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

by Lily Kate

  The dress is strapless, and the sudden peek of skin, her delectable collarbone, begs for kisses. It’s too stunning for words, so instead, I pause for a moment and simply observe.

  “I know it’s not the best time, but you are gorgeous.” I shouldn’t be thinking about getting her undressed at a time like this, but it’s nature. I’m a man. She’s beautiful. I think I love her. It’s simple math.

  My arms stretch forward of their own accord; my hands reaching for her exposed shoulders. Instead of flinching, or pulling away, she leans into me, her eyes closing as my hands trail down her arms. There’s a thin bracelet circling her wrist, and I toy with it for a second before latching onto her fingers.

  “Look, I know we talked about tonight,” I say. “But don’t worry, I’m not trying to start anything, it’s just that you blow my mind. You’re insanely beautiful, and—”

  She raises to her tiptoes and cuts me off with a kiss. “Why are you dressed like that?”

  “Like this?” I look down. I’m not actually sure, except that she’d told me the name of the restaurant, and I’d recognized it to be a pricey one. “Just in case you needed a substitute dinner date.”

  She gives a little giggle, the sound music to my ears. “We didn’t stay long enough to eat.”

  “I didn’t like the waiter.”

  “Me neither.” Her smile is shy and slow to bloom. “I think you look great. Very handsome.”

  “The suit doesn’t make me pretty enough to stand next to you.”

  “Good thing you’re not pretty.” She moves in, wrapping her arms around my waist. “You’re tough. And manly. And sexy.”

  Her fingers sink into my skin as she hugs me tight. It goes on for too long, and even though I can feel myself wanting her, it’s more than that. When she looks at me, it makes me feel something. Something incredible.

  When she pulls away, the absence stings.

  “I’m going to, uh...” she hesitates, stepping away from me. “Use the bathroom quickly. I’ll be right back.”

  “Annie, wait—”

  “One second!”

  I don’t really have a choice except to let her go. I’m anxious, wondering what made her pull away from everything good happening. A part of me wants to knock and ask if she’s okay. But waiting outside the bathroom door is creepy, so I force myself to back away.

  I retreat to my bedroom and prowl for the next few minutes. I alternate between wrestling my hair into submission, checking it out in the mirror, feeling like a douche, and then mussing it back up out of frustration.

  Finally, I fall back onto my bed and close my eyes, trying not to think at all.

  “Cohen?”

  When she calls for me, it’s soft, almost angelic, and sweet. I sit up and blink, then I blink for a second time because she’s standing in the door looking like a picture of paradise. She’s freed her face of makeup, and her hair, loose and curly, tumbles over her shoulders. She’s wearing nothing but my robe, and I’m speechless all over again.

  Pulling the material close, she leans against the doorframe. “Thank you for being there, even though it’s not your job.”

  “You don’t have to thank me.”

  She nods, running her tongue along her lips as she takes one step, and then another, and another into the room. With each footstep, she lets her fingers trail down the edges of the robe, inching it open to reveal nothing but skin underneath.

  My breath is stuck in my chest, and even though I want to tell her she’s beautiful, I can’t. There just aren’t the right letters, the right words, the right phrases to capture her essence. The way she moves, the things she says, the look in her eyes. A drop of dew on a chilled morning, hopeful and so very precious.

  “We don’t have to do this tonight.” My voice is gruff. “Come here, let me hold you. Let’s save this for a different time.”

  “No, Cohen, I have something to tell you.”

  She climbs onto the bed, the fluffy fabric surrounding her body falls open, exposing only a black lingerie set. Even so, I can’t look anywhere except her face. As I stare, I fall deeper and deeper into those pools of golden honey until I’m wondering if I can ever pull myself out.

  “I didn’t let myself sleep with you because I was scared.” Her lip trembles, but she doesn’t cry. Quite the opposite. She guides me back until I’m leaned against the headboard and she’s perched next to me. Folding herself into a sitting position, she rests her hands on her lap, legs tucked beneath her bottom. “I didn’t want to be a notch on your bedpost.”

