Birthday Girl(100)

She rests her head back on the seat, staring out the windshield. “Oh, are you laying down the law now?”

“I don’t like worrying. This gets settled now.”

I don’t really think she’s serious, but I like things carved in stone.

She just shrugs. “My sister makes good money. She’s not hurting anyone, and I’m not letting anyone support me.” She pauses and then continues. “I guess I’ll do what I have to do. I don’t really need your permission, you know?”

I dig in my eyebrows, the irritation of this situation crawling up my back.

But then I remember how hard she had to be pulled on stage tonight, obviously deciding that a wet T-shirt contest was not for her, no matter if she had gotten dressed for it or not.

I let out a little snort, remembering the way she protested. “I don’t even know what I’m concerned about,” I say, my voice thick with humor. “You’re a good girl. You don’t have what it takes to work there.”

“I’m not a girl.”

I press my lips together to stop smiling, but it’s hard. I know, I know, she’s a woman.

“And if Dutch or that little prick Jay or any of the guys who work for me come in?” I press. “You gonna be able to wear a bikini behind the bar and serve them drinks, or even worse, take off your clothes and dance for them? Let them use you to get off? Sit in their laps and rub up on them for forty bucks?”

I can’t help but laugh under my breath at the ridiculous notion. If she actually thinks about it and mentally puts herself in that situation, she’ll know it’s absurd.

She turns her head toward me. “Are you laughing at me?”

“I’m saying I know you,” I tell her, evening out my tone. “You and I both know you don’t have the guts any more than I would, so let’s stop wasting time arguing about something that will never happen.”

She faces forward and turns silent, but I see her jaw tense as she stares out the windshield. Assuming I know her mind more than she does is probably condescending, but she’s acting childish, keeping up this pretense. She has more common sense than that, and I don’t like games. She knows she would never be able to deal with those customers, and she definitely can’t strip and dance naked. She’d probably be so embarrassed to be stared at she’d break into tears.

Seven minutes later, though, I pull into the driveway, and she hops out before I’ve even killed the engine.

“Jordan?” I call, swinging my door open.

What the hell? We’re not fighting again, are we?

But she glances over her shoulder as she walks toward the porch. “I’m just gonna get in my swimsuit.”

I stand there, twirling the keyring on my finger. Oooookay.

Awareness pricks on the back of my neck, and I turn my head, scanning the neighborhood for Cole’s car or his mother’s. Then I dart my gaze over the windows of nearby houses for peeled-back curtains or movement.

I’m sure there’s talk on the block by now.

People notice things, and Cole is rarely here, while his girlfriend and I are constantly together. It won’t take long for people to come to their own conclusions.

By the time I make it into the house, Jordan is nowhere to be seen. Trailing upstairs, I pass her closed bedroom door and head to my room to change into swim shorts. She’s still in her room when I come out, and I head back downstairs to grab some water bottles and turn on the backyard lights. The pool lights up, and I turn on the radio affixed underneath the cabinet, some chick singing about Guys My Age already playing on the station Jordan has it tuned to.

My phone beeps with an unfamiliar ring, and I walk over to the island and pick it up.

Jordan. Why is she FaceTiming me?

Answering, I see her appear on the screen, but she’s looking down at me, like her phone

is propped up on something lower than her. Like her desk. Her hair drapes around her, and I can’t really see anything else other than the glow of the overhead light.

“What are you doing?” I ask, carrying the phone into the living room.

But she remains silent.

I sit down on the couch, leaning my elbows on my knees and watching her. A small smile plays on her lips, and she moves her head left and then right, and I can tell she’s toying with me. She stands up straight, and I lose sight of her face, but her beautiful body comes into view, and I see that she’s wearing the shell bikini.

My heart skips a beat, and I have to fight back a smile. Her breasts bulge outside of the little pink fabric, and the thin strings look so delicate on her tan skin. I want to ask her to turn around, but I’d rather just have her down here.

The screen jostles, and I see she’s repositioning the phone farther back, and when she comes into view again, I can see part of the desk, her body, and her face now. She leans into the desk, eyeing me with a flirty look, her arms pressing into her body and, coincidentally, her breasts, too.

I quirk a smile. “Yes, Jordan?”

“I’m not a kid,” she says, her smile suddenly disappearing.

A feeling of trepidation courses through me, and I knew this was too good to be true. She’s teasing me, and she’s not coming down now.

I sigh and lay back on the couch. “Then stop acting like one,” I reply.

She stares down, pinning me with her defiant eyes. “I’m not a kid,” she says again.