“Like shopping,” she chirps as her fingers tickle my back.
“Shopping?” I will my eyes to stay open so as not to get lost in her delicate caress.
“Mmhmm. You, my love, are getting a new birthday outfit.”
“Ave—”
“Don’t try and argue. I won’t listen. It’s tradition. We’ll get dressed up for your birthday dinner—just you and me, Hottie—then it’s party time!”
I lift my head from her chest and bring my eyes up to meet hers. “I don’t need—”
“La, la, la, la, la!” she sings loudly.
“Avery,” I mutter with a playful scowl.
“Happy birthday to you,” she sings louder. “Happy birthday to you!”
“Avery,” I chuckle.
“Happy birthday dear Sonnyyyyy—oh!” She squeaks and squirms as I begin to tickle her. “Stop, stop, stop,” she insists through her laughter. “I’ll stop singing!”
“Will you stop buying me presents?” I ask, pausing my attack as I wait for an answer.
“Hmm…how about I promise that after today I won’t buy you any more presents until Christmas?”
A wicked grin spreads across my face as I shake my head at her. “Not good enough,” I say as my fingers go back to work.
“Okay—Okay! One year anniversary!”
I stop immediately, my smile slipping as I let her words sink in. Just the idea of celebrating a year gone by with the girl in my arms makes my heart swell. I’ll probably never appreciate birthdays the way that she does, but I will always appreciate her and how she’s forever changed me. Marking time with her will constantly be something worth celebrating. “Deal,” I agree with a nod.
“Perfect. Which means we’re going shopping now!”
“I guess,” I grumble as I lift myself up. When I’m on my feet, I reach for her hands and help her up, too. As she grabs her purse, I remember about the trash—the card in the trash—and I decide to take it out on our way to the car. I don’t even think twice about it. I don’t have to. Whatever is inside isn’t important to me.
“Hey, what are you doing?”
“I’m just going to take this out.”
“Oh—no. You can’t do that,” she tells me, shaking her head to emphasize her point.
“Why not?” I ask, confused by her flustered state.
“Because—because it’s your birthday,” she stammers. “You can’t do chores on your birthday. Here—” She reaches for the fuzzy dice, still on the bed, and hands them to me. “Take these and put them in your car. I’ll take the trash out.”
“Ave, it’s fine, I can—”
“I insist,” she declares, snatching the bag out of my hand. “I’ll meet you at the car.”
Before I can argue, she’s out the door.
It’s almost ten o’clock and if there was anyone in the pub’s bar that wasn’t here for Grayson’s party, they’re either gone or they’ve now joined in on the festivities. I’m pretty sure I’ve never seen this place so crowded or so loud! Sarah and I have actually snuck away from the group a couple times to help Marla and the other waiters on duty deliver orders. It’s insane—and just as grand as Avery imagined.
Needless to say, the six dozen funfetti cupcakes that Sarah, Claire, and I frosted earlier today are now just a memory. Or acting as a sponge in the stomachs of those who are drinking to their heart’s content.
“Birthday shot!” I don’t know who just called out the demand, but I can’t help but giggle as I look over at Grayson. He’s sitting at a table in the middle of the room, looking more comfortable and happy then I think I’ve ever seen him. He’s wearing a new outfit that has Avery’s name all over it. The light weight, crew neck sweater he’s got on is green—like spring grass—and brings out his eyes. It hugs him all over and he’s got the sleeves pushed up over his forearms. His jeans are a dark washed blue, which provide the perfect contrast to my birthday gift to him—a pair of tan cordones Toms. When I told Avery about my idea for his present, she flipped. I knew she would, seeing as she owns about six pairs herself.
Of course, the best accessory Gray is currently wearing is my sister. She’s perched on one of his legs, his arms wrapped around her loosely. Tonight, she’s wearing a white sleeveless, collared-shirt dress. It’s short and cinched at her waist and she looks absolutely adorable. I love the way her long, dark, mane stands out against the fabric. She's let it grow longer this summer, so it's almost down to her waist. With her green crocheted Toms, the two of them look like they were made for each other.
