Birthday Girl: A contemporary sports romantic comedy (Minnesota Ice Book 3)

by Lily Kate

  “Time flies, doesn’t it?”

  “It does,” I agree, swaying toward him with a quick grin. “Too fast.”

  That’s probably the wine talking, or maybe the sugar high from the marshmallows. There’s a bit of a warm, fuzzy sensation happening in my stomach, and as I lean across the center console, I catch a whiff of Cohen’s cologne. It’s delicious.

  I want to kiss him, even though I’ve been avoiding it these last couple hours. We’ve been getting to know each other, and it’s been fun—comfortable. Too comfortable, maybe. His hand closes the gap between us, guiding my head to rest against his jacket. I nuzzle in, enjoying the quiet peacefulness in this moment.

  “Are you happy to be back in Minnesota?” I ask, punctuating the question with a kiss to his chin. “Or do you miss Los Angeles?”

  “The sunshine, sure, but there are plenty of nice things about being here, too.”

  “Like what?”

  “Like this.” He tilts his head so that his mouth meets mine. The kiss is a delicacy, a tiny treat that promises so much more. “God, I love the taste of you.”

  “What do I taste like?”

  “I’m not sure, actually.” He pauses a moment. “Let me check.”

  Dipping his head, he goes in for another round, this time more urgent, pressing. My body arches in the passenger seat as trickles of warmth skitter across my skin.

  When I finally break the kiss, his eyes linger on my lips as I whisper to him, “Any conclusions?”

  “No, there’s no way to explain it, except that you taste...” He pauses, runs his tongue over his lips. “Familiar. When I kiss you, it’s like I’ve kissed you a million times before.”

  I wrinkle my nose. “So... I’m boring?”

  “Did that kiss feel boring to you?”

  “Well—”

  “Be honest.”

  “No.” I sigh. “I loved it. I sort of want to do some more kissing.”

  Cohen laughs, and the sound is a jolt of bright in the fading light. “Lucky thing I can accommodate that request. Can you swing your leg over?”

  I maneuver the best that I can, but we’re shoved into an incredibly uncomfortable position as I’ve sort of half-straddled him, and my groin is on fire—not in a good way. “Yeah, this isn’t working.”

  He winces. “Dare I ask where the shift stick ended up?”

  “You’re horrible, and you’re ruining the kissing mood.”

  “I can think of some place better to do this.”

  “Where?”

  “My place.”

  “Cohen...” My voice changes, cracks with nerves, even as I try to keep it strong. “I’m not ready for that.”

  “That’s fine, there’s no pressure. I was just offering to warm you up with a shower and cook you dinner.”

  “You? Cooking me dinner?”

  “Does ordering a pizza count?”

  “I like pizza.”

  “Does that mean you’ll come home with me?”

  I slide off his lap, giving the shift stick a glare for ruining a potentially fabulous make out session. “I don’t know.”

  “Come on, Annie. A chance. It’s just dinner.”

  “Fine. But no hanky panky.”

  “Hanky panky?” His eyebrow crooks up in amusement. “Okay, then. We’ll only go as far as you want.”

  “I mostly just want to use your shower. My dorm room never has enough hot water.”

  “I see how it is. You’re using me for my facilities.”

  “And your lips.” I bring my mouth a centimeter from his. “And, for the record, I know what you mean.”

  “About?”

  “You taste familiar, too.”

  He groans, the sound causing a whirl of pleasure through me. I’ve never made a man moan with need, and I like it. It’s empowering, in a way, to know that someone as experienced, as worldly as Cohen James might want someone like me. Even if only for a little while.

  “Cohen,” I say, this whole train of thought dredging up the dreaded questions that I’ve been trying not to ask. “What are we doing here?”

  “I think we’re about to make out.”

  I roll my eyes, but he’s looking so adorable with those big, puppy-dog green eyes that I can’t bring myself to have a serious conversation with him. Instead, I let my lips pull me toward him, magnetized by that elusive sense of familiarity.

