Birthday Girl

The light on the screen disappears as she ends the call, and the whole hallway suddenly goes dark. I stand there, trying to figure out if she’s actually doing what I think she’s doing, when the light under the door disappears, as well, and I realize she’s shut off her lights.

She’s going to bed?

I yank at the door. “Jordan,” I bark. “What the fuck?”

I hear a drawer open and slam shut and then the bed creak with weight. After a few moments, there are no sounds, and my worst fears have come true. I have a raging hard-on. What would she do if I broke down the door right now? Shit!

I let my forehead fall into the door, and I’m about to throw up my man card and cry.

“When I get a hold of you, it won’t be pretty,” I warn her. “That’s a promise. You’re in for it.

My phone beeps, and I look down, swiping the screen.

Go to bed, the text reads.

My stomach twists, and I’m halfway between going downstairs and blasting music so loud she can’t sleep while I work off some steam doing laps in the pool or picking another fight to get her out of bed again.

It’s late, though, and if I work out now I’ll be up for hours. I have my hand and the Internet, don’t I? Although I don’t need porn when just the memory of her a bit ago hasn’t left long enough to let me get soft yet.

Trailing down to my room, I slam the door shut behind me and crash to the bed, rubbing my aching groin.

Another text beeps in.

And don’t jerk off, it says.

I clench my teeth and whip the phone off to the side, hearing it hit the dresser and drop to the floor.

I better wake up and find her on my dick in the morning or no one is safe tomorrow.

Jordan

It didn’t take as long to fall asleep last night as I thought it would. Moments after I sent my last text, I heard something hit a wall in Pike’s room, and I kind of felt a little bad but also smiled, feeling a little powerful, too. Playing games with him wasn’t my goal, although I do love that we’re good at getting under each other’s skin.

I simply wanted to show him I’m capable of more than he thinks I am, and I don’t appreciate people telling me what’s in my own head.

Then, when he tried to get in the room, I wanted him so badly—his hands, his mouth, his words—but I always forgive too easily, and I don’t want to be that girl anymore. Even if Pike is one of the good ones—and I’m pretty sure he is—I needed to prove to myself that I’m worth the work and the wait. It was necessary to raise the bar for myself and not give everyone what they want from me so easily. I’ve been a pushover long enough. Jay, Cole, my parents…

And I fell asleep, proud of being stronger.

Now today, on the other hand…. He can have me as much as he wants, because I can’t wait anymore, either. After telling him to keep his hands off himself last night, I forced myself to do the same today, and the first thing I’m going to do when I see him is pull off his shirt, because I love the way he looks in just jeans.

The weather is warm today, but there’s a little cloud cover, keeping the heat at bay, and I lie outside on the grass on my stomach, listening to Don Henley on the cassette player as I flip through the fall catalog of courses at my university. I’d already registered for next semester, but I’m thinking of adding another class.

My legs, crossed at the ankles, swing back and forth in the air behind me, but then my phone rings, and I reach over and pick it up off the grass. Looking at the screen, I knit my brow.

What does Dutch want?

I answer and hold it to my ear. “Hey,” I say. “Everything okay?”

My suspicious mind is immediately drawn to Pike and some God-awful accident with any one of the machines he works with.

“Uh, yeah, sorry to bother you,” he tells me. “Do you know what’s wrong with Pike today?”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, he’s been in the worst mood,” he whines. “Everyone’s afraid to go near him. He’s barking at everyone, he punched about eighty nails into every single piece of sheet rock he hung, and then he accidentally accepted the wrong shipment of lumber, which prompted a really interesting tantrum reminiscent of my twelve-year-old daughter. It’s been weird.”

I snort, but then clamp my hand over my mouth to stifle it.