Birthday Girl(61)

But instead of regret, my temper quickly rises again. How the hell can he not care?

And why do I?

Jesus, fuck.

She’s grown, isn’t she? And if her boyfriend doesn’t mind, then who am I or anyone else to stake an investment in her decisions. It’s not my place.

No, there’s nothing wrong with what her sister does to support herself or how Jordan’s dressed tonight. She’s fucking gorgeous.

I just don’t…want her body being for everyone.

“You’re special, Jordan.” I take a step closer to her. “You know that, right?”

Her eyes start to glisten, her gaze falters, and she looks away.

God, does she know how incredible she is?

I let myself take in her smooth and glowing skin, and the curve of her waist in front of me that’s perfect for grabbing hold of. One man should see her dressed like this, and it should be the man who appreciates what he has.

“Don’t do things outside of your nature because of money,” I tell her. “You’re perfect the way you are. Don’t change.”

I don’t want you to change.

“It’s just a corset, Pike.”

“Yeah, and then it’ll just be a wet T-shirt contest and a job at The Hook, right?” I fire back.

She rolls her eyes and turns around, grabbing a case of Bud Light and heaving it into my arms. I grab it just in time. Then she then reaches for a case of Budweiser and leads the way out of the room, ending our conversation.

But I follow, hefting the case up onto my shoulder. “You’re not working at The Hook,” I tell her.

“And you’re not my dad.”

I nearly shoot her a dirty look behind her back, but that would be immature. Why ruin the excellent example of a level-headed, responsible adult I’ve set since she’s come into my house?

She plops her case down on the bar, and turns around, taking the case I have, as well.

I open my mouth to try to say something—anything—to smooth over whatever damage I’ve done again and still try to get her to put some damn clothes on.

But she cuts me off before I can say anything. “I need another case of Bud Light,” she orders me over her shoulder.

I shake my head. Damn her brass.

I turn around and walk back to the liquor closet, grabbing another case of beer. After I drop it on the bar, I head to the booth where the guys are still congregating and take out the same bottle of Busch Light I had before.

“Staying?” Dutch inquires.

I shrug, looking anywhere but at the bar. “For a bit, I guess.”

I down the bottle inside of a minute, and it’s not my favorite beer, but I’m suddenly too embarrassed to go to the bar and ask her for a Corona now. I should’ve gotten one when I was up there.

A server approaches, though, and I’m about to flag her down, but I notice she’s already heading my way with a tray of shots. She’s cute in her black miniskirt and black vest, but she doesn’t look any older than Jordan.

She smiles. “Hey, guys.” And then she starts unloading her tray, setting a round of shots in front of us. They’re pink or orange on the bottom with some kind of yellow liquid on top.

“What is this?” Jason Bryant, one of my guys, asks.

“It’s called a Pineapple Upside Down Cake,” she says. “It’s on the house. Jordan says they’re Pike’s favorite.”

A round of laughter explodes around the table at the “chick” shot everyone now thinks I drink, and I shoot Jordan a look at the bar.

She grins, giving me her biggest, proudest smile.

And now we’re not mad at each other anymore.

Taking the shot, I down it, the alcohol going down like a piece of candy, and while it tastes fine, I’m not sure what the point is. There can’t be enough alcohol in it to feel anything.

I’m sure it will be a successful running joke if I ever decide to join the guys for a drink again, though.

After about an hour and another beer, the crowd has thinned a little, and I’m pretty tapped out on 80’s music. Jordan seems fine, and I’m not sure why I thought she needed protecting.

I should just hit the road.

But just then, a Corona appears in front of me, and I look up, seeing Jordan standing over me.

“Hey,” she says, her expression soft and gentle.

I’m sure it would be like that all the time if I would just stop fucking with it.

“You doing okay, sugar?” Dutch asks her.

She glances at him and smiles and then looks back down at me. “I was going to call you, actually,” she tells me, lowering her voice. “I don’t know if you’re staying late, but I was wondering if there was any way you could bring me home tonight. I don’t get off until two. Is that too late?”

Her eyes are apologetic like she’s afraid she’s being an inconvenience, but of course, I told her to tell me if she needs a ride home. I’m happy to do it.

“No problem. I’ll be here.”

But Dutch nudges my elbow. “We gotta be at the site by five a.m., just remember.”

“It’s fine,” I say curtly, barely looking at him.

Of course, I’d love to get more than a couple hours of sleep, but this isn’t a choice.

Jordan takes a step back. “Are you sure?” she asks again. “I could ask Shel. It’s a little out of her way, but I don’t want you losing sleep.”