  He smells like rain, or like freshly cut grass—the first snow of the year. Like something I’d always known existed, even before we’d met. It was like coming home.

  When we connect, the need is stronger for both of us. His fingers curl through my hair, teasing out the hairband I’d used to toss my locks in a bun. He pulls the strands tight against my scalp in a way that has me letting out a moan that’s completely involuntary.

  “You are perfect. You know that, don’t you?”

  “Shut up, Cohen. Kiss me.”

  One of his hands runs all the way down my hair until it reaches the base of my neck. He stills, looking me in the eyes, the moment frozen. “I’m getting to that.”

  The gentle kisses start on my forehead. Soft touches at first, and then more on my cheek. He continues the trail down past my chin to my neck, and when he brushes my skin it sends an involuntary shiver down my whole body.

  “Cold?” He reaches past me to adjust the heat.

  I rest a hand on his and shake my head. “Not at all.”

  The green in his eyes darkens, turning into that wild jungle I’ve seen on precious few occasions. “Well, damn.”

  He resumes the trail of kisses after unzipping my jacket, pressing one to either side of my collarbone, and all the way down my chest. His hands are grazing up my body until they come to rest on the sides of my breasts, and his thumbs slide over to toy with my nipples through my shirt. I feel them harden at his touch.

  “Interesting,” he says.

  “Yeah?”

  “I’d like to get my hands on you,” he murmurs. “And then my mouth.”

  I suck in a breath. “What did you say about using your shower?”

  Chapter 28

  COHEN

  Apparently wine works. Or hot chocolate. Maybe it was the damn marshmallows.

  I don’t care, I’m just glad it made her happy.

  I have no idea what sort of romantic gestures women expect on a winter picnic—I don’t do “romance” as a general rule. I wouldn’t say I consider myself relationship material.

  But Annie Plymouth makes me want to change that.

  I want Annie to be mine. I don’t deserve her and, frankly, I can’t think of a man who does. She’s like a poster child for the perfect woman, all gorgeous on the outside and smart as hell on the inside.

  I haven’t figured out what she’s doing spending time with me. She’s not after my money, not after the fame... and she’s definitely not after sex. Quite honestly, I can’t figure out what the hell she wants.

  All I know is that she’s in my shower right now, and I’m sitting on my couch trying to wish away a boner that doesn’t want to quit. For a girl who says she doesn’t want sex, she sure as hell kisses like she does.

  The things that woman can do with her tongue make my mind go blank.

  Literally, it’s empty inside my head.

  You can’t find a single thought in there with a magnifying glass, except how much I want to take her to bed, to relish her with my hands, my mouth, my everything. She deserves to feel good, to let loose, to be worshipped. And when she figures that out, I want to be the one she comes to for help.

  Maybe it’s the wine, I think again. When we were sitting in the car, she held my hand as the sun went down like she’d never let go. Her laugh danced like starlight, and her whispered stories about the years gone past were music to my ears.

  We’d talked and touched for hours, and it’d been comfortable. Until she’d kissed me, and then she’d let loose a fury like a starved woman, desperate for more. If only she’d let me give her everything.

&nb
sp; The shower clicks off, and I sit back in the couch. My palms are sweaty. Freaking sweaty. I haven’t been this nervous since Varsity tryouts in high school.

  For the first time ever, I sense parts of her defenses beginning to crumble around me, and whatever happens, I don’t want to screw that progress up tonight. She’s got these guards built up around her, tall as the Great Wall of China, and I have a feeling I know who put them there.

  The only person she didn’t talk about in that car was her dad, and I know he’s still a part of her life—she’s mentioned him briefly before. Whatever he’s done to get her all skittish around men, a part of me hates him for it. Now, I have to disassemble her walls brick by brick. Inch by inch. Day by day.

  I can be patient, that’s not the problem. I know it’ll be worth it. Today, for the most fleeting of moments, I caught a glimpse of what she’s hiding inside that fortress.

  And let me tell you—there’s nothing more beautiful in this entire world.

