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

by Lily Kate

  I’ve always been a screw up in one form or another. It’s no wonder my dad has no interest in watching me play; I can hardly expect him to be excited when I’m putting on shitty performances like this one. Maybe he’s right. Maybe I’m not cut out for the finer things in life.

  Things like Annie.

  My phone rings again, her name popping up on the screen. I silence it with a swipe of my thumb and sweep out of the room like a storm cloud. I’m brooding, moody, pathetic, and I don’t care a bit.

  The team’s going to grab some food. I should join them, but I’d be a major buzzkill. Best if I’m alone tonight. With the mood I’m in, it’ll be better this way.

  I make it outside, past the herd of folks waiting for a glimpse of players, and lower my head, desperate not to be seen. The worst possible thing that could happen now is a reporter catching me like this, asking questions, prodding me like an injured animal. Because I’ll lash out, and I don’t want that recorded.

  “Excuse me, Mr. James?”

  I keep moving. Reporter. Figures.

  “Mr. James? Sir? Cohen?”

  “What?” I’m still walking.

  “Quick question.” The woman hurrying after me is pretty enough with brunette hair and crisp, piercing eyes. She reminds me of a hungry little bird. There’s a falseness to her voice that has me cringing with each breath. “Tough loss tonight?”

  “Obviously,” I growl. Not only is she a reporter, but she’s Captain Obvious. Just lovely.

  A cameraman scurries behind her, just in time to catch the start of the next question. I finally slow down my pace, rolling my eyes as I turn to face them both, digging my manners up from the darkest corners of my person. Coach will not be happy if I screw this one up.

  “You played well tonight,” she says. “Really unfortunate about the missed opportunity off of Pierce’s pass—”

  “Oh, really?” My voice is dry, eyes shifting for signs of an exit. This woman and the cameraman have me cornered. “I hadn’t noticed.”

  She fumbles her response for a moment, and I almost apologize. Then, she starts waving a tiny pad of paper around, offers me a wink, and starts the next question. I immediately forget about apologizing.

  “So, Mr. James, where are you off to so fast?” she asks, looking down at her paper for a brief pause. “Rumor on the street is that you’re in a brand new relationship. Are congrats in order?”

  I raise an eyebrow, refusing to drag Annie into this mess. “That’s the best you’ve got?”

  Her jaw tenses as she balances the notebook and begins to write, reading the words aloud as she does so. “Can’t score on the ice, but I’m hearing confirmation you’ve scored a woman. Are you exclusive?”

  I glare at the cameraman first, since the reporters gaze is too penetrating. The man doesn’t offer me a lick of help, so I look into the birdy eyes of the woman. “I’m in a relationship.”

  “Congratulations. Can I assume we’ll be seeing some sort of ring?”

  “Ring?” Coach has approached from behind me, noted the camera, and now steps into the shot. The reporter’s excited to see him, especially since he seems keen to comment on my relationship. “I don’t think James is the marrying type.”

  I remember the distinct clink of the puck against the post. Annie’s missed calls, which now number into the double digits. My need to be alone tonight.

  Coach has a point. Whether or not I love Annie, I’m not the marrying type. I’ve disappointment my dad for long enough—I can’t bring the burden on Annie, too.

  “I’ve gotta go.” I move away as Coach claps me on the back hard enough to signal my time to shine is up.

  “Pleasure chatting, James,” the reporter says. “Better luck next year.”

  The interview continues, a distant buzz against my ears as I hightail it to the door, drag myself into my car, and begin to drive. Somewhere. Anywhere. Away.

  Chapter 49

  ANNIE

  Not the marrying type?

  Cohen had nodded after his coach had said this, and that nod was like a stab to the gut. For me, for him, for both of us. He’d ignored my calls all night. I’d called no less than thirteen times since the game ended, and it’s now after midnight. I can feel him pulling away, distancing himself from me like a physical pain.

  Clearly, he’s not planning to call me back.

  I’m sitting on my couch, watching the replays of the playoffs, as Sarah comes out to join me.

