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

by Lily Kate

  “Now that we’re official,” I begin dryly, “you can ask me to be your plus one to your mom’s wedding. I’m a lifeguard, so that should put her mind at ease.”

  “You’re not a lifeguard.”

  “No, but I have a pretty good handle on mouth to mouth.”

  She laughs and leans toward me. “I don’t know, maybe you need some more practice.”

  The light turns red at the perfect time. We trade a kiss hot enough to melt ice and, when the light turns green, I’ve got a woody ready for action. Fabulous. I shift, adjusting my boxers.

  “Oh,” she says, glancing over. “Wow. That was fast.”

  “Yeah, well...” I shrug. “You’ve been doing that to me for weeks, honey.”

  “Maybe I can do a little something to help that tonight.”

  I fly home.

  By the time we park and make our way to my unit, we’ve cooled down a bit. I’m just going to let her take the lead and show me what she wants. If she’s doesn’t make a move, that’s fine by me. But her suggestions sure as hell have me standing at attention.

  “Mind if I use your shower?” Annie asks. “It was freezing at the rink.”

  I eye her hair with suspicion. It’s still damp from a shower she probably took before my game. “Uh, okay.”

  She smiles, but doesn’t offer any further explanation. Unfortunately, I can sense when her smiles are fake, so I reach out and grab her wrist.

  “Annie—” I hold her arm while I lock the front door. “Is everything okay?”

  “Yeah, why?”

  “No reason.”

  She makes her way down the hallway toward the shower. I wouldn’t mind following her, undressing her along the way and easing into the steam behind her, but I’m getting strong vibes that’s not on the agenda tonight.

  I kick off my own shoes, hover around the doorway, and practically scare away the teenage kid who rings the doorbell with the Chinese food. I’d almost forgotten I’d ordered it.

  I give him an extra ten for a tip to make up for my growl of a hello. “Girl issues, man,” I tell him as an explanation. “Just you wait, kid.”

  He looks at me, his mouth parting as he scans me up and down. “You’ve got girl problems?”

  I shrug. “I think so. I’m not sure.”

  “There’s no hope for me, then.”

  He’s scrawny and has a mountain range of pimples across his forehead. He probably doesn’t have it easy in high school.

  “What’s your name?”

  “Brian.”

  “Brian,” I say. “You have some friends from school?”

  He nods.

  “How do you feel about some playoff tickets to the first home game for the Stars?”

  “What sport?”

  “Never mind.”

  “Wait!” Brian holds out a hand. “There’s this girl.”

  “Right.”

  “I’ve been wanting to ask her out on a date.”

  “Give me your email,” I tell him, “and tell this girl to mark her calendar. Do yourself a favor and have your mom buy you a new shirt before you go, got it?”

  Brian takes in his own shirt, stained with fast food grease, and bobs his head so quickly his thick-framed glasses wobble on his nose. “Thanks. Thank you so much.”

  I hand him a pen from the drawer and he scribbles his address on the napkin.

  “Good luck with your girl problems, man,” he says. “I’m sure it’ll all work out.”

  “I hope so, Brian. I hope so.”

  “One more thing,” the kid says. “I need advice.”

  “On what?”

  “How’d you get this girl in the first place?”

  I think back to the first time I saw Annie, the first time she walked through the doors of that YMCA. I remember the way her eyes sparkled when I called her name and that swimsuit—that toxic green thing—glowed like a pool of alien vomit. She looked beautiful.

  I shrug toward Brian as the events of the last few weeks, hours, days creep into my mind—from our first kiss to our first date to the moment she admitted to being my girlfriend in front of Coach. I almost forget Brian’s there.

  “Any tips?” he asks again.

  “Sometimes, I guess you just get lucky.”

  “Cool.” Brian nods, gives a half wave. “Thanks again for the tickets. I’ll hook you up with some extra egg rolls next time.”

  The smell of Chinese food has my stomach growling, but I don’t tear into it like I would if Annie wasn’t around. Instead, I dig through my cupboards until I find the girly, stupid wineglasses Chelsea gave me as a Christmas set for special occasions. I’ll have to thank her later.

