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“You really don’t know who that is?”
I just shook my head, smiling at her, bemused.
“She’s a singer. Have you been living under a rock?”
“More or less.”
“Well, she’s really good. You should listen to her while you write.”
“Okay,” I told her. “I’ll look her up.” I meant it. Ro had impeccable taste. She didn’t recommend anything unless she genuinely thought I’d like it. “Now tell me what you have behind your back there.”
“I’ll show you. Just close your eyes first.”
I finally gave in out of sheer curiosity for what she’d do next.
I felt her move close to me and stopped breathing as she brushed against me to drape something light over my neck. She grabbed one of my hands, moving it, and I felt the tips of my fingers go a bit numb with the effort not to grab anything forbidden and conveniently within reach.
It was done in a flash, which was a mercy.
“Okay, look.”
I looked down at myself, at what she’d placed on me. It was a sash, and it took me a moment to realize reading it upside down that it said Birthday Bitch.
I stared at her, genuinely amused.
Absolutely tickled. “What the fuck, Ro?”
She beamed at me, and I almost jumped her on the spot. “I saw in your calendar that your birthday’s in a few days so I