  “Still here?” She plops down next to me, still in her volleyball clothes from a co-ed game earlier this evening, with a bowl of ice cream in hand. “Tough loss, huh?”

  “Yeah.”

  “You’re not moaning about that interview, are you?”

  “I’m not moaning.”

  “Look.” Sarah pauses to dig a spoonful of cookie dough out from underneath a hunk of chocolate chip. “He’s a professional athlete. The game’s got his blood pumping, and I’m sure he’s pissed at himself for missing a goal that could’ve stopped overtime in its tracks.”

  “Yeah, but—”

  “Then some stupid reporter shoves a camera in his face, and his coach pulls that douche-canoe move? Focus on the positives. Cohen said he was in an exclusive relationship.”

  “True,” I agree.

  “He’s nuts about you.” She shrugs. “Give him a break. It’s a tough night for him, so you’ll just have to be patient. He’ll come out of it on his own.”

  “I don’t know what to think—he won’t return my calls.”

  “Look.” Sarah shifts to face me, setting the spoon down for a moment. “Cohen worked his ass off to get you to trust him, didn’t he? Spent weeks just trying to get you to agree to go on a date with him.”

  “I suppose.”

  Sarah stands, polishes off the bowl and dumps it into the sink. “Don’t you think he deserves a little bit of the same effort?”

  “What?” I stand too, following Sarah into the kitchen. “Do you think I’m not trying? I am trying. Maybe I’m just not good at relationships.”

  “Maybe he’s not either, but you two are going to have to figure it out.” She leans against the counter, searching my face with her gaze. “If you want to be with him, show him that. He’s fought for you—now go fight for him.” She rinses her hands, letting her gaze fall from my face. “I love you, girlfriend, but as far as I’m concerned, Cohen has proven that he loves you—that he’ll show up. Make sure he knows the same thing is true in return.”

  “How? What can I do if he’s not answering my calls?”

  “I have to shower. I smell like a rhinoceros. Think about it.”

  “But—”

  She pauses at the bathroom door, then offers a sympathetic smile. “You know what to do, babe. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

  Chapter 50

  COHEN

  I crash through the door, slamming it shut so hard the wall rattles. I don’t have a lot of self-control right now, which is why I’ve come to the place where it all began. I should’ve gone straight home, but I didn’t. I came to face my father.

  I take loud steps toward the living room as the bumble of television chatter filters down the hallway. The channel changes from a sports network—a sports network?—to some stupid late night sitcom as I round the corner.

  My dad doesn’t bother to look over from his place on the La-Z-Boy. Raising a beer to his lips, he takes a sip and watches a dumb joke that gets a round of applause from the laugh track. The way he’s focused on the screen sets off alarm bells. Nobody can watch a sitcom with that much interest.

  And then, it hits me.

  He watched the game—and he doesn’t want me to know it.

  “Are you proud?” I move across the room, standing directly in front of the television so he has no choice but to stare at my stomach instead. “You saw everything, didn’t you?”

  He takes another long, lazy pull of his Bud Light before giving a disinterested smack of his lips. “Why are you here?”

  I pace
around the room, his low drawl getting on my nerves. He didn’t ask me to stop over—he never calls, texts, emails. I’m still wondering why the hell I’m here when he begins to speak.

  “Cornered you at the end there, didn’t they?” He takes a moment to swallow. “Great interview, son.”

  I can’t look at him. If they’d aired that clip and Annie had been watching... it couldn’t have made her feel great. Not marriage material. I shake my head, cringing at the replay in my mind.

  A year or two ago, I wouldn’t have shied away from that reputation. I might’ve even flaunted it, been proud of my independence, my desire to stay single and live a life free from those ties.

  Then Annie arrived in the picture, and now I don’t know what to think anymore. Tying myself to Annie for a lifetime sounds pretty good, actually, and I’m beginning to wonder if I had my priorities all wrong before.

  “I knew you had it in you, kid.” My dad, for once, sounds almost proud. “Women. They always leave. Better if you don’t get attached to some girl.”

