, “I’m a little nervous.”

  “Oh?”

  I shake my head, tsking. “Marrying an older man with so much more experience…”

  He comes up to me, grabbing my hips and pulling me to the edge of the seat and into him. I run my hand up his naked chest.

  “I don’t need my wife to know what other men like,” he states. “Just what I like.”

  My eyebrows shoot up, getting an idea. Slowly, I unbutton the flannel shirt I’m wearing and watch his eyes go round when he sees I have nothing on underneath it. I open it slightly, inviting his eyes to rest on my bare breasts.

  “And what do you like?” I taunt like that
night in the kitchen when I put a Band-Aid on his finger.

  His gaze is locked on my chest, and I let the shirt fall down my arms, my nipples hard from the chill of the rain in the air.

  I drop my voice to a whisper. “I think I need more practice.”

  His eyes grow dark and full of desire as he looks up at me. Pulling himself up on the step, he dives into the truck and out of the rain, his body coming down on top of mine. I fall back on the seat, opening my legs for him as I work to open his belt.

  Our lips hover over each other.

  “Whatever the birthday girl wants,” he whispers.

  Pike

  Nine Years Later

  A crack of thunder pierces the silence, and I blink my eyes awake as lightning flashes through the room. I sigh, sticking my thumb and a finger in my eyes, rubbing.

  More rain, dammit.

  Nope. It’s not my job to worry about it for the next two weeks, so I’m not going to. Dutch can handle it. (I have to believe that.)

  Jordan and I are out of here in the morning, and he’s in charge while I’m gone. I promised her she and the boys would have my complete attention while we’re away as long as she leaves her laptop home and doesn’t try to sneak in any work, either. The problem with her is that her work is also her hobby, so I kind of felt bad asking her to stay away from something she loves for that long.

  But she’s right. The kids need to see us without our eyes buried in some screen.

  I turn my head, looking down at her next to me. She’s curled up on her side, her nose and lips buried in my arm with one hand draped over my chest and shoulder. Her shoulder-length hair is swept over the top of the pillow, and I reach down and pull the sheet back up over her bare legs and white panties. She wears the yellow T-shirt she got on our honeymoon in Mexico, and I still can’t tell she’s four months along with our second kid. Our first, Jake, is asleep in his room down the hall. Jake Ryan Lawson. She named him after some guy in a teen movie from the 80s, but I don’t tell people that. She can tell them, but I’m certainly not going to.

  I rest my hand on her thigh and stare up at the ceiling.

  I’m forty-eight years old. What business do I have with a six-year-old son and another kid on the way?

  But fuck, I’m happy.

  The pitter-patter of the rain hits the window panes, and I feel Jordan breathing so peacefully next to me. I close my eyes. Mine. My house, my wife, my family…mine. Sometimes I’m so overwhelmed by how lucky I am that I can’t wrap my head around this all being real. I still can’t stop reaching for her when she’s close or stop being anxious to crawl into bed at night, knowing we’re finally alone.

  I suddenly remember the wash drying out on the line in the backyard and pop up and out of bed. “Shit,” I mumble, pulling on some lounge pants.

  Leaving the room, I walk down the hall, stopping at Jake’s door and quietly cracking it open. He sleeps in his bed, while Cole’s son, Parker, is passed out next to him. Both of them looking like a spider web of arms and legs, and I laugh under my breath. We’ve explained to them that Jake is Cole’s brother which makes him Parker’s uncle, but it’s hard for them make sense out of something like that when they’re the same age.

  My chest tightens every time I see them like this, though. My son and my grandson are more like brothers, and I really don’t give a shit if it seems weird to others, because we’re a lucky family.

  Cole met his wife, Kotori, when he was stationed in Okinawa, and both of them are currently attending some convention her company sent her to in Las Vegas. We invited Parker to join us for a couple weeks, so they could go on their own.

  Closing the door, I jog down the stairs, passing all our family pictures on the walls, most of which I’m in, and walk through the kitchen to the laundry room. I grab a wicker basket off the dryer and make my way into the backyard. The rain is small, but it hits my back like little darts, sharp and fast. I run over to the clothesline and start yanking beach towels and any other last-minute clothes Jordan wanted washed in order to throw in the suitcases. We probably have more than enough packed for the road trip north, but my luck, we’ll get to the lake house, and she’ll be pissed off for two weeks because she doesn’t have her other-other-pink shirt that goes better with the sneakers she got that time on that one trip.

  I clear the line, stuffing all the pins into the bag, and carry the basket back inside. Opening the dryer, I stick everything in and turn on the machine, making sure it’s ready for when we wake up in the morning.