  “You were never going to be that.”

  “I know, but you have to understand why I might’ve feared it. The rumors, the articles, your glamorous life in Los Angeles. I’m not glittery and shiny; I’m normal. I thought you’d take me to bed once and then leave me alone. I hate being alone.”

  “I always knew you were different. I knew that before we began.”

  “Different, maybe. But you couldn’t have known you liked me.”

  “I knew I liked you,” I correct, a smile creeping onto my face despite her wide, searching eyes. “From the first moment I saw you in that suit. You were funny and sweet and so much more. Don’t you understand? I always liked you, Annie, I just hadn’t realized I loved you.”

  We both pause.

  Well, I pause.

  I’ve said it. It’s out there—I love her. Of course I love her.

  However, if I had been hoping for a reaction, I would’ve been sorely disappointed. Annie continues as if she hasn’t heard me at all, shifting herself closer, but I’m hardly listening.

  Now that I’ve realized—and admitted—I love Annie, I want to tell her again, and again, and again until she’s convinced of it. I want to show her, make her feel its truth.

  Annie’s still talking, almost as if she hasn’t heard me. Finally, my attention is drawn back to her face as her eyes close, releasing a tiny trickle of tears through her lashes and down her cheeks.

  I make them vanish with a touch of my lips. “Why are you crying?”

  “Listen.” She’s determined to speak, arranging herself next to me in a bundle of limbs all wrapped around each other. “Cohen, I know I’ve made you work hard to get me here, and I want you to know why.”

  “You don’t need to explain.”

  “I was trying to protect my heart from you. I figured you’d inevitably disappear down the road.”

  I flinch, but I don’t respond.

  “You have to understand, I had to—have to—protect myself. Nobody’s going to do it for me.” She presses a hand to her heart, the tears streaking down faster, faster, a pitter patter against my comforter. “But I made one mistake.”

  “You didn’t do anything wrong.”

  “Maybe you’re right,” she says finally. “But I was wrong. You see, I can’t possibly protect my heart when I’ve already given it away.”

  I’m trembling. My hands are shaking. I’m not supposed to act like this, but I can’t help it. She looks so fragile, and I need to touch her, hold her. Spindly arms wrap around her legs as she hugs them to her chest.

  “I love you, too, Cohen,” she whispers with a vengeance, finally returning my confession. “And I know it’s crazy to say, but I also know it’s true. I want to be with you tonight.”

  “Annie—”

  “Please.”

  It’s a whisper, a feather drifting through the air between us before my will breaks, and I have to touch her. My fingers make contact with her skin. Her shoulders, first, as I drag my finger down curves soft as silk, knocking the robe from her arms.

  “You are everything I’ve ever wanted,” I tell her. “Let me kiss you.”

  She leans in, eyes still closed, lips parted just a sliver. It’s enough for me to taste the sweet flavor that is Annie Plymouth. I can’t imagine ever wanting another flavor again.

  “Are you sure you want this?” I ask. “Absolutely positive?”

  Her eyes blink open, bright and sure. “Yes,” she says. Th
en she gives the slightest shake of her head. “We’ve waited long enough.”

  “I can wait longer.”

  “No.” Her answer is swift and firm. “I want you more than anything, Cohen James.”

  Chapter 42

  ANNIE

  His eyes are molten at my words, dark and thoughtful. There’s a spark behind his green irises, a window into Cohen James that’s newly opened as he pulls me onto his lap, curling my body to his chest.

  Hands rake through my hair, soft and gentle at first, then faster, wilder. Our mouths connect in a tangle of heat as his hands fall still, grasping my hair tight. I can feel him against me as my legs wrap around his waist, and the sensation of him there, the anticipation for what’s to come mounts with each passing second.

  When I part my lips to let him deepen the kiss, he groans, the note of pleasure sending shivers down my skin. Neither of us have much patience; as sweet as this moment might be, the tension between us has been building up for days, weeks, months, and it’s dangerous.