  “Hey, you.” Annie’s shyness is back as she peeks her head around the wall. She raises a hand to cover her mouth, a cute little giggle bubbling up in her throat. “Sorry to interrupt. You doing okay?”

  I’m startled, even though I expected her. She’s caught me daydreaming about her, and the end result is embarrassing. With a look at my pants, I run a hand over my face and shake my head. “Ignore me.”

  “Any chance you have lotion? My face is so dry.”

  “Let me check.” I stand, willing my excitement to go away so I can finally be comfortable again, but it’s impossible. My boner is persistent, I’ll give it that. “Have a nice shower?”

  “It was perfect. So hot.”

  I raise an eyebrow at her. Does this woman know what she does to me? Every word out of her mouth sends my mind spiraling to places she’s explicitly said she doesn’t want to go. “Hot. That’s how you choose to describe it?” I say, brushing past her. “After telling me we’re not allowed to have sex tonight? You are a tease, Plymouth.”

  “Like... the temperature!” Her face colors red. “And I liked it. Lotion?”

  “Here.” I hold up a bottle of goop from underneath my sink. The maid stocks it—I don’t have a use for lotion normally, but tonight, I don’t mind. When Annie reaches for it, I hold it out of her reach. “You can use it on one condition.”

  “What’s that?”

  “Let me help you.”

  “Cohen...”

  “Just your back. You can’t reach it anyway!”

  “But—”

  “I’m an excellent masseuse. Very professional.”

  “Somehow, I doubt that.”

  “Let me prove it to you.” I feel her resolve cracking as I waggle the bottle back and forth. “Unless the thought of a backrub is really so horrible; I suppose I could trade it in for a kiss.”

  “A naked kiss?”

  “Well, I wasn’t going to ask, but I’ll take it.”

  The pink tinges her cheeks again, and there’s a new glimmer in her eyes. The brown and green intermix, sparkling with mischief. I’m glad it’s been hours since we opened the bottle of wine—there’s no way she’s still under its influence.

  This is Annie. The real Annie, and the bricks are tumbling down.

  “Where?”

  I cough, wondering if she’ll recoil if I suggest the bed. “Uh, I suppose the couch?”

  “The bed is fine,” she says, and leads the way out of the bathroom. “But I mean it—no sex.”

  “No sex,” I murmur, wondering how the hell that’s going to be possible with a naked Annie wrapped between my sheets. “Fantastic.”

  Chapter 29

  COHEN

  “Oh, God, your hands are amazing!”

  Annie’s moans have me so turned on I can’t even perch on her back to massage her shoulders. I have to sit off to the side, or we’d both be uncomfortable. She doesn’t need a hockey stick poking her in the back while I’m trying to rub knots out of her shoulders—that would be distracting.

  Just like the sounds she’s whimpering into her pillow.

  “You’re going to have to stop that,” I say, a little cross. “Otherwise, I’m going to spin you around and kiss you until you change your mind.”

  “Change my mind about sex?”

  “Yep,” I grit through clenched teeth. “It’s not on my mind at all.”

  “Right.” She peeks at me with a sideways glance from the pillow. “Yeah, I can see that.”

  I never knew a woman’s back could be so damn sexy. I’d lent Annie a robe, and she had thrown it over a set of lingerie, leaving only a thin layer of cloth between us. It was more intensely erotic than anything I’d ever known.

  To make matters worse, she’d climbed onto my bed—a huge king with a thick white comforter— and face-planted there with gusto. Then, she’d morphed into Moaning Myrtle which did crazy things to my imagination.

  Around three minutes into the massage, she’d ditched the robe. Five minutes in, she’d wordlessly unhooked her bra. I’m praying the panties come off next, but I’m not getting my hopes up. I’ve almost died from excitement twice already.

  She’s relaxed now, I can see it in the way she’s breathing. Soft puffs of air against my pillow, her hair damp from the shower. She smells fresh, clean, and as my fingers knead into her tense muscles, that familiar scent washes over me again.

