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

by Lily Kate

  Chapter 53

  ANNIE

  I can’t tell what’s going through his mind as he strides down the hall toward me. His eyes are dark and murky, yet his footsteps are clear and purposeful. There’s a lick of anger on his face fading into something uncertain, cautious even, as he nears me.

  At the same time, my phone pings with a message from Andi, probably alerting me on Cohen’s movements. I swipe it to the side—to reply later—and focus my attention toward the figure striding toward me.

  “Cohen,” I say, swallowing, wiping away the last of the salty droplets sliding down my cheeks. “I need to talk to you.”

  Without a word, he unlocks the door and ushers me in from the hallway. I walk in slowly, wondering if he’s too upset to speak, or merely annoyed to find me camping outside of his apartment. His lips are pressed tight together, his face a wall of stone.

  A sliver of stubborn rises through me, starting at my core and blooming until I’m feeling thin tendrils of frustration at myself—at my goose bumps, my wobbly legs, my insecurities. I might be a woman in love, but I’m here for a reason, and I’m not leaving until Cohen’s heard what I have to say.

  “Annie.” Cohen’s back is to me as he closes the door. He leaves his hands pressed against it when he starts speaking. “I’m sorry—”

  “No,” I interrupt. “Stop.”

  “I should’ve—”

  “Stop.” My voice comes out loud, breaking with emotion. “Please, just let me say what I’ve come to say.”

  Cohen’s gaze lands on me, his eyes surprisingly bright, if a bit distant, as if he’s already hardened himself to whatever’s coming next. A sigh sinks from his chest, stealing the last ounce of energy from his face. “I’m all yours.”

  As much as I want to reach for him, touch his hand, whisper a word of reassurance in his ear, I can’t do it. I can’t avoid the problem like I did with the lake, the water, for years.

  If I’ve learned anything these last few weeks, it’s that love, much like fear, isn’t something that vanishes on its own. It doesn’t disappear when shoved behind a wall or swept under the rug. It lingers, out of sight, growing in silence.

  When flowers grow, they bloom into beauty and joy and love. But when it’s fear, regrets, missed opportunities—it grows into a chokehold strangling all brightness. For Cohen and me, there are no short cuts. There’s no way over the walls between us. There are no ways under or around it. If we’re going to make this work, we’ll have to go through it.

  “I realized something, tonight,” I tell him, my fingers wrestling before my body. “I came here to tell you I loved you.”

  “Annie—”

  “Wait, please.” I step backward, needing the extra distance to gather my thoughts. “I wanted to apologize. For pushing you too far, too fast, too serious. At the lake, maybe I shouldn’t have asked about marriage. We haven’t even known each other a year. We have time to figure those things out, I’m sure.”

  He absorbs my words, the expression on his face hard as slate. As per my instructions, he stays quiet, unmoving save for a twitch of his fingers.

  “But I was sitting out there, crying in your hallway, and I decided that I’m not really here to apologize.” I’m not shaky, but my voice cracks from the effort. “I’m here because I love you, and I am not going to let you give up on us. If, of course, you love me back.”

  He shifts, moving his arms to cross his chest. Still no reaction on his face. “I do love you.”

  I nod, buoyed by this confirmation. “I thought that we could never find love. We’re too different.” I shake my head, a new wave of tears pricking at my eyes. “But I was wrong. Completely and utterly wrong.”

  “I know,” he says, finally offering an upward curve of his lips. “And I’m glad.”

  “But this time, you’re wrong,” I tell him, gaining momentum. “You’ve been avoiding me all night. Not answering my calls. We’d made plans to meet up after your game, Cohen. I wanted to see you, win or lose.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “Don’t apologize! Just stop pushing me away. You have to let me in—especially now.”

  I’m moving toward him, my hands reaching, grasping his arms. I can’t appreciate the sturdiness of him, the maleness in his unwavering stance. I can only latch onto his warmth.

  “I don’t care if you score a million goals or zero goals. That doesn’t change how I feel about you. I don’t care that your coach thinks you’re not marriage material—he’s wrong, too.”

  “You’re not upset about that?”