  “Annie’s not some girl,” I snarl.

  “You think she’ll stay with you after you admitted to the world you don’t want to get married?”

  “I didn’t say that. Coach put words into my mouth. We were both upset.”

  “What does it matter? She’ll misinterpret it, just like women always do.”

  I’m silent. Not because I agree with him, but because I can see how Annie might’ve taken the interview to mean something it didn’t. I have to find her, set the record straight before it’s too late.

  “Don’t blame your shit on me, Cohen.” My dad stands suddenly, tall, thinner than he used to be, soft around the middle. “I can see what’s going through your mind. This is all your old man’s fault for turning you off marriage. You’d never be in this situation if it weren’t for me—that’s what you’re thinking, isn’t it?”

  I remain quiet, fuming, because a part of me is thinking exactly that.

  “Don’t let me stop you, Cohen. You want to marry the girl? Marry her. Invite me or don’t. It’s your life.”

  It takes a second for me to process, to figure out why the hell I’m still standing here. My dad hasn’t changed in twenty years—why should I expect him to offer me advice now?

  “Maybe you’re right,” I tell him, softer now. “Maybe I shouldn’t get married. Because Annie is perfect, and I don’t deserve her.”

  “Get out of my house, kid. I’m sick of you dumping your problems on me. I’ve got enough of my own without you coming to whine at me.”

  I wait for a long moment, offering up one final chance for him to change his mind, to offer me a snippet of hope, a bit of wisdom from his fifty odd years on this planet. But there’s nothing. I’m drained, emotionally and physically, and he’s pissed. Nothing good will come of me standing around.

  “I’m sorry I came here.” I turn, leaving him to return to his armchair in peace.

  I make my way to the front door, noticing along the way that Rosa, bless her heart, has sent one of her cleaning ladies to brighten this place up. There are flowers near the door—not that my dad will ever notice—and I make a mental reminder to send her a massive tip.

  This time, when I slide into my car, I point the wheel toward home. I need to think, to cool down, to figure out what to do. My dad might be a jerk, but he has one point. I went to his house to yell and moan about my problems, but it didn’t solve anything. I wanted to dump my crap on him, but it didn’t work. The problems that need solving aren’t at my dad’s house.

  I couldn’t admit it before, but I can see it now. I’m terrified to face Annie Plymouth. I’m terrified of the fact that I love her more than I love the game, my career, life itself. I’m terrified because I can see myself spending a lifetime with her, and here I was, looking for a way out.

  My fingers grip the steering wheel tight at this realization, the yellow lines of the freeway licking the underbelly of my car as I fly toward my condo. The way I see it, I have two choices. I can go home, sulk, and make my dad proud. I can give up on love and turn into a single, bitter old man with only a beer koozie to keep me warm at night.

  Or, I can turn my car around, go find Annie, and tell her what I should’ve told her weeks ago.

  Chapter 51

  ANNIE

  He’s not here.

  Or, if he is home, he’s not opening the door.

  My heart sinks, inch by inch, until it’s descended to the pit of blackness in my stomach. I’d thought for sure that he’d come home after the game. He’s probably frustrated, sad, annoyed—exhausted from the ups and downs of the day. Where would he go to nurse these wounds if not home?

  I knock again, but there’s no answer. The thought that he’s inside, listening and ignoring me, sets my pulse on fire. He wouldn’t hide from me, right? Surely he knows that the outcome of some stupid game doesn’t change how I feel about him.

  I lean my ear against the door, but there are no signs of movement inside, no sounds, either. The water isn’t running, nor is there a stray light shining from underneath the door.

  Sinking to the floor, I clutch my phone in my hands and consider my options. I could call him again, but I think I’ve made it clear I’d like to talk to him. If he wants to find me, he has my number.

  As I scroll through my phone, I catch sight of Andi Peretti’s number. I’d forgotten she added her digits and, in a flash of worry, I press dial.

  “Hello?” She sounds peppy and chirpy, like usual, over the ambient noises of a cocktail bar behind her. “Who is this?”