When Gray catches me looking at him, a sly grin tugs at his lips and I shake my head at him. “Addie!” he calls out, pointing directly at me. I groan and laugh at the same time, knowing it was bound to happen sooner or later.
Grayson doesn’t drink. Everybody knows that. Even still, when the guys on his team thought they could convince him to do one shot, in honor of the occasion, they were disappointed to find out that he wouldn’t bend—that is, until he assigned the shot to someone else. In the last hour and half, birthday shots have been consumed by at least half of the crowd. At this point, it’s a game I’m sure won’t stop until the bar is closed. I have no idea how I got away with not being spotted this long, but it appears my luck has run out.
A big guy—defensive lineman big—pushes his way through a crowd of people to get to me and then places the small shot glass on the table. “For the birthday boy,” he cries, and the room erupts in a united cheer. Since I don’t plan on driving later, I don’t have an excuse to refuse. Instead, I raise the glass to the man of the hour, who dips his head in amused acknowledgment, and throw back whatever clear liquid is inside. I feel the burn all the way down to my stomach and I can’t help but make a face, showcasing my opinion of the taste. The round of applause I receive for being a good sport encourages me to shrug it off.
“You took that like a champ.”
I turn and spot Roman squeezed into the space beside me. I haven’t seen him in at least an hour and I was afraid he’d left. “Where’ve you been? You disappeared on me.”
“I’ve been helping behind the bar. It’s crazy in here tonight; I thought I’d lend a hand for a little bit.”
I notice that he’s a little more wrinkled now than he was when he came in. The skinny black and blue striped tie around his neck is loosened and the first couple buttons on his sky-blue shirt are open. His cuffs are undone and the sleeves are rolled and pushed up to his elbows. He’s untucked the bottom from his jeans and I can’t deny that he looks wonderfully disheveled. I wonder if Sarah has caught a glimpse of him like this.
“That was nice of you,” I comment.
“It wasn’t a big deal,” he says with a shrug as he slides a glass filled with a bubbly golden drink toward me. “I got you this. I know hard cider is your preference.”
“Oh, thanks, Roman,” I reply, nudging him with my shoulder. “You shouldn’t have.”
“I might have seen you working a little, too. You deserve it.”
“It wasn’t a big deal,” I say, mimicking his previous response. He grins at me and I take a sip of my beer.
“Think he’s having fun?” he asks, nodding behind him.
When I peek back over my shoulder, I see Gray whispering something in Avery’s ear. She blushes before delivering a kiss on his cheek. “Yeah,” I tell Roman. “I think he is.”
“Looks like Avery’s hard work paid off. Those cupcakes were amazing. Thank you for insisting that I have one, in spite of my usual distaste for such sweets.”
“You’re welcome. Though, Sarah really deserves all the praise.”
“Hmm? What? Is someone blaming me for something?” Roman and I turn and find Sarah approaching our table. Claire is with her, their arms wrapped around each other as they stand hip-to-hip.
“I was just telling Roman that you are to thank for the cupcakes.”
“You liked them?” she coos. I could spot the twinkle in her eye across the room if that’s where I was. She is t
otally smitten with him. Yet, even after an entire summer of hanging out with him, she refuses to admit it.
“Yeah! They were great.”
“Well, thank you, handsome,” she replies with a tiny curtsy.
“Hey, where’d you get that drink?” asks Claire with a pout. “I could have sworn you were empty handed a second ago. Sar-bear and I were coming over here to snag you away and take you to the bar.”
“Blame this guy,” I instruct, nudging Roman with my elbow. “He brought me something.”
“Did he?” Claire arches an eyebrow as her gaze shifts to Roman.
“Did you guys want something? I can head back that way.”
“Sure. Thanks,” says Claire, without a moment’s hesitation. “We’ll have what she’s having.”
“You bet. I’ll be right back,” he says, squeezing my shoulder as he goes.
“What the hell?” scoffs Claire as soon as he’s out of ear shot. She pulls away from Sarah and presses her fists against her hips. “I know I was gone for the summer, but I feel like I’ve come back to the Twilight Zone.”