  “Why are you so tense?” I ask, working on a knot just above her right shoulder. I let one hand stray, dragging my fingers down past her ribs to the curve of her lower back. I groan as my thumb brushes the lace lining of her panties. “Something on your mind?”

  “You,” she says. “Your hands are inching a little low there, buddy.”

  Reluctantly, I make my fingers obey my brain and inch them back to her shoulders. “Swimming lessons stressing you out?”

  “Yes, that’s why I’m here in your bed. Bribing you for a passing grade.”

  “You know I don’t accept bribes, Miss Plymouth.”

  “Bullshit. You put the offer on the table.”

  “And you counter-offered with... textbooks?”

  “I’m poor!”

  “You won’t be forever. Lawyers make good money—that’s the goal, isn’t it?”

  “That’s the goal,” she repeats. “But it’s a long road ahead of me, so we’ll see if it pans out.”

  “Of course it will.”

  “What?”

  “I said of course it will.”

  She rolls onto her side then, not fully, but just enough so I get a massive peek of side-boob. I’m a goner.

  By the time I manage to drag my eyes away from the tender curve there, she’s speaking to me. Again, and again, and I’m oblivious. Because side-boob.

  “Hey, earth to Cohen!” She snaps her fingers and waves. “I’m talking to you.”

  “They’re nice.”

  “What are nice?”

  “Your... breasts?” I feel like the word boobs doesn’t suit Annie. I also feel like an idiot saying breasts. The word tits is out of the question for her, so really, I’m screwed any way I look at it.

  “You can see my boobs?!”

  Noted, I think. Boobs it is.

  “A little.” I let one of my fingers trickle down the side of her body and brush against the softness of her chest. “Just a taster.”

  “That’s like, one inch of it!” She opens her mouth wide in shock. “What happens if I show you the real thing?! You can’t even concentrate with a peek of it showing.”

  “Good question. We should try it and see.”

  “You may continue the massage.” She flops back down on the bed and tucks herself away. “Please and thank you.”

  I don’t mind continuing. I’d love to continue the massage. Anything to keep my hands on her bare skin.

  “What did you mean about becoming a lawyer?” she asks again.

  “Lawyer?” I’m still thinking about her boobs. But now I’m thinking she’d make for one hot lawyer. I can picture it now, her dress
ed in a pencil skirt, sky-high heels, and... shit. She’s talking again, and I missed half of it.

  “It would be much better for my focus if we just had sex,” I say. “I’m having a hard time concentrating on the law knowing you’re undressed. In my bed. While I’m right here.”

  “I’m not undressed,” she says, “I’m wearing underwear.”

  “I can fix that... so fast. I’m like lightning.”

  “I’m sure,” she says dryly. “But you didn’t answer my question.”

  “What question?”

  She expels a sigh of frustration. “How are you so sure I can become a lawyer?”

  “Uh, well... doubt never even crossed my mind.”

  “But it’s hard, and I might not get into law school, and even if I do, I have to pay for it and study for classes and work while in school, and—”

  “You’re exhausting me.” I brush a hand over the nape of her neck, and she sinks deeper into the pillow. “You can do it, Annie. I know that for a fact. You have more willpower than anyone on this earth.”

  “How do you know?”

  “Because you are lying in bed here and resisting all my charms. Goddammit, Annie, you don’t kiss like a woman who is waiting for marriage. If you can restrain your normal human urges like that, you can pass your damn boards.”

  She freezes, and then laughs. “I think that might be a compliment?”

  “Sure, if you want it to be. I was just stating facts.”

  “Could you ever see yourself dating a lawyer?”

  “I don’t spend time thinking about that sort of thing. I know what I like when I see it. Then, I go after it. I happen to have a penchant for incredibly beautiful, very smart women, and they’re rarer than you’d think.”

  “You are really trying to get me to bed with you, aren’t you?”

  “I already got you to bed.”

  “I’m sorry, Cohen,” she says, speaking softly. “I don’t think I should have come here. It’s mean, doing this. I should go.”