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

by Lily Kate

  “We’re not going to be able to do that, Gran,” I say. “First, because neither of us have a VCR. Secondly, because this isn’t the Olympics.”

  “Fine.” Gran expels a long, loud breath. “I suppose that’s fine. I came up with an alternate plan just in case.”

  “Let’s stick with the original plan,” Lottie says. “Charlie Hubert will be there, and I want to look good for him. He’s been asking if I’ll help with his laundry for weeks, and I think this might be my big chance to move our relationship to the next level.”

  “Once he sees you in that swimsuit,” Gran says. “He’ll be drooling all over you. Original plan it is. Pay attention, Annie and Cohen. I’m only demonstrating once.”

  Cohen and I watch as Gran spirals through the water, splashing more than she’s twirling.

  “Got it?” When she finishes, she extends one hand and puts it firmly on my butt. “Cohen, you’ll have to support her like this while you twirl.”

  “I can do that,” he says. “I like this class.”

  “Of course you do,” Gran says. “You get to touch—”

  “Gran!” I say. “We get it! Let’s practice.”

  “Like this?” he asks cheerily, looking at Gran as he takes a healthy squeeze of my rear end. “Am I doing it right?”

  “A little too right,” Gran says. “Looks like you’ve had some practice.”

  I close my eyes, wishing suddenly for the water to swallow me whole. I thought I’d been doing Gran a favor today by staying late after swimming lessons to practice. The synchronized swim team had rented the pool for an hour extra, and it was the first and last time we’d get a full rehearsal before the event.

  “Move it along, folks. Let’s see the twirl.” Gran gestures for Cohen to lift me up, spin me in a circle, and then throw me back into the water. “It’ll be beautiful. So beautiful.”

  “He’s throwing me across the pool,” I argue. “It’s hardly beautiful.”

  “But there’s a twirl,” Gran says. “Like a flower.”

  I’m rolling my eyes when Cohen latches on firmly. As instructed, he lifts me near his shoulder, turns in a circle, and then drops me into the water. It’s a good thing I’m wearing floaties and have a smoking hot swimming instructor next to me, or I’d be panicking.

  Also, the water is only four feet deep, so that helps to keep the panic at bay. In fact, it’s almost exciting. I’m barely terrified of drowning. Proudly, I plant my feet on the floor and propel myself up through the surface of the water with a broad grin on my face.

  We’ve done it. We’ve completed the twirl.

  My smile turns slightly dimmer when I realize the room is silent. Shouldn’t people be clapping? I mean, the twirl wasn’t horrible. Maybe it wasn’t as beautiful as a flower, but still. It’s an accomplishment.

  Suddenly, it hits me that not one person is staring at my face. Not a single person.

  I take one look down—at my very bare chest—and shriek.

  I don’t even feel embarrassed. There’s no time for embarrassed. Somehow, when Cohen tossed me from his shoulder, he snapped the string of my suit, and the whole top vanished. It must have landed three feet away because it’s bobbing like a sad little fish in the distance.

  I lunge toward it like a crazed woman while Gran grins at her friends.

  “She got those from me,” Gran says proudly, nodding in my direction. “Nice, huh?”

  Cohen clears his throat and leaps to attention, fishing the top of my suit from the water before I can get to it. My arms are too busy trying to control the whole nude-in-public situation.

  “Here, so sorry,” Cohen says, stepping close, shielding me as much as possible from the audience of curious women behind him. “Let me help.”

  “You can’t help,” I hiss. “It’s broken!”

  He glances down, the realization dawning on his face as he sees one triangle in one hand, and the other drifting away in the pool. “Oh, no. I owe you a new suit.”

  “Ya think?”

  “Good thing I brought you a backup,” Gran says. “That bright green beauty from the first day of class is in the locker—go get it. We’ll practice once more before Cohen has to leave.”

  I swipe the single triangle from Cohen’s hand with one last glare around the room, then pull myself out and stomp carefully toward the exit.

  “I’ll help her.” Cohen jumps out after me, grabbing a towel on his way, and follows without a word. “Here, let me cover you up.”