  Heading back upstairs, I close the door to our bedroom and climb back into bed, Jordan immediately finding me in her sleep and snuggling up. I wrap my arm around her.

  “Everything okay?” she asks softly.

  “Yeah.” I kiss her forehead, pulling the covers up over us. “Go back to sleep. Big day tomorrow.”

  “You know I can’t sleep during thunderstorms.”

  My chest shakes with a laugh, because she’s such a liar. This issue of sleeping during storms has never been an issue in our bed. She sleeps like the dead next to me, and I take a lot of pride in that fact.

  I suddenly want to see her face, so I reach over with my free hand and take the matches, striking one and lighting the candle on the bedside table. Blowing out the match, the room glows with a soft light, and I look down at her face, still in shadow but a little more visible now.

  Her long lashes and beautiful skin. Her pink lips that I’ve kissed thousands of times for thousands of hours. Her body that I’ve loved for ten years and in a million different ways. You think I’d be used to her by now, but my dick starts to stiffen at just the thought of her on top of me again.

  Her head pops up and she looks around, startled. “Oh, the clothes,” she bursts out.

  “I got them,” I tell her, patting her leg to calm her down. “Don’t worry.”

  She relaxes, nodding and yawning at the same time.

  “Kids okay?” she asks, putting her head back down on my chest.

  “Yep. Sleeping like logs.”

  I rub her back, trying to soothe her back to sleep and feel her leg drape over mine. I clench my teeth, the warmth between her thighs seeping through to my own now. My groin pulses.

  “Are you nervous?” I whisper.

  “A little.”

  She’s giving a presentation at the opening of the botanical gardens she designed for the new museum in Rockford tomorrow. After college, she worked for a firm for several years but decided to start her own last year. The museum was her first, big solo project, and not only are the clients extremely pleased with her work, but word of it has brought in several new projects already. She’s an artist.

  But one who hates public speaking, so I’m thinking it’ll be painful but short tomorrow.

  “Just remember.” I kiss her hair. “We get to climb in the car and hit the road afterward.”

  Her arms tighten around me. “Can’t wait.”

  After the presentation, we’re driving up to Minnesota where we rented a lake house for two weeks. Her sister Cam and the latest in a string of wealthy boyfriends also rented a house nearby, so they’re bringing her son with them, and we’ll have company when we feel like it.

  And someone to take the kids off our hands for a night when we don’t.

  Her fingers trail down my chest, and she drags her nails lightly down my stomach. My body starts to come alive under my skin, and I don’t think I can sleep until I get it out of my system.

  “So, you awake now?” I tease.

  She nods. “You?”

  “It’s hard to sleep when you do that.”

  She laughs and raises herself up, sliding a leg over my body and straddling me. “Oh, goodie.”

  She lifts her shirt over her head, and I immediately touch her stomach, feeling the hard little mound where my son or daughter sits.

  She smirks down at me, cocks her head playfully, and I still see that girl crawling on the floor of the movie theater every time I look at her. She had me even then.


  “I love you,” I tell her.

  Coming down, she hovers over me, looking into my eyes as my hand goes to her breast.

  “Oh, wait.” She pops up and leans over to blow out the candle.

  “No, leave it on,” I groan, rolling my hips up into her. “I want to see you.”

  She looks down at me. “Did you lock the door?”

  I make a face. “Shit.”

  Why do I always forget that? I’ve only had kids for over half my life.

  “Can’t have them getting an eyeful, can we?” she scolds but smiles at me.

  Leaning back over, she closes her eyes, pauses a moment, thinking, and then opens them again, softly blowing out the candle. The room goes dark except for the moonlight making the rain shimmer on our bedroom wall, and I see her outline come back down on top of me.

  I squeeze her hips, feeling her grind on me. “You ever going to tell me what you wish for?” I ask.

  She kisses me, whispering against my lips, “It’s bad luck to tell.”

  She moves down my neck, and I arch my head back and close my eyes, letting her in.

  “But I will say,” she goes on, nibbling my jaw, “I always wish for the same thing, and every day it comes true.”

  THE END

  Thank you for reading Birthday Girl! I had so much fun writing this book, and I hope you enjoyed it.

  And thank you also to my longtime readers who are anxiously awaiting other novels in my Devil’s Night and Fall Away series, and let me take this brief detour. Love you all!

  First and always, to the readers—so many of you have been there, sharing your excitement and showing your support, day in and day out, and I am so grateful for your continued excitement and trust. Thank you.

  Birthday Girl occurred to me while I was writing Hideaway, and I simply couldn’t forget about it. I became obsessed with Pike and Jordan, so I actually started writing it before Hideaway was even finished. To me, it’s my most “love story-ish” love story, and I really needed the change of pace. Thank you for indulging me this break between series installments.