  I pull out another bottle of wine and uncork it, letting it breathe while I pop open a beer for myself. Then, I haul the shrimp and noodles and chicken and broccoli onto plates, and bring the feast into the living room. Once there, I look around for candles.

  I don’t keep candles on hand, but I do keep matches on hand, and I look for something I can light. No genius ideas hit me, so I settle on the next best thing. Flicking on the television, I flip to the channel that plays the crackling Yule log all year long.

  Is it romantic? Probably not. But I suck at romance, and this is the best I can do on short notice. Even so, I feel like our first night together as an official couple should be something special.

  Hopefully it’s the thought that counts.

  Chapter 34

  COHEN

  “Wow!” Annie pauses in the living room entrance. One glance at the image on the television and she winks at me. “A fire? You didn’t have to go through all that trouble.”

  “I’m sorry I didn’t have real candles,” I say, busy placing forks and spoons next to our feast. “So hopefully this will do the trick for...” I look up at her, losing my place mid-sentence. “Annie. You are stunning.”

  She’s beautiful, too beautiful for words. Her brunette hair trails in loose, damp waves over her bare shoulders, her feet moving soundlessly across the carpet as she steps toward me.

  She’s once again wrapped in my robe, and the way it’s draped in loose folds allows a generous view of her pale skin. Her cheeks, pink and rosy from the shower, glow under the flickers from the screen.

  She laughs, a light, tinkling sound. “But I haven’t put on any makeup. Or fixed my hair. Or anything.”

  “You look incredible.” I realize that I’ve stopped mid-table-setting, and a napkin dangles from my finger. I tuck it unceremoniously under the plate. “I can’t even... I don’t know what to say.”

  I take quick steps across the room, one of my hands sneaking between the folds of the robe and coming to rest on the lower curve of her back. She smells just as good as she looks, warm and sensual and feminine, and I want more than anything to taste her mouth on mine.

  “Wait, Cohen,” she says, as my other hand comes to rest on her cheek. “I need to tell you something.”

  “Okay.”

  “I didn’t really need to shower.”

  I blink, not expecting that one. “Okay.”

  “It’s just—”

  “You can stop right there. I know what’s got you worried.” I let my lips dust a kiss against her forehead. “Us being together doesn’t change anything. Come to me when you’re ready.”

  “I need to explain why.”

  “No, you don’t owe me any explanation.”

  “I stayed with him because it was easy,” she says, her lip quivering as she speaks. “My ex was the first boy, the first man, I’d ever been with, and I thought it meant that we were soul mates. It’s stupid now, in retrospect—”

  “Hey, it’s not stupid. You thought you were in love.”

  “No, I knew he didn’t love me. I just thought...” She blinks, tears frosting her eyes with a sparkle of sadness. “I thought that having sex with him would make him want me. Love me. I don’t know, I was young and stupid, and maybe I still am, but... I just don’t want that to happen with us. I don’t want to ruin things.”<
br />
  “Me neither. Give yourself a break, Annie. We’ve only been dating three hours. I can have some patience.”

  “You’re not upset that I don’t want to have sex yet?”

  “No, but I am hungry.”

  “Let’s eat,” she says on a light laugh. “But first things first.”

  I’m about to argue because really—I’m frigging starving. Tonight, I’ve played a hockey game, acquired a girlfriend, and had a raging case of lust that’s not going away anytime soon. I need to stress eat some damn Kung Pao Chicken.

  Then Annie drops the robe, folds of fabric bunching around her feet. She’s a goddess standing there, perfect in her near-nakedness. Her face beams innocence, the rawness of her nerves fully exposed as she watches me, steps toward me in a lacy thing that hugs her gorgeous curves.

  I can’t do a thing except hold my breath.

  “Now that we’re dating, I can touch you whenever I want. Isn’t that the deal?”

  “Yes, but—”

  “Good,” she interrupts. “Because tonight is all about you. And I plan on making good on that promise. Returning the favor a little after last time.”