  “You couldn’t have waited a few hours to get home?” I say under my breath, once we’re out of the pool area. “You had to undress me in front of my elders?”

  “It was an accident. I owe you big time.”

  “Yes, you do.”

  “How can I make it up to you?”

  “Come to my mom’s wedding with me.”

  “What?” Now Cohen’s mouth is hanging open, and I’m pretty sure mine is too.

  “Nothing. Sorry, I’m going to go change.” I try to move past him and forget my invitation, but he blocks my progress. I try again. “Excuse me.”

  “Do you want me to be your date to the wedding?”

  I inhale a shaky breath. “I hadn’t meant to ask you standing here, like this, but... I’ve been thinking about it. Unless—”

  “I would love to come.”

  “It’s not too soon?”

  “Are you kidding?” He looks pointedly at my chest, now covered by the towel. “I’ve been dreaming of getting you on a cruise ship since you mentioned it.”

  “Really?”

  Cohen reaches forward and drapes an arm across my shoulders. He curls me into his body, giving me a kiss that melts my bikini bottoms right off. Nearly.

  Until Gran whistles, and Cohen steps backward as if he’s been burned.

  “I’ll go change,” I say, slipping away from him and into the locker room. “But I didn’t forget about your offer of a new bathing suit. You’re taking me shopping.”

  “Shopping?”

  “Shopping.”

  Chapter 45

  COHEN

  I don’t know how she does it, but Annie Plymouth makes that strange little swimsuit shine like a ballroom gown. Or something. She looks freaking incredible in a suit that’d normally make me nauseous, like a Tilt-a-Whirl or one of those Funhouse mirrors.

  There’s a bit of guilt over breaking her bathing suit, but at the same time, I can’t seem to make the feeling stick. Because it got me an invitation to her mother’s wedding, and the thought of being there with her, on a cruise ship, has me grinning like a lunatic.

  Annie’s already mentioned that she’s the maid of honor, and thinking about seeing her in a dress like that has me all worked up in a way that’s inappropriate at a synchronized swimming routine. For retired women. I try not to visualize taking that dress off her, kissing every inch of her skin under the Caribbean sun, but it’s hard. In so many ways.

  “Okay,” Annie’s Gran calls. “I think we can wrap up for today. Can I get a picture with the group?”

  “Sorry,” I say gruffly. “Gotta go. Coach wants me early to practice.”

  “But—” Gran says. “Pictures!”

  “Sorry,” I whisper to Annie. “I’ve gotta go.”

  “No picture?” she asks.

  “You don’t want me in a picture. Trust me.”

  Annie takes one look down, turns a bright pink that brings out the neon in her ruffles, and nods. “Hey, Gran, let’s take the picture later. In our costumes.”

  “Fine,” she says. “I suppose it’s better to have matching suits anyway. See you, Cohen.”

  I pull myself out of the pool and wrap a towel around my waist before turning to wave at the ladies, who all finger-wave back. Then I give eyeballs at Annie until she climbs out of the pool and walks me to the door.

  “So,” I begin. “When can I see you?”

  “What are you doing tonight?” She gives me a playful smile. “I’m free if you are.”

  “That’
s what I like to hear.” I let my hand rest on her shoulder, and my fingers develop a mind of their own. Sliding down her arm, to her wrist, then a quick hop over to her hip. “Sweetheart, I have twenty minutes to kill if you want to meet me in the showers.”

  “Later,” she says. “I promise.”

  I groan. “Are you sure?”

  She leans in, presses her body against mine, and it doesn’t do anything to help with the situation in my pants. “I’m sure.”

  “You’re cruel, and I love you.”

  “I love you, too.”

  With a devilish grin, she disappears into the locker room and leaves me alone with my daydreams. I can’t seem to think straight, and all I’m sure of is that tonight is seeming too far away.

  Chapter 46

  ANNIE

  “This is going to take like, twenty minutes, right?” Cohen asks, casting a skeptical gaze around the mall. “When I said I’d buy you a new bathing suit, I meant that I’d give you my credit card. Not that I’d go shopping with you. I’m not much of a shopper.”

  “Come on! It’s fun. And, we’re celebrating.”

  “What are we celebrating?”