“What are you talking about?” I ask, furrowing my eyebrows in confusion.
“When I left, he was the guy behind the bar. Now? He’s the guy buying you drinks.”
My jaw drops as I draw meaning from her words. “I hope you’re not implying that you think there’s something going on between us. We’re just friends.”
“Yeah. Okay. Except, I have a feeling Sarah and I just interrupted something—like him buying you a drink.”
“Claire,” I can’t help but laugh at her assumptions. It’s ridiculous for her to read anything into what’s going on between Roman and me, since there isn’t anything going on. “It’s just a drink. Need I remind you that he just left to buy you a drink, too?”
“Please!” she scoffs, again. “He knows that’s what he’s got to do to win you over; buy your girlfriends drinks.”
“What? No. Sarah, help me out, will you? Have I not been trying to talk you into going out with him the whole summer?”
“Yeah. Umhmm,” she answers distractedly, looking everywhere but at me.
“So, he’s into Sarah?” Claire asks, clearly not convinced.
“No,” Sarah answers before I can. “And I’m not into him. So. That’s that.”
I eye her suspiciously, curious as to why she’s acting so weird. She’s starting to fidget with her fingers and her cheeks are turning a shade of light pink as she blushes just the tiniest bit. Knowing Sarah only blushes when she’s intoxicated, I wonder how much she’s had to drink.
“She does like him,” I tell Claire. “She just refuses to admit it. Although, I’m having a really hard time figuring out why.”
Claire looks from me to Sarah and then back at me. “Maybe it’s because it’s obvious that he likes you.”
Sarah lets out a relieved sigh. “You see it, too?”
All of a sudden, my brain feels like it’s been scrambled. I shake my head before I ask, “What?!”
“Newsflash, babe,” says Claire, giving my shoulder a squeeze. “He wants to be more than friends.”
I gape at them for a moment, completely at a loss for words. They’re wrong. They are so wrong! Roman and I are just friends. There’s no way that he likes me. He knows about Beckham and me—he wouldn’t fall for me knowing that my heart belongs to someone else. “No,” I tell them. “You’re wrong. It’s not like that between us. We’re just friends.”
Sarah sighs, once more; only this time, I sense more frustration than anything else. “Twinkles,” she begins to say, looking straight at me. “We’re not wrong. I mean—I’ve been hoping that there was a chance that I was wrong, but Claire just confirmed it. She took one look at the two of you and she could see it. He likes you. I get it, you know? You’re still totally into Beck so you can’t see it, but he likes you.”
“No,” I repeat dumbly. “You like him. He’s supposed to like you.”
“I don’t like him,” she says softly—so softly that I know she’s lying. Even worse, I know she knows she’s lying. “I try not to crush on guys who have the hots for my best friend.”
Before I can put up any more of an argument, Roman is back.
“Here you go, ladies.”
“Thanks,” they say in unison.
There’s an awkward silence between the four of us and I don’t know how to break it. I’m still floored by the fact that my friends—my best friend included—think that the guy standing next to me wants to be more than my friend; when, in reality, he’s spent the last four months being nothing but a wonderful person for me to talk to and hang out with. I just can’t believe that he wants more. As I rack my brain trying to figure out if there is any ounce of truth to what Sarah and Claire have said, I’m far too distracted to carry on a conversation.
“Birthday shot!”
That voice catches my attention and pulls me away from my thoughts. Great. Logan is here.
If anyone is going to accuse anyone of having feelings for the emotionally unavailable, it should be her. I know she likes Beckham and yet, no one believes me. Not even Avery, who is not even particularly fond of Logan, will take my side. Everyone is under the impression that she just likes to flirt—but I see the way she flirts with Beckham. It’s different than the way she throws herself at other guys. Besides—nobody saw the way she was with him the night they were here having dinner together. I haven’t seen them alone together since, for which I am so grateful, but it would be even better if she just kept her distance altogether. She’s not very nice. In fact, the only people who seem to be able to get along with her are Beckham, Trevor, and Daphne.
“Roman!” calls out Grayson, pointing in our direction.