  “That’s not necessary. I’m not keeping score, and even if I were—believe me, I had as much fun the other night as you did, if not more.”

  She gives me a patient smile while taking dainty steps across the room. She reaches across the table to grab my hand, and with a gentle touch, pulls me toward the bedroom.

  “Annie, you don’t have to—”

  “You have been so patient,” she says, giving me a light tap to lay on the bed, “and I can’t tell you how much I appreciate it.”

  I fall backwards onto my comforter and stare up into the eyes of the most beautiful woman. Her eyes are soft, sweet, yet as her hands reach for my waist and tug down my shorts, a bit of fire dances beneath them.

  My fingers lock through her damp hair, slide down her shoulders and caress the impossibly soft skin of her back. The only thing she’s wearing is a thin swatch of lingerie, which means every curve of hers is perfectly defined against my hands.

  I get a grip on her waist, my fingers clenching tight as I pull her against me. She grinds her hips hard as her lips crash to mine, and I’m not sure I can last longer than the count of five. If the way she feels against me is any indication, I am completely and utterly lost.

  “Thank you for understanding,” she murmurs in a tight voice. “For being patient, for trusting in me, for giving me time.”

  I try to gurgle a response, but she’s too quick for me. Her hands press against my chest and she slithers lower, her beautifully soft skin a caress against my body. I grasp for her arms and try to pull her up, but she’s stronger than she looks. She stops, halfway, and meets my gaze.

  “Stop,” she says, her voice quiet, yet firm. “Let me.”

  “Annie, you don’t have—”

  The second her mouth touches my skin, it’s as if I can feel my eyes rolling to the back of my head. Her lips, her tongue—every stroke is a testament to perfection.

  My hands run through her hair, graze her shoulders, but I can’t say manage a word. I can only hold on, my mind a black abyss of pent up desire, infatuation for her. It’s not until the moment she pushes me over the edge that I can finally formulate a word. Annie.

  Her name spills from my lips as she catapults me beyond anything I’ve ever known before. I’m convinced my mind has shattered into a million pieces.

  Pulling her against me in the aftermath, I savor the moment as our hearts race, her breathing quick as I fight my stunned silence to find words. I can’t, so I squeeze her tighter and hold my lips to her forehead, breathing in the heavenly scent of her.

  Thankfully, my senses eventually reset. As my energy returns, I roll her over onto her back in one motion, while simultaneously dusting her collarbone with kisses. If she thinks the night is ending here, she’s sorely mistaken.

  “Cohen, tonight is about you,” Annie says, her nails gripping my shoulders with a delicious strength that bites into my skin. “I didn’t expect anything in return. Let me—”

  “No,” I say with absolute finality. The smell of her—the shampoo, her lotion, the very essence of Annie—is driving me wild. I brush a hand against her forehead, pushing stray hairs away from her face. “Let me.”

  Chapter 35

  ANNIE

  “Good morning, Amanda,” Claude says. “How are you?”

  I roll my eyes, refraining from a smart retort. “Thanks for coming, Clyde.”

  He doesn’t notice the name change, but Gran does, and she snorts into her elbow.

  “Did you pay?” Gran demands.

  She sticks her hand out to Claude and wiggles her finger until he produces a five-dollar bill and hands it over. Gran, bless her heart, is in charge of the money. She’s vicious in her responsibilities. She tried to make the janitor pay before he entered the room, and he was just trying to empty the trash can.

  “The really generous folks give twenty,” Gran says. “You’re generous, aren’t you, Claude?”

  “How much do swimsuits cost?” he grumbles, digging for another ten to add to the stack.

  I give him a grateful smile and load up his plate with a tower of pancakes. My mother returns to the kitchen just as he leaves to take a seat.

  “What did I miss?” My mother asks, as the room goes silent. She re-ties the apron around her waist. “What are you two talking about? Not Claude again, I hope.”

  “Nope,” Gran says. “Clyde.”

  “Mother! You know his name.”

