Scarlett nods. “Do you still run?”
“Most mornings.”
“How come you didn’t do it competitively at college?”
I shrug. “I did in high school, but I wanted to have more time to focus on my studies at college.”
“Interesting.”
“Interesting indeed.”
My phone buzzes on the table, the security app notifying me that someone’s at the front door. I frown, looking at the delivery guy’s face pressed close to the camera. “I’ll be right back.”
Scarlett nods and I walk through the house to the main door, opening it to the red-faced delivery guy. He’s not really wearing weather-appropriate clothes for the end of December, but I don’t say that—I just look around to see what he’s actually delivering.
“Just sign here,” he says, pointing at the tablet in his hands. I sign and he puts the tablet back in his pocket before he leans over to the side of the house beside the door and hands me two oversized golden balloons in the shape of a ‘2’ and a ‘1’. “Happy new year,” the guy says.
“Thanks. You too,” I reply, smiling as I retrieve the balloons and get them through the door. I don’t even have to read the note attached to one of them to know who they’re from. I shut the door and walk back into the kitchen with the balloons to see Scarlett loading our dishes into the dishwasher.
She turns when she hears the squeak of the decorations. Her eyes widen before she bursts out into uncontrollable laughter. “What the hell is that?”
I sigh, letting the balloons stand by the fridge. “A birthday gift from my dad.”
I swear she almost smashes a plate onto the ground as she screams, “It’s yourbirthday?!” She rushes over to me, her socks sliding on the hardwood floor and I catch her around the waist before she almost collides with my chest. “Like, today?”
“Yeah . . . ?”
“And you didn’t tell me?” she all but screams at me, hitting me on the arm.
“I didn’t think it was important. You’ve got your own stuff going on and—”
Scarlett cuts me off, standing on her tiptoes, and presses her lips to mine. She kisses me like it’s the first time. Her hands travel across my chest and around my neck, pulling on the curls at the nape of my neck. I moan into her mouth when she tugs on them, dragging her nails across my scalp.
She pulls back, just enough to whisper against my lips, “Happy birthday, Evan,” and suddenly, I hate my birthday just a little less.
Having a birthday around Christmas is always hard, but having it on New Year’s Eve is even worse. I’ve never made a big deal out of it, but every year my dad tries to convince me that I should go out and celebrate when all I really want to do is treat it like a normal day. The thought of getting older is scary enough.Mixing that with a whole new year the next day is never good for my anxiety spirals.
Scarlett brings me back to the moment with another kiss to my lips, and then my jaw. “Thank you,” I finally respond, gripping her hip.
“What do you want for your birthday?” she whispers, kissing down my neck. She bites and sucks on my skin hard enough that there’s going to be a mark. I don’t care. I’d have the outline of her lips tattooed onto me if I could.
“Right now?” I ask, swallowing.
“Mmhm.”
“You. In my bed. Naked.”
For a second I think I’ve said the wrong thing, trying to rush this thing going on between us. But she pulls back slightly and grins at me, beautiful brown eyes staring into mine.
“We can make that happen.” She drags her hand down my back slowly, her fingers trailing over my spine as she works her way lower and brings her hand around to my waist. She does the same thing on my front, her fingers travelling under the fabric of my sweater before coming back down and resting on the button of my jeans.
“I-I think we should both shower first. Just . . . you know. We’ve been sitting in these clothes all day and I—”
“That’s okay,” Scarlett whispers, tugging on my jeans and pulling me with her as she walks backward. I let her tug me along, completely entranced. “I think you just want me to smell like you.”
I grin, leaning down to kiss her. “That too.” She hums happily and I pick her up in one swift motion, wrapping her legs around my waist as we make our way to the stairs. “Just so you know,” I murmur, still kissing her, “we don’t have to shower before and after we have sex. Not every time anyway. Not that I’m assuming this is going to happen a lot, I just . . . When I’m already feelingoverwhelmed and stressed, I feel better knowing that we’re clean.”
She nods, her eyes softening. “That’s okay. Sex is supposed to be good for the both of us. If you’re comfortable, I’m comfortable.”
