Birthday Girl

“Seriously?” I mumble. Who the hell goes walking this time of night? “Smooth, ladies. Real smooth.”

Like they didn’t see Pike out here working through their kitchen windows, shirtless with muscles flexing against his tanned skin, still looking every inch the bad boy hottie they drooled over in high school, probably. Then they gave each other a call up to hatch a plan to don their active wear and ‘just happen to jog past his place’, right? I mean, it would be rude, after all, not to say hi, right?

I roll my eyes. Suburban housewives, bored with their husbands, looking to stir up shit like Pike Lawson is a pit stop to be used to excite them.

I release the blinds and back away.

I’m being so mean.

So, they’re flirting. So, what?

I’ve taken pride in the fact that I’m a pretty level-headed, calm person, but my behavior has been erratic lately. The move, the bills, Cole… I’m out of sorts, uncertain, and all over the place. I don’t like it.

I start a playlist on my phone, Pity Party droning out to match my pissy mood as the bedroom door clicks shut behind me. I stop brushing my hair, turning my head.

Cole is suddenly standing in the room, leaning against the door, and staring at me with a look in his eyes I know all to

o well. When did he get home?

Heat rises to my skin, and I clutch my towel, but I don’t know why.

He crosses his arms over his chest as his eyes scale down my body and back up.

“What?” I ask when he says nothing.

“Drop the towel.”

Now? But his father is still awake, and...

“Come on,” I protest but try to keep my tone light and calm. “It’s getting late, and I’m exhausted.”

“I’ll get you in the mood.” He pushes off the door and moves toward me, his six feet easily crowding the small bedroom. “I never see you anymore. I miss you.”

He steps up and wraps his arms around my waist, gazing down at me. I can’t help but smile a little.

I bite my bottom lip playfully and grip his soft blond hair on the top of his head, bringing him in for a quick kiss. “I was home last night,” I reply. “You weren’t.”

I pull away from him, and tighten my towel around me.

“I invited you out,” he points out.

“I was tired,” I say, but I can feel everything that’s been building inside of me for days about to bust free. “And I’ve had to do your chores, so...”

“I didn’t tell you to do that.”

“It had to get done.”

The desire I felt for him a moment ago has faded, and there’s a wall rising between us now.

But he tries to navigate around it anyway. “My dad’s not going to kick me out if I’m a couple days late mowing the lawn, Jordan,” he says, trying to put his arms around me again. “You take things too seriously.”

“No, you didn’t do it, because you knew I would.” I turn away. “As usual. You need to get it together and stop doing the bare minimum.”

He lets out a sigh and releases me, turning toward the door.

“Where are you going?”

“I can’t listen to this right now,” he grits out. “You know why I’m always gone? Because of that.” He points at my face. “The way you look at me. I’m tired of not feeling good enough.”