  When the promises from our kiss becomes too much, Cohen presses a hand to my back and flips the two of us around, laying me on the bed as he hovers over me. The scent of him alone is enough to drive me crazy.

  “Your clothes,” I murmur. “Take them off.”

  He doesn’t need to be asked twice, losing his shirt, his pants, and the rest of his items— save for his boxers—in a matter of seconds. “Your turn.”

  “Me?” The robe has fallen completely open, so I shrug it off. It’s useless now, anyway. All that’s left is a lingerie set that I’d worn specially for him. “What’s left?”

  He doesn’t seem to notice the lingerie, except to frown because it’s blocking his view of whatever’s underneath. He fiddles with the hook of my bra for so long I wonder if he thinks it’s a Rubix cube, before he finally curses and adds a little force. It comes off, finally, then the panties, and then I’m naked.

  “God, Annie, you are... even more beautiful than I could’ve dreamed.” He grits his teeth, scanning me with an intensity that has me feeling more exposed than ever. “So gorgeous. You’re a masterpiece.”

  His eyes are so piercing in their stare that I can’t help but bring up an arm to cover my breasts. I give him a playful smile, as if it’s all an act, but he doesn’t buy it.

  “No, sweetheart. Let me see you.” He reaches for my arm, rests his fingers there, before gently pulling it away. “You have nothing to be shy about.”

  “But you’re staring.”

  “That’s what you do with a work of art, honey,” he says. “You admire it.”

  My default is to lean into a smart retort, but Cohen seems to sense that too, cutting off my sarcasm with a touch of his lips against my throat. It’s hot, tender, and when his hand comes up to my stomach and presses there, it steals the words from my mouth.

  He moves his head down, cupping my neck with one hand as he continues his rainbow of kisses across my chest. When he reaches my breasts, he gives them equal attention, massaging, teasing with his lips, his hand.

  He stills there, pressing his other hand firmly against my core. Then, ever so gently, he slips one finger inside me while drawing my nipple into his mouth. The motions, together, bring out a moan that’s like no sound I’ve ever made before.

  He knows just how to move, to stroke, to touch, pulling me toward the edge of sanity. I need to touch him, but the way he’s situated my hands, they’re pinned to the bed and clenching at the sheets. Eventually, my hands find his shoulders, latching onto him as my body arches against him.

  Cohen lifts his head to find my gaze, my ragged breaths making it hard to respond. “Are you sure you want this? I will wait for you.”

  “No,” I tell him. “We can’t wait a second longer.”

  He nods, makes quick work of removing his last article of clothing and securing a condom, and then he’s back, perched over me. “I’ve wanted this moment for so long,” he says. “God, I love you, Annie.”

  “I love you, too,” I whisper, and then I slide my arms around his neck and hold on as he presses inside of me. I bite back a cry as his name spills from my lips; the sensation of having him, all of him, sends ricocheting streams of fire through my veins.

  His eyes are closed, teeth biting his lower lip as he, too, savors each and every pinprick of pleasure from this first moment together. Then, he moves. Slowly at first, gentle, as his eyes flash open to watch my face.

  I meet his gaze with a needy whisper, urging him onward as my hips press toward him of their own accord. My fingers are digging into his back, the intensity rising with each beat we have together. The beats combine, forming a melody so vibrant, so filled with passion it pulses with wicked desires.

  Cohen drives us toward the grand finale with a desperate crescendo. My eyes close, unseeing in blind ecstasy as his touches blur into one incredible rush. Just before the climax, we find each other in the midst of chaos, my eyes on his, our fingers locked in a spell that can’t be broken.

  And when the waves of passion begin to subside, the adrenaline receding, we’re left with the golden dust, the aftershock of a fantastical symphony, a piece of art, of pure magic. Through doubt and fears we’ve wound our way here, together, and as Cohen wraps me tight into his embrace, I know this is where I belong.

  Chapter 43

  ANNIE

  “You had sex.”

  “What?” I turn to Leigh. “You’re crazy.”

  “Right,” she says. “I’m the crazy one.”