  “Hi, sorry, this is Annie. From the pancake breakfast?”

  “How are you? Sorry, I hadn’t saved your number yet. Tough loss tonight, huh?”

  “Yeah.”

  “I’m currently trying to convince Ryan that the world hasn’t ended because their team didn’t slam the little black thingy into a patch of fishing net. You doing the same with Cohen?”

  “Unfortunately, I’m not.”

  “What’s wrong?”

  “It’s Cohen. Do you know where he is?”

  “Oh, no. I thought he would be with you. He ducked out right after the game.”

  “Yeah, I haven’t seen him. I’m at his condo... well, outside of it. He’s not home, and I’m worried about him.”

  “I’m going to call around and see if I can find anything out. Ryan will help, too. I’m sorry, hon.”

  “It’s fine. I just want...” I swallow. “If he wants to be alone, I get it. I just want to know he’s somewhere safe.”

  “Keep your phone handy. I’ll text you the second I get a bite.”

  By the time I hang up, my hands are shaking. I let the phone drop to the floor and sink my head onto my hands. I can’t stop the thoughts from coming, from wondering if I pushed him too far at the lake, tried to move things too fast, too serious, too quick.

  Why did I have to bring up marriage? Why couldn’t I just relax and enjoy what we had? My lip quivers, heart speeding, bursting with pinpricks of regret, wishing to go back and change things. Wishing to be normal, wishing I could just let myself feel, wishing to let myself simply be. In love, happy, together with Cohen.

  The first tear slips from my eye and skids down my cheek.

  I don’t wipe it away.

  When the rest of the tears arrive, I let them fall.

  Chapter 52

  COHEN

  She’s not here, not anywhere.

  I’m at her apartment, but her car is gone and nobody’s answering the door. Raising a hand, I give one final knock as a last ditch effort. I can’t call her since I left the phone in the car in my haste to see her.

  One last knock, just to be safe.

  To my surprise the door flies open this time.

  “What in the world are you doing here?” Sarah, Annie’s roommate, is dressed in a robe with a towel wrapped around her hair. She’s got a cookie in hand, and her face is pinched in frustration, as if I’ve interrupted something. “I had to get ou
t of the shower mid-rinse just to find you here?”

  I glance at the cookie, push the confusion away, and meet her eyes. “I’m looking for Annie.”

  “Well, duh!” Sarah takes a bite and chomps away. “She’s looking for you! Go find her, idiot! Sorry, you’re not an idiot. But honestly, she called you a hundred times. You couldn’t have picked up once?”

  “Oh, I am an idiot.” I agree, her words a startling breath of fresh air. If Annie’s looking for me, too, maybe all is not lost. “One more thing.”

  She wipes crumbs off her hands. “Yeah?”

  “Do I still have a chance with her?”

  She closes her eyes, gives a shake of her head. “You both are the most frustrating people I’ve ever known.”

  With that, she slams the door.

  I pound on it again.

  She opens it with a roll of her eyes. “What?”

  “What’d you mean by that?”

  “Go talk to your girlfriend, Cohen!” She steps forward, narrowing her gaze at me. “Don’t screw this up—she loves you.”

  “I love her, too.”

  “I know, that’s why I called you an idiot. Now go away and be in love.”

  I jog to my car, fingers itching to call Annie. But I don’t lift the phone from the cup holder because I need the time to think. To figure out what I can say to make everything right. To convince her that I’m more in love than I’d ever thought possible.

  Whipping up to my condo, my tires screech as I fly into the parking garage. Snatching my phone, I put the car into park, and jog toward the entrance. It takes all of a minute, but the motions feel like years.

  I come to an abrupt stop when I push through the door to the hallway. She’s there, curled against the door of my condo like a forgotten puppy. Big eyes filled with glittering tears meet mine, and my heart stutters as my breath gets caught in my throat. The picture cracks my soul in two.

  “Cohen.” She stands carefully, like a fawn finding her shaky balance, and blinks. Her eyelashes flutter, sending a cascade of the tears down her cheeks. “I need to talk to you.”