Birthday Girl(76)

“You staying?” Pike asks him.

“Just picking up some stuff,” Cole explains, sounding solemn. “I don’t think she’ll want me around for a while yet. Thanks for letting her stay here.”

Pike’s voice is barely above a whisper. “It’s not a problem.”

There’s more silence, and then I hear the water shut off and some shuffling.

“She really took care of me when …” Cole trails off and then continues, “when I couldn’t stand to have anyone else around. I never wanted to hurt her.”

Needles prick my throat. Everything is so messed up, because I don’t know how angry I’m allowed to be.

He did it right under my nose. For weeks.

But in my heart, I wasn’t faithful to him, either.

Somewhere down deep, we always knew this was finite.

“You can come home,” his father says quietly, almost pleading.

But Cole doesn’t respond, and I wish I could see his face. Is he looking at his father? He can’t meet peoples’ eyes when he’s upset or sad.

“What are you doing?” Pike asks him, so much sadness in his voice. “What are you doing with yourself, huh?”

I hear a sigh and then Cole says, “I’ll talk to her. Eventually.”

And then the screen door falls shut, flapping against the frame, and I slowly peek around the corner, seeing Pike standing alone in the spot where I left him.

His brow is etched in pain, and he’s staring at the ground. His head turns slightly toward me, though.

“He doesn’t treat you right, and he should,” Pike says, his face ridden with guilt. “But this can’t happen, Jordan.”

I press my teeth together, tears lodged in the back of my throat.

I know.

I know.





Pike



I can feel her. Her warm legs snaking through and over mine between the sheets, and she’s hot and wet between her legs as she grinds on me. I grab her by the hips and flip us over, yanking down her panties and diving down, taking her in my mouth.

God, her moans are so sweet, and I don’t want to ever leave this bed. I want to do nothing but feel her and taste her and smell her, make her smile and sweat and come. She’s mine.

But suddenly, my eyes pop open, blinking into the early morning’s dim light.

I’m alone, and I breathe in through my nose, chasing her smell in the dream.

I close my eyes. “Jesus,” I pant, licking my dry lips.

I fist my hands, still feeling her ass in my palms, and I need her. I need the same soft body I had in my arms last night so badly my jaw aches from clenching it.

Rubbing the sweat off my neck, I peer down and see my dick tenting the sheet.

Fuck.

I need to get laid. That’s all there is to it. Jordan isn’t special.

She’s not.

She’s a hot, young woman living in my house and constantly in my face, walking around in her short shorts with her long legs, perky ass, and lips that taste like a fucking peach. It’s like putting a steak in front of a starving pit bull and saying “don’t touch.”

I groan as my dick swells with blood, growing even harder.

God, if I called her in here right now, would she come? I’m tempted to take back what I said last night, I want back what I had in my hands that much.

But no.

I’m already aching with guilt, and losing control and going further with her would do a world of hurt. Last night was simply the result of not being fed in too long. Nothing more.

Christ, she’s a kid. If she were two years younger, I could go to prison for what I almost did to her last night.

I need to get this out of my system.

Throwing off the sheet, I get out of bed and pull on some boxer briefs and jeans. After throwing some cold water on my face, brushing my teeth, and running some gel through my hair, my dick has calmed down enough to leave my room. I pull on a T-shirt and the rest of my stuff that I’ll need for work and walk out of the room.

If Cole hadn’t come home when he did…

I jog down the stairs, pushing it out of my head. I just hope she doesn’t think she needs to leave on account of this. It probably would be for the best, but I don’t want to be another person she can’t count on.

In the kitchen, I pour myself a cup of coffee and open the fridge, looking for the milk.

I pinch my brows together, shifting cartons around and only finding almond milk. I take it out and wrinkle my nose, studying it. Almonds produce milk?

Jordan. I roll my eyes and uncap it, sniffing it. “Hmm…” It doesn’t smell bad.

I shrug and pour it in the coffee.

Picking up the mug, I slip my other hand into my pocket and lean against the counter, blowing on the coffee.

I hear Jordan’s footfalls on the stairs, and my stomach twists as I blink long and hard to brace myself.

She breezes into the kitchen, lifting her eyes and meeting mine long enough to give me a quick, curt half-smile before trailing around the table and pulling her book bag off a chair.

She seems in a hurry.

I force the words out. The sooner we deal with it, the sooner we can get back to normal. “I’m sorry about last night,” I tell her. “It was my fault, and it shouldn’t have happened. Okay?”

Her hands slow, and I see her eyes shift as she digs in her pack, but she doesn’t look at me.