Erin McCarthy - Believe

Happy Birthday Turd. Mom

So she had remembered after all. It meant a lot, maybe more than it should. I showed the screen to Robin. “My mom remembered my birthday. And Turd was her nickname for me when I was a kid. Cute, huh?” I answered with a “thanks.”

“She loves you,” Robin said simply. “Even if she isn’t always good at showing it.”

“I know.” I did. Expecting more was asking too much.

Upstairs Jessica was on the couch and laughing as Riley pinned her down. It looked like he had cake smeared on his mouth. “I cut the cake,” she said, wheezing as he bounced her up and down on the cushion. “Sorry, Phoenix. I should have waited.” Riley gave her a cake kiss and she screamed and turned her head.

But I was actually relieved. It took the pressure off a whole candles/cake-cutting thing where everyone would be looking at me. A corner of the cake was already missing and Easton was swiping his finger across the wax paper and eating globs of frosting left behind. “No problem.” I took the knife from Robin and cut a chunk out and held it up with a grin. “Come here, babe.”

I expected Robin to dart away, but she surprised me by moving so fast I didn’t react. She lifted my arm and slammed the cake right into my face. It was creamy and crumbly, and I jerked back as Robin grinned at me.

“Is that what you mean?” she asked.

Which of course everyone found hilarious.

“Badass, huh?” Tyler snorted. “You can hear breathing in a dark room but you can’t beat your girl in arm wrestling?”

“Suck my dick.” I wiped my face. “Hey, by the way, look what I did today.” Fingers covered in frosting, I lifted my shirt up and showed them my new tattoo. “Pretty awesome, huh?”

“Dude.” Tyler nodded in approval. “That is killer. You draw that?”

“Yep.”

“OMG!” Kylie screamed. “Robin, that’s you!”

Robin laughed. “I know. It would be pretty awkward if it was someone else.”

I snorted. “Cute.”

Riley shook his head. “You’ve screwed us all, man. Now they’re all going to expect portraits.”

“I’m not tattooing your girlfriend’s face on my body,” I told him, expression deadpan.

Riley laughed and gave me a slap on the back. Hard. “When did you become such a comedian?”

“That’s Robin?” Jayden asked, bending over to take a closer look. “I thought it was Selena Gomez.”

Jessica shot pop out of her nose and started choking as she laughed.

“Christ, you’re killing me,” I said, holding my side. Damn, laughing made my tight skin pull even harder.

But there was no way not to laugh.

“I do not look like Selena Gomez!” Robin said, giggling.

“It’s a compliment,” Rory told her. “She’s very pretty.”

“ Muy caliente .” Robin grinned. “And that, my friends, is sadly the bulk of my Spanish. Oh, and feliz cumpleaños .”

“ Gracias ,” I said. “But I think you’re way hotter.”

“Don’t tell me you know Spanish.”

“A little. I took it in high school.”

Robin laughed. “You’re probably better at it than I am. It’s my personal failing.”

Cutting another piece of cake, I bit it. “ Cosita , we all have plenty of those.” I held the cake square in the air like it was a glass. “Here’s to another birthday above ground.”

“Cheers,” Robin said with her Diet Coke.

When I was a kid, birthday parties followed the same pattern—lots of food, lots of people, lots of inexpensive presents, a massive cake, and running around the yard like we were filming a remake of Lord of the Flies . There was a lack of parental supervision and an excess of sugar. They were perfect afternoons, and the only thing that changed from year to year was the decoration on the cake. My mother didn’t go in for big themes or extravagant luaus or bowling parties or water parks. She thought spending hundreds of dollars on a kid’s party was beyond their budget and created unreasonable expectations for the next year.

I never missed having a bounce house or pony rides. Birthdays were about the joy of running wild and tearing off wrapping paper and the added bonus of accidentally nailing my brother with the piñata stick. It worked for me.

Which was why I was relieved when Jessica broke the ice at Phoenix’s party by swiping some of his cake. He had been so painfully uncomfortable opening his gifts that I had known I had messed up. I should have warned him about the party. He wasn’t the kind of guy you sprung a surprise on, as was obvious when he attacked Riley thinking he was a burglar.

Whoops.

But once he had relaxed, I thought he’d had fun, and now we were alone in my room, sitting on the bed, and he was opening the other presents I’d gotten him, the shirts and the shoes.

With his back against the wall, he held everything up and studied it, and he looked genuinely pleased. “I don’t know how to say thank you,” he said. “This is . . . everything was . . .”

“I know.” I squeezed his hand. “You’re welcome.”

“How is your tattoo feeling?” he asked, turning my wrist.

“It’s fine. It stings a little, but it’s so small, it feels like a bee sting, that’s all. Everyone thought it was cute. The real question is, how is yours?”

“It’s fine.” Phoenix slouched, the new shoes propped next to his feet, a Rolling Stones T-shirt lying on his chest. He puckered his lips at me, asking for a kiss.

He was so damn cute, how could I resist that?

But I did. “I have one more surprise.” I stood up.

“God, are you sure that’s a good idea?” he asked with a laugh. “I might wind up assaulting someone else.”

“If you assault anyone other than me in the next half an hour I’m going to be very upset,” I said, and then before I lost my nerve, I peeled my dress off over my head and let it drop to the floor.

His jaw dropped, and he made a strangled sound in the back of his throat. “Holy fuck . . .”

That was a good response, one that made me feel slightly less self conscious about standing in front of him in a completely see-through bra and thong. They basically didn’t even need to exist, that’s how much coverage there was. It was pretty much just red netting, the kind they wrap mints in at weddings. I had also gotten a bikini wax for the first time in six months, and I felt sexy. Slightly unsure what to do with my hands, but sexy at the same time. No vodka required.

Phoenix set his gifts on the nightstand and sat up straighter. “What happens next?”

“Naked enthusiasm.” I tapped my phone on the nightstand, and it started playing music off the sexy-times playlist I had created. “Why don’t you sit on the edge of the bed in front of me?”

Phoenix crawled across the bed without further encouragement, his jeans sliding down his hips, hair in his eyes. The muscles of his shoulders rippled, and I sucked in a breath, no longer self-conscious. I was just hot for him. Very, very hot for him. When he was facing me, legs spread, palms flat on the bed, his gaze smoldering and sexy, I started to move, dancing slowly. Not like I did in a club, not with a manic bouncy energy, but just a slow, sensual swaying, lifting my hands into my hair to pull it back off my face.

Turning, I watched him over my shoulder, personally aroused and proud of myself, feeling together, happy, whole. I owed him that, for thinking I was beautiful when I was broken, hair dirty, clothes haphazard. Ironic how people would look at him and assume dysfunction, when I was the one who had needed him.

His lips parted, and his eyes dropped down to my ass. “Am I allowed to touch?”