Birthday Girl(71)

I wet my lips, handing off another bag, and unable to keep myself from watching them. She smiles brightly, saying something, and he looks over at her, listening with amusement. One of his rare, outstanding, and gorgeous smiles flashes on her—on her—and my heart skips a beat.

I scowl and grab another bag.

Is he fucking blushing? He actually looks a little shy, but he doesn’t look turned off by her flirting.

I groan.

Get over it. He’s a man. A young one still and, I’m sure, a pretty healthy one, too. He’s had sex with women—Cole is proof of that. It’s unrealistic to think he’s going without. He’s going to bring a woman home sometime. Everyone has needs.

I drop my eyes to his torso, the thin, black pullover rain jacket molded to his body like a second skin. His sleeves are pulled up, showing off his forearms, and I swear I can see the rain falling down his neck from here. He’s tall and broad, and I love the way his T-shirts fit and he wears his jeans.

When a man looks that good in clothes, you know he looks good out of them.

And if he looked half this good in high school, every girl must’ve wanted him. I’m curious to know what he was like then, but then there are some things I don’t want to know, either.

April passes him a bag but fumbles, and he darts down to grab it before it falls from her arms.

They’re smiling and leaning in close to each other, and my lungs hurt.

And, as if he senses me watching him, his eyes suddenly dart up, meeting mine, and for a moment everyone else disappears.

I stop breathing. Shit.

I look away, quickly grabbing another bag.

I don’t look back, even though I can feel him watching me.

Once the truck is empty, I take out my water bottle and drink the rest, walking over to Pike’s truck and tossing it in the bed.

“Ready?” I hear him say.

I spin around and see him coming over and pulling off his soaked jacket. His T-shirt rides up with the movement, and I tear my gaze away from his stomach.

“Are…are we all done?” I ask.

He throws the coat into the back and digs another water out of the cooler. “This is about all we can do, I guess. We just need to hope it’s enough and it holds.”

I take one last look around, noticing everyone has moved on to one thing or another. Some are climbing into their cars and some are still positioning bags or chatting.

I whip off my jacket, too, toss it into the bed of the truck, and climb into the passenger seat.

I pull the door closed, and he starts the engine, the wipers immediately kicking into gear from where they left off on the drive over.

I look out the window.

“Oh, shit,” I breathe out, gazing out in the distance. He follows my gaze.

The truck sits higher up, and we have a full view of the river beyond, all the way to the other side. A small set of islands that sit in the middle is now almost covered with water, and houses on the opposite bank are threatened as the river rises half-way up their stilts.

It still has a long way to go, and the rain has already slowed down a little. Hopefully it will be fine.

“I can’t believe how high it is,” I say. “Surreal.”

He turns to me. “You’re smiling again.”

I meet his eyes, my face relaxing. Was I smiling? “Well, I’m trying not to,” I tell him, breaking into another one. “I mean, I hope no one gets hurt and no one gets flooded, but…”

“But?”

I shrug, feeling a little guilty. “I kind of liked helping today, I guess. It’s fun to get dirty.”

He laughs under his breath and shifts the truck into gear. “You haven’t been dirty yet,” he teases. “Fasten your seatbelt.”





A half hour later, I’m yelping and gripping the handle above the door as he speeds down the muddy canal. He jerks the wheel, so we vault up over the side and back onto high ground, and I laugh, bouncing in my seat.

Oh, my God, this is fun. I feel like I’m going to die. My eyes water, I’m laughing so much.

“I can’t believe you’ve never done this before,” he says, looking over at me like I need to surrender my Small-Town-Girl card. “In my day, this was the place to take a girl to show her how badass you were in your truck.”

I tumble left and then right as the truck navigates all the muddy dips and puddles. He’s let me have complete reign of the stereo and Bruce Springsteen’s Glory Days plays from the tape I put in. I turn up the volume and grip the dash for support. “It still is,” I inform him. “In my day, though, it’s becoming harder and harder for guys you date to keep a valid drivers’ license.”

He chuckles. “I believe that.”

Rain and mud kick up around us, and I can see splatters of both hitting the sleeve of my raincoat nearest the door and my bare thigh. Pike insisted we roll down the windows, not caring in the least that his interior might get dirty. He said it would heighten the experience.

“Did you bring your dates here?” I ask.

“From time to time.”

I quirk the corner of my mouth into a knowing smile. “And then you took them to Hammond Lock to make-out after?”

He darts his gaze to me, looking surprised. “What do you know about Hammond Lock?”

I shrug. “Oh, I heard that’s where the old folks took their dates back in the day, is all.”