Birthday Girl

“Fucking hell,” I hiss under my breath. Swinging my head back into the bedroom, I slam the window closed.

Leaving the room, I charge down the hallway and jog down the stairs. Moving across the kitchen, I head through the laundry room and out the back door. Jordan is swimming for the edge of the pool again, getting out.

I dart my eyes up and see Kyle still watching as she climbs out, her clothes plastered to her body and water running down every inch of available skin.

His eyes flash to me, and I shoot him a middle finger. He just laughs and shakes his head, going back in his fucking house.

Jordan fists her hair, bringing it over her shoulder and ringing it out. My gaze falls down her legs, water dripping down her toned thighs and her shorts melted to her ass.

I steel myself, fixing on a stern expression. “Jordan,” I call.

She turns, seeing me, and hesitates only a moment before heading my way. She must have some idea that she’s not completely appropriate right now, because she folds her arms over her chest.

“I thought I told Cole to mow the lawn.” I try to hide the growl building in my chest.

She nods and picks up her ice water off the lawn table. “As long as it gets done, right?” And then she looks at me, inquiring, “Am I doing a bad job?”

“Of course, n—no,” I reply quickly, hating how easily she can make me feel like an ungrateful asshole. “It looks fine, but you’re already doing enough. More than enough. He handles the yard work. He can find the damn time.”

“It’s fine.” She brushes me off and sets her water down, turning back for the lawnmower. “I need the sun and exercise anyway.”

“I’ll finish it.” I stop her, walking ahead toward the mower.

But she catches me by the arm. “I got it,” she maintains, anger growing in her eyes. “Seriously. We’re not here on a free ride. I can handle a few chores.”

“Not dressed like that, you don’t.”

Her eyebrows pinch together. “Excuse me?”

I inch forward, dropping my voice as I speak to her. “My neighbor has been glued to his balcony watching your every move out here,” I bite out. “God knows what he’s thinking.”

“That’s not my problem,” she argues. “I was hot. I jumped in the pool. My clothes are on.”

“Yeah, like a second skin,” I finish for her, my teeth baring. “You can’t pull that shit here. It’s a family neighborhood. Not your sister’s strip club.”

“I’m in the backyard!” she growls, her face tensing. “What does anyone care how I’m dressed?”

“Their wives will!”

She arches an eyebrow and her chest heaves with angry breaths.

I look down at her, calming my voice. “The wives in this neighborhood don’t appreciate cock teases strutting around and taunting their husbands, okay?” I state in plain English, so she gets it through her head.

But she just lets out a bitter laugh like she can’t believe I’m for real. “Uh…yeah, wow.” She nods and takes in a deep breath, lifting her chin and looking at me head-on. “Um, okay, here’s the thing…. I realize things were probably a little different back when you were a teenager—EIGHTY-NINE YEARS AGO!—” she fires back.

“It was twenty, thank you.”

“But nowadays,” she keeps going, “we don’t hold a woman responsible for a man’s behavior.” Her eyes pierce, and there’s a little snarl on her lips. “If he wants to look, I can’t stop him. If he wants to step off somewhere private and do a little self-lovin’, hey, I’ll never know. Not my problem!”

I clench my fists. Damn brat.

I can’t catch my breath, but we don’t break eye contact.

She’s right.

I know she’s right. She’s not doing anything wrong. I just…

I don’t like him looking.