Double great. Now she’s headed over here. Thanks, Gray.
Even though she must have just arrived a few minutes ago, she’s apparently been brought up to speed on the birthday shot game, and she saunters her way over to us. She’s wearing a red halter-top dress that’s so tight and so short, it should be illegal. I’m annoyed at how good it looks on her. Her blonde hair is pulled back into a low bun and a few strands hang loose around her face. The smirk that she flashes Roman implies that she’d like to rip all of his clothes off and I can hardly stand to watch it; then again, I also can’t take my eyes off of her.
“Drink up, babe,” she says once she’s at Roman’s side. She rests her hand on his shoulder as she hands him the shot and then kisses his cheek. He doesn’t even flinch, apparently immune to her advances, and throws back the drink. “That was hot,” she purrs with a wicked grin, reclaiming the glass. “I think I need one now.” She winks at him before she disappears into the crowd, heading toward the bar.
I like him better when he’s behind the bar.
I don’t know Roman very well; he seems nice enough and he’s never done anything to warrant any hard feelings from me, but he’s not my favorite person. I like him a lot more when he’s behind the bar. It’s obvious to everyone that he and Addie have become familiar with one another. They’re friends. I might not have the right to be jealous, especially considering I’m friends with Logan—whom I know Addie doesn’t like—but I can’t help it. I am jealous. I’m jealous of his proximity to her right now. I’m jealous of the way he leans toward her so she can hear what he’s saying. I’m jealous of the way he makes her laugh and the way she nudges him with her shoulder. I can’t deny my jealousy or pretend it doesn’t exist. It’s just too all encompassing.
But it’s not my jealousy that fuels my dislike for the guy. I don’t like him because I know he has feelings for Addie. At the beginning of the summer, it was just a possibility—but now? There’s no doubt in my mind. I can’t blame him. She’s amazing and beautiful and currently single so…it’s practically impossible for him not to like her. Every time I see them together, I feel like the idiot who let her go—but then I remind myself that I haven’t let her go. I did what felt right at the time; what feels right even now.
I�
�m not asking why. I’m only concerned with when.
But it kills me that I’m in no position to claim her as mine. Only she can do that. Talk about trusting her feelings for me. This feels like the biggest test—each of us having to trust each other and the promises we’ve made; her to wait, and me to find my way back.
“Hey.” I’m pulled from my thoughts at the sound of her voice and the feel of her hand squeezing my shoulder. I look beside me at Avery, who’s sitting in Gray’s lap, and meet her pretty brown eyes—identical to the eyes of the woman I love. “She’s yours. Regardless of what that looks like. Don’t forget it.”
I offer her a small smile, slightly comforted by her words. “Thanks.”
“Okay, birthday Gray, are you planning on sharing your girl or do you have her on lock down all night?” Daphne asks as she wraps her arms around Avery from behind, resting her chin on Avery’s shoulder.
“Depends, where are you taking her?”
“No depends!” calls out Logan as she joins in, wrapping her arms around Daphne’s middle. She showed up to the pub about an hour ago with her co-workers, who were all anxious to join in on our fun. At this point, everyone who walks into the bar ends up being a part of the party and Gray has been doling out birthday shots from strangers all night. It’s actually been pretty great. “She’s coming! There will be dancing.” I can tell that Logan’s had a few drinks by the way she’s draped over her best friend. She gets more friendly the more alcohol she has.
“Dancing?” asks Avery, seemingly intrigued.
“Daph says I’m not allowed to gift the man of the evening with a lap dance,” Logan giggles. Avery’s back stiffens as she casts a glare over her shoulder. Daphne rolls her eyes and Logan ignores them both. “So, I’ve had to settle for the next best thing. Daph also told me I can’t dance for the birthday boy without his girlfriend. So, you’re coming! She’s coming,” she instructs Gray with a playful scowl.
I chuckle, because it’s amusing to watch Logan be Logan. I’m also surprised that she’s in a listening mood tonight—surprised and grateful. Avery’s claws might come out if Logan got anywhere near Gray’s lap.
The Promises We Keep (Made for Love Book 1) Page 36
