Birthday Girl

“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.