  “Me! You!” I smile as Cohen pulls me into his arms, my sunny yellow dress billowing around my knees as he wraps me in a hug. “I passed the class. Your class.”

  Cohen gives me a peck on the forehead. “Yeah, but don’t you think that sleeping with the teacher gives you a leg up?”

  “Ah.” I wink. “Sure does.”

  Cohen trails off, and I can see him thinking about legs bent up in suggestive ways. I let him think it through for a long minute, mostly because I enjoy being pressed against his chest where he’s got me in a hug.

  We’re at the mall, now, in search of a new swimsuit that I can bring to my mother’s wedding festivities. I’m not a huge shopping queen, but Cohen offered to take me after our swimming class. He came out of the locker room this morning wearing these black jeans that round out every part of his lower half, and a white tee that’s simple, soft, and just sexy enough to turn every woman’s head we pass. I changed my mind. With the right company, the mall’s not so bad.

  Especially when Cohen is completely oblivious to all the neck-cricking and sideways glances from other women. Holding my hand, ducking me into dark corners for stolen kisses—Cohen knows how to make a girl feel special. It’s almost dangerous.

  I graduated from swimming lessons today, much to my mother’s approval. Gran was there, too, as Cohen handed out those stupid certificates, and yes, she’d worn her Go! Annie! socks. Even though the whole thing was silly, it’d felt good to graduate. Me, Leigh, and Jason.

  I’d even treaded water for a minute and swam up and down the stupid pool because I didn’t intend to pass only as the teacher’s pet. Sure, I swam doggy paddle, and yes, I looked like a drowning bird, but I’d done it.

  I’m basically Michael Phelps.

  Minus the abs.

  Minus the ability to eat ten thousand calories per day and not balloon like an elephant.

  “Okay, so where are we going for swimsuits?” Cohen breaks my train of thought. “Is there like... a women’s swimsuit store?”

  “Here.” I pull him into one of the large department stores and weave him through the shoes, the jackets, the bras and pajamas until finally, we reach the summer section. “Tada!”

  Cohen looks at the wall full of swimsuits, agog at the plethora of options. He takes them all in, shakes his head, and finally turns his stare on me. “All of these perfectly functional options, and yet somehow, you managed to select the two worst swimsuits to wear to class?”

  “The green ruffles suit was all Mom!”

  “And the burlap sack?”

  “Yeah,” I say with a grin. “That one was me. Told Gran to make me look like the biggest, ugliest spinster ever so that you wouldn’t want to get involved with me.”

  “And how did that work out?”

  “Well...”

  “Oh, come on,” he says, pulling me into his arms and backing me into a clothing rack. “You know exactly how well that went, judging by the smile you had on your face this morning.”

  I can’t help the blush that creeps up my neck, or the wobbliness in my legs at the memory of this morning. A shower that was worthy of folktales. We’ve been dating for several weeks now, and each week is somehow better than the last. If things keep progressing at this rate, I’ll be a puddle of bliss by autumn.

  Now that we’re finally together, it’s almost an obsession. I don’t think we’ve gone out with friends in over a month. The couch, the bed, the shower—now, they’ve seen plenty of action, not all of it romantic. Last night we’d watched a movie and hadn’t even fooled around. Much. Until this morning. However, judging by the way he’s stumbling around and playing with my hair, the morning is already forgotten, and he’s ready to go again.

  “Grab a suit.”

  “What?” I glance up at him. “I haven’t gotten the chance to look yet.”

  “Grab a suit. Any suit.”

  Cautiously, I extend a hand and reach for the nearest one. I hold it up, waggle my fingers, and raise my shoulders. Turns out to be a maternity suit. “What now?” I ask, curiosity piqued. “What do you want me to do with this?”

  Cohen clearly doesn’t care what sort of suit it is, as he gives me the thumbs up. “Come with me.”

  He pulls me toward the fitting room, casting a shifty-eyed glance around the place before we sneak into it. There’s no front desk attendant, no one stocking clothes, no one else in the changing area. It’s a complete ghost town, which must be a bonus to shopping on a beautiful Saturday afternoon.

