“No kidding.” I lift her out of the cart and set her down in front of me, my cock still straining against my gym shorts. “Now, where were we?”
“You can’t be serious.” She scrunches her nose up adorably. “I probably smell like dirty socks.”
I give a teasing sniff. “Technically, you smell like dirty socks and flowers. My favorite combination.”
She laughs, and then, catching herself, claps a hand over her mouth.
I glance at the clock above the door. “What do you say? I figure we’ve got at least five minutes until he gives up on his search.”
Ava arches a brow, and a wicked smile curves her beautiful lips. “You think you can get me off in five minutes?”
“Darlin’, I’m only going to need three, but you have to promise not to scream.”
25
AVA
Happy birthday to me.
Nothing says “Welcome to Your Thirties” like cheap wine and carryout pizza. I drop my haul on the breakfast bar and hang my bag on the back of a stool. I ducked out of work early to beat the traffic, which, in retrospect, seems a bit depressing. You know, since I’m going to be sitting around drinking alone.
Maybe if you’d told someone it was your birthday, you wouldn’t be celebrating alone.
It’s fine. I’ve never been one to make a big fuss about my birthday, and that’s doubly true this year. After all, who was I going to tell—my dad?
I snort-laugh at the absurdity.
Wait. Should I have told him? No, that would’ve been weird.
Things between us are getting better. He’s been less over-the-top about my safety and he hasn’t mentioned dating or sex or anything of the sort—thank God—since the disaster dinner with Arlo.
Still, the idea of announcing my birthday feels strange. Like I’d low-key be asking him to shower me with gifts and attention.
No, it’s definitely better this way. If he wants to know my birthday, he’ll ask.
I grab a corkscrew from the utensil drawer, and I’m just about to open the wine when my phone vibrates. I check the screen and swipe accept on the FaceTime video.
Mom and Nana appear on the screen, their smiling faces in separate boxes.
I grin. It’s just like them to plan a joint birthday call.
Some things never change.
“Happy birthday!” they say in unison, their accents identical.
It’s been years since I’ve lived in Texas full-time, but hearing that Lonestar twang always gives me a twinge of homesickness.
My chest squeezes, the longing twice as strong today since I’m already in my feelings.
“Thank you.”
“So,” Nana says. “What did you do today? Did your father give you the day off?”
Leave it to Nana to get right to the heart of the matter.
“Adam isn’t technically my boss,” I say, sidestepping the question.
Mom frowns. “But you told him it’s your birthday?”