  “Of course not!” He looks surprised by this, so I continue. “What were you supposed to say?”

  He exhales a breath, the first fissure in his stony face showing. I can’t tell if it’s a look of relief, or a look of disappointment. My palms turn slick with the uncertainty.

  “Look, I’m not asking for you to say anything back. But I am here because I’m not, I can’t, let you put up shields to guard yourself from this...” I stop, swallow. “From something this special, this sweet, this... right without a fight. You helped to take my walls down, now let me do the same for you.”

  Tears stream down my face, and my entire body is weak. I’m on the verge of collapsing against him, a wave of exhaustion hitting me hard after spilling the contents of my heart. If I’ve read this all wrong, if Cohen tells me he’s no longer interested, I will be broken.

  However, before I let myself give in to the tiredness, Cohen gathers me in his arms. He dries my eyes with a touch of his sleeve before resting his cheek against my forehead, his scent bringing me home.

  After resting like this for a long moment, he presses his thumb to my chin and tilts my head back until I’m looking into those portals of green.

  “I came here tonight to tell you that I’ll marry you. Tonight, tomorrow, whenever.” Cohen kisses me with a motion so tender, so gentle, it brings a stifled sob to my throat. “I love you, Annie, and I want to be with you forever.”

  I clutch to him, holding him as his words sink in. “Cohen, we don’t... we don’t have to get married anytime soon. That’s not what this is about.”

  “Oh, thank God,” he breathes over my shoulder as he lifts me into a hug, my feet lifting from the floor, a light laugh on his lips. “I’m not ready for that yet. But if you wanted it, I’d do it for you.”

  “I know, Cohen, but we can get there, together. Just like we got here together.”

  “Can I take you to bed?”

  “Please.”

  My legs wrap around his waist as he connects us with a kiss. There’s an urgency between us that’s never been there before. We’ve made love in sweet and tender ways, in the throes of passionate lust, but it’s never been like this. Never so raw, so emotional.

  He peels off my clothes as the moon streams through the white curtains of his bedroom, then lays me open on the bed there. As he slides out of his pants, his shirt, I watch every movement, every motion in unbridled anticipation.

  When he climbs onto the bed, my arms are wide, begging for him to fill the gap, the emptiness against my chest.

  His eyes darken as he drinks me in, his hand searching lower, lower, until he finds me ready. “God, Annie, I love you more than anything.”

  “I love you, too.”

  With a groan of primal pleasure, he pushes inside, and the sensation is too much. Too much of everything good, of everything soulful and sweet. When he moves, I can barely hold onto him as my back arches, my hips rising to meet him, matching him beat for beat.

  The silver of starlight dances across the deep green of his eyes, the pale scar across his eyebrow. My hands twist through moon-drenched hair as he brushes his lips to my neck, my collarbone, my mouth.

  His hand presses firm to my stomach, then slides round to my back, lifting me, holding me until we’re both rushing toward the deepest depths of pleasure.

  We rise together, a cry escaping from one, or both of us, as we reach the climax. My nails dig into his back as he hol
ds me to his chest, hearts beating in sync with one another, as if to separate would be to perish.

  Cohen eases us down, back to the mattress as the waves subside. Pulling me into his arms, he caresses every inch of my skin, presses light kisses against my neck.

  I shiver, a jolt of happiness trembling down my spine.

  “I need to hold you tonight,” he whispers against my ear. “Don’t leave.”

  In answer, I snuggle closer to him.

  “When I promised you I’d show up,” he says, his lips pressed to my temple, “I meant it.”

  “I know, Cohen.”

  “I’m going to show up to love you. I’ll hold you when you cry and laugh when you’re giddy. And I’m going to show up to marry you. I’ll show up for kids, too, if that’s what you want. I promise I’ll be there as long as you’ll have me.”

  I roll to face him, eyes smarting. “I’m going to show up, too,” I say, pressing a kiss to his forehead. “I promise.”

  We curl together, wrapped in the warmth from our bodies. A new level of comfort has settled over us. Despite this, I can’t seem to fall asleep. My eyes are glued open, even as I hear Cohen’s breathing begin to even a half an hour later.