  It’s been nearly a week since Cohen and I slept together, and the ensuing days have been incredible. We’ve spent every night together. I flunked my first exam in four years of college. Worth it.

  As it turns out, I love when Cohen kisses me: my lips, my stomach, my breasts. I can’t get enough of him. Now that the dam has been broken, our need for one another is uncontrollable—a wash of excitement, thrilling cuddles, tender kisses, and whispered secrets into the wee hours of the morning.

  “I feel like I’m sixteen,” I tell Leigh, letting the smile burst free. “All those emotions! It’s insane. I think I slept about five hours total this week.”

  “And you are still walking?”

  “Not all of it was sex!”

  “Right.” Leigh pulls me in for a one-armed squeeze. “I’m so happy for you. He seems like a great guy, honey. Really. When I mentioned my son was a huge fan and wanted to play hockey this year, Cohen brought him a new hockey stick and signed it. I mean, Dominic died. Cohen didn’t have to do all of that.”

  I give her a dramatic swoon. “He is something else.”

  We’re the only ones in the pool area. Leigh is twenty minutes early because her kids were driving her up the wall this morning, and I’m early because Cohen had to leave in the wee hours of the morning for practice, and I didn’t want to wait a second longer than I had to before seeing him again.

  I glance around, ensuring the area is Cohen-free before whispering in her ear. “I made him wait a long time.”

  “I’ll say. Was it worth it?”

  “Worth it?” My heart does a flutter. “Oh, it was magic.”

  “God, I’m jealous.” Leigh moans, as if remembering something similar once upon a time. “Well, enjoy it, honey. You deserve it. Savor these moments.”

  “These moments?” The way she phrases it gives me pause. “What do you mean? Do you think it’s all going to end?”

  “No, I didn’t mean that, I just meant...” She trails off, waiting for me to interrupt. “Forget I said it. Look, I’m just a bitter single mom whose husband left her for a new model. I’m an idiot for even giving my two cents.”

  “I value your two cents.”

  “Well, here it is.” She squeezes my knee. “You two are adorable together, and I know you’ll get through anything life throws your way. Do you love him?”

  I flinch.

  “Oh, Annie.” Leigh’s eyes soften, her voice a cloud of comfort. “You’ve got it bad.”

  I nod, a pi
t growing in my stomach. “I haven’t even asked what he wants for the future,” I say, my voice rising. “What if this is a fling, a game for him? I know he says it’s not right now, but what if he gets bored and changes his mind?”

  “He can play games with anyone. You’re not a fling girl. He knows it, you know it—you can stop worrying about that.”

  “What if he wanted a challenge?”

  “Do you really think that?”

  I hesitate, letting myself feel, remembering Cohen’s arms around me, his lips pressed to my neck. “No, I don’t.”

  “That’s the only thing that matters.” Leigh reaches out and squeezes my hand. “Only you know what’s right. If your heart is telling you this is right, then it is.”

  I’m spared a response at that moment because the man in question strides into the room, a clipboard at his side and no shirt over his chest. A chest that I know so well—a chest that I’ve rested my head on, pressed my lips against, felt its weight over my body.

  His face lights up when he sees Leigh and me sitting there. “Good morning, sunshine,” he says to me. “Hello, Leigh.”

  While he turns to adjust the towel around his waist, Leigh hooks her arm through mine and lowers her voice. “You’ve got nothing to worry about.”

  “You think?”

  “He’s smitten.”

  Chapter 44

  ANNIE

  “It’s time to practice the big twirl. The ultimate twirl. The only reason we have this stud here is for this stinkin’ twirl.” Gran gestures toward the group of old women—and me. And to everyone’s amazement, Cohen is in the water, too. “Did you watch the video I mailed you, Mr. James?”

  “How’d you get my email?” Cohen looks at Gran. “No, sorry. I didn’t see it come through.”

  “Not email, you goon,” Gran says. “Through the mailboxes. I sent you a VHS.”

  “A VHS? Why would you send me a VHS?”

  “Because I recorded the Olympics twenty years ago, and we only had VCRs at that time. You were supposed to watch it and learn the moves.”