  It’s all peace and quiet until Cohen pulls me to him, lowers his head to mine, and whispers in my ear. I’m turning hot and bothered as we crash into one of the fitting rooms.

  “All morning through lessons,” Cohen says. “I couldn’t keep my hands off you, let alone my eyes.”

  “I was wearing that horrible old suit.”

  “I wasn’t looking at the suit.” He locks the door behind us, guides me onto the seat in the corner. “Let me kiss you, sweetheart.”

  “Like I’m going to say no to that.”

  Cohen unzips my sweatshirt to reveal a thin black camisole. There’s no bra underneath which, in my defense, isn’t on purpose. I’d forgotten to bring an extra to change into after swimming, leaving me to go without. Cohen doesn’t seem to mind this development for obvious reasons.

  Letting his hand linger at the tiny spaghetti straps, he lowers one before tiptoeing his fingers across my collarbone to the other. He slides that one down, too, until my breasts spill over the edges. His hand inches lower, little by little, until he’s moving in a way that has me closing my eyes and leaning against the wall for support.

  After a morning spent at the pool, forced to keep our hands off one another, the tension has built up, zipping between us with the ache for more. I’ve never done more than kiss in public—a peck on the cheek with my ex, maybe, so this is new to me. There’s something thrilling about Cohen needing me now, here, and I can feel the logical, practical side of Annie disappearing like magic.

  “Are you doing okay?” he asks, his voice gentle in my ear. “Because I don’t want to stop.”

  “Yeah,” I mumble. “I’m great. Carry on.”

  Fortunately, Cohen’s become an expert at unbuttoning my jeans and getting them over my hips. He leaves the lacey black panties on as he spins me, wrapping a hand around my waist and pressing into me as I rest a hand against the wall.

  I catch a view of the both of us, entangled, in the mirror—and it’s perfect. When his eyes meet mine, an intensity runs through me, and I shudder, my senses more in tune with my body than ever before.

  His fingers play over the fabric as he whispers all sorts of suggestions into my ear, the mere sound of his voice sending shocks of pleasure racing across my skin. His fingers continue their dance across the silky fabric, teasing, toying, and I’m surprised to find th
e low murmurs of delight are sounds coming from me.

  “Cohen,” I whisper, as one of his fingers slides underneath the fabric. “I don’t think we should do this here.”

  “But you’re so ready, sweetheart.” He groans, his finger circling my opening. “I’ll make sure we’re quiet.”

  “Yeah, but...” I trail off as he begins with the small swirls, the ones he knows drive me crazy. My hands curl into fists, and there’s no chance of arguing now. I’m past the point of return, past the point of caring that we’re in the mall, past the point of worrying whether or not people hear us, until—

  “How’s that working out for you in there?” A woman calls through the door with a strong Midwestern drawl. “Need a different size, honey?”

  I glance at Cohen in a panic, yanking my undies up and giving him a light shove away. “Uh, yeah!” I call. “I mean, no. Everything fits... uh, perfectly. Thank you.”

  I wave wildly for Cohen to jump on the bench; if the attendant cares to peek under the stall, she’ll definitely see a set of large male feet. I’m pretty sure this is a women’s dressing room, but then again, I was too distracted to check.

  “Great!” she chirps back. “Well, I’ll be waiting right here. My name is Sharon, so just holler if I can help you with anything, dear.”

  “Aw, hell, Sharon,” Cohen murmurs.

  I glare at Cohen, trying to make him evaporate outside with my mind, but it doesn’t work. He capitalizes on my silence, brushing a hand low, tenderly over my bare stomach that sends erotic thrills straight to my core. For a brief moment, I wonder if we can be extra extra quiet—no doubt, he’d make the risk worth it.

  Then Sharon ruins everything. Freaking Sharon. She starts humming Yankee Doodle just outside of the stall, and this brings back logical Annie with the force of a typhoon.

  I can’t get arrested for having sex in a department store dressing room. I want to be a lawyer. To graduate from college. I can’t risk these achievements, not even if Cohen’s promising amazing orgasms in the meantime.

  “Let’s go,” I mouth to Cohen, peeling his hands off my lady parts. “I’ll run out first. You can do the walk of shame later.”