  “Cohen,” I whisper, giving him a nudge to the ribs. “You awake?”

  “Mmm.”

  “Remember, a little while ago, when you promised you’d show up for anything?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Great.” I roll to him, caressing his naked back with the tips of my fingers. “Gran bought you a Speedo for the competition. How do you feel about wearing it?”

  His eyes flash open. “No.”

  “I love you, too.”

  Epilogue

  ANNIE

  “Put that away.”

  “Can you believe this was what... seven years ago?” I hold up the photo and sigh wistfully, giving my husband a wink. “You’d never do something like this for me now. You were so romantic back then, weren’t you?”

  Cohen grins, handsome as ever, and slides an arm around my neck while he glances at the photo. He shifts uncomfortably at the sight of us holding participation medals during our synchronized swimming days which, considering we’d come in last, was more of a prize than we’d expected.

  He presses a kiss to my forehead, runs a hand over my stomach, and shakes his head. “Whatever you want, honey. Just no more Speedos.”

  We’re standing next to a table on the pool deck of a Caribbean cruise ship. I’d say we are celebrating my birthday, but the real reason we’re here is because my mother and Claude are renewing their vows. Again.

  “Where’s Bre?” I ask, tucking myself under his arm. “Is she with Gran?”

  “Here! Here!” A small voice shouts. A bundle of energy arrives in a flurry, pitching herself into her dad’s legs. She’s got jade green eyes, just like him, and a smile that melts my heart. “Can we go swimming? Dad. Dad?! Mom. Can you swim with me?”

  Cohen lifts her up and gives her a huge smooch to a set of chubby cheeks. “In a minute, sweetheart.”

  “Oh, now that’s a pip of a photo.” Gran appears behind Bre and looks over our shoulder at the old synchronized swimming snapshot. “I remember those days. We won, didn’t we?”

  “Sort of,” I say with a grin. “We won best dressed. We got last place in the competition.”

  Gran winks at Cohen. “They probably liked your suit.”

  He turns red, looks at me over Bre’s head, and uses our now-perfected signal for escape.

  “Why don’t you take Bre swimming for a minute,” I say, watching relief flood into his eyes. “Me and Gran will hunt down some snacks.”

  Cohen doesn’t need asking twice. Setting Bre on her feet, holding her hand, the two make their way to the side of the pool. Cohen slides in first, then turns and opens his arms. Bre’s standing on the edge, knees positively shaking with excitement. Luckily for her, she inherited her father’s lack of fear for dangerous things.

  Cohen’s arms are wide, but Bre’s already taking off, flying through the air before he’s completely ready. She plops into the water, her little four-year-old body tucked into a compact cannon ball.

  Laughing, Cohen reaches for her and pulls her to the surface. Blinking water from huge, bright green eyes, Bre looks for a moment like she’s going to cry. Then, she throws her head back and laughs, giggles, and wraps her arms around her dad.

  “Aren’t they cute,” Gran says. “Do you think I can recruit her to be on my synchronized swimming team in a few years?”

  I raise my eyebrow at Gran. “Already?”

  “Just think. We could have three generations at once. Do you think Cohen would participate again?”

  I cross my arms, knowing he’d hate being asked. Which is why I wouldn’t ask him because I also know he’d do just about anything for me, for us, for our family. He’d proven that to me since the day we’d met.

  We’d waited until I was twenty-five to get married and, just over a year later, Bre arrived. She hadn’t exactly been planned, but she’d come when she’d been ready—and now, four years later, she still does exactly as she pleases.

  I’d finished law school and now work part time as a lawyer. The part time is because Baby James #2 is well on his way, and I’m taking extra time off to enjoy my family. I rest a hand over my growing stomach, wondering what it’ll be like when we have four little feet to chase instead of two.

  My eyes rove over the crystal blue waters of the Caribbean, the upscale dining area next to the pool, the palm trees waving on the nearest shore in the summer breeze. My gaze lands on the two loves of my life as they splash around in the pool, singing silly songs and giggling over secrets.