  “Sorry,” Gran gives me raised eyebrows. “Amanda started it.”

  My mother gives a huff of frustration. “Let’s go. The rush for breakfast will start any second.”

  Gran’s roped the whole family and half of the community into helping with this event. Even Leigh had planned to help, up until Dominic surrendered to a stomach bug and she had to call in sick. Already, it’s been a hit. We’ve earned enough money for the swimsuits and are well on our way to earning enough to donate a large chunk to the local summer camp.

  “So, Annie...” My mother resumes conversation in a sweeter than normal voice that has me worried. “I got the phone bill in the mail the other day. Did your father call you?”

  I freeze, just as one glop hits the surface and begins to sizzle. “Why?”

  “I’m your mother. I’m allowed to be curious. What did he want?”

  “We’re having dinner tonight! What’s the big deal?”

  “Oh? Twice in one month? Must be a special occasion.”

  “Nope.” I blow out a breath, trying for patience. It’s tough this morning. “He’s just my dad.”

  “I never did ask. How did your last dinner go with him?”

  I won’t lie to her, but I won’t play this game either. I flip pancakes in silence until the awkwardness is too much for Gran to bear.

  “So, are you dating that hunk yet?” Gran chirps. “He’s a nice looking man.”

  It’s been exactly one week since I started officially dating Cohen, and I haven’t exactly spread the word yet. It’s been a busy week so, in my defense, it’s not like a lot happened between us. His practice schedule has been crazy with playoffs coming up, and my exam schedule is equally nuts thanks to upcoming graduation.

  “Boyfriend?” My mom’s voice goes shrill. “You have a boyfriend, Annie, and you didn’t tell me?”

  “Keep your voice down!”

  “Is he here?” My mother fans her face. “For goodness’ sake, Annie. Do you keep everything in your life a secret from me? A boyfriend?!”

  “It’s only been, like, one week,” I say in a hushed voice. “It’s nothing serious yet. I didn’t tell you because I didn’t want you guys to make a big deal out of it.”

  “A big deal?!” Mom’s still talking in that weird-pitched voice.

  “I’m not making a big deal about it. I’m just wondering why you insist on keeping me out of your life?”

  “
I’m not keeping you out of my life—it’s just new!”

  “Is he coming today?”

  “Probably.” I flip the rest of the pancakes onto a plate and face them. “If you guys can’t mind your own business, I’m going to keep things from you. Like this. Because you go and do things like look at my phone bill to see who I’m talking to—this invasion of my privacy is completely unnecessary.”

  “It’s just because we love you,” my mother says. “We care about you.”

  “Speak for yourself,” Gran says. “I love her as much as you, but I’m not peeping at her phone bill.”

  “Both of you!” I cross my arms and try to keep my voice low, just between us. No need to ruin a perfectly good breakfast for everyone else. “I’m an adult, and I have been for several years. I don’t need you looking over my shoulder at everything.”

  “But—”

  “Mom, I know dad sucked as a husband, but he’s still my dad. It’s up to me if I want to have dinner with him or answer his phone calls.”

  Gran stays silent, eyes averted, and even my mom stills.

  My mother’s back stiffens and she gives a short nod. “Yes, of course. Sorry.”

  “Mom, no... I didn’t mean to upset you!” I call after her as she turns to head deeper into the kitchen. “Wait a second.”

  My mom pushes through a set of double doors into a small back hallway. I have to speed up and literally corner her before she stops moving. It’s not until I grasp her shoulders and manually spin her around to face me that I see why she’s in such a hurry.

  There are tears in her eyes, and although she’s trying her best to hide them, they’re there, bright and shining like bits of broken starlight.

  “Mom?”

  Her lip quivers, but she manages to hold it together. My mother is a tough woman. I’ve never doubted that for a second—I’m just not used to seeing her cry. It takes me a moment to adjust, to gather my thoughts, and in that time I watch her do the same.

  “I hate that your father didn’t try harder when we were together,” she says finally, tremors coursing through her words. “Not for me, but for you. For our family.”