  Cohen’s eyes land on me from across the deck, and my eyes are torn away from that sculpted body I’ve come to know so well, catching his piercing stare. His eyes soften like butter, and hold there as he smiles. Then his gaze travels down, lower and lower, before dragging it back to my face. Nearly seven years together have taught me to read his every expression, and I know exactly what he’s thinking.

  Mr. Cohen James wants some time alone. My theories come to fruition when, after a few more flying leaps from Bre, Cohen ushers her out of the pool and brings her back to Gran and me.

  Water ripples down Cohen’s shoulders, over his slim, rock-hard abs, and I can’t wait to get my fingers on them. The man turns more and more handsome with age, and every day we spend together is another day I fall deeper in love.

  “Say, I’ve been wondering, grandson-in-law,” Gran wheedles. “Are you up for another synchronized swimming competition?”

  “Sorry, Gran,” he says. “I don’t think so.”

  “But you were such a hit at the first one!”

  “I’ll tell you what,” Cohen says, lifting Bre to his chest. “If you watch Bre here for the next hour or two, I’ll do whatever you tell me. Within reason.”

  “Really?” Gran narrows her eyes between us “Wait a second. I know what’s going on here.”

  “I’m so tired.” I fake a yawn, rest a hand over my mouth, and arch my back as if in pain. “Cohen’s going to walk me to bed.”

  “Well, okay then.” Gran sticks out her hand to Bre. “I can’t be without my partner in crime, anyway. Let’s go, kiddo. I hear they’ve got cheese sticks down at the buffet. Let’s go find them.”

  Once they’re gone, Cohen turns to me. “I hope you don’t mind I stole you away, but I have plans for you.”

  “Mind?” I turn to him, raise an eyebrow, and sink into his embrace. “Mind? Sweep me away anytime you like.”

  We haven’t made it off the pool deck yet, and already his hands have planted firmly around my waist. They slide around my body as he guides me into the hallway.

  We’re walking awkwardly, our limbs entangled, the sound of our laughter like two teens sneaking off under the bleachers. He gives the elastic of my bikini bottoms a playful snap as we hurry toward our room.

  Cohen doesn’t care we’re not at our room yet. He take
s a brief break in the privacy of an abandoned corner of the hallway, far from prying eyes. Circling his hands around my waist, he issues a spicy kiss against my neck that sends ripples of anticipation prickling across my skin.

  When he leans in closer, whispering a few naughty suggestions in my ear, I’m tingling from head to toe, needing him right then and there. “Where’s our room?” I say more urgently. “Let’s go. Quickly.”

  “That’s what I thought,” he murmurs in a low, husky voice, with a smirk on his lips as he pulls back. He gives me a squeeze, then urges us onward. “Not far now.”

  “Oh, there you are! Amanda!” Claude rushes toward us. “I am supposed to give you a present from your mother.”

  “Thanks, Clyde,” I tell him as he arrives in a swimsuit severely lacking in square footage. “Can we do this later, maybe? At the party?”

  “The party?”

  “My birthday party.” I’m trying to focus, but it’s difficult. Cohen’s taken me as a hostage, holding me in front of his body. “That’s, uh... there’s a party later.”

  “Oh, yeah, sure,” he says, eyeing the pair of us and getting the picture. “I’m going to get some sun, then.”

  A few more steps down the hall have us tangled up in another embrace, one of my legs wrapping around Cohen as he takes a firm grip of my rear end. For balance, he claims. We’re desperately close to our room, but now that we have a daughter, we’ve got precious few minutes of alone time, and neither of us want to waste a second.

  Until a throat clears behind us. That hasn’t happened in years, and I’m breathing heavily, my face pink as I turn to find my mother.

  “Hello, birthday girl and Cohen.” My mother gives us a stiff nod. We never nod at each other—clearly, she’s uncomfortable. “Have you seen Claude?”

  “He was just looking for Amanda,” Cohen says. “We sent him up to the deck.”

  “Oh, well, he forgot his sunscreen, and he’s burning. I’ll find him and... I suppose I’ll see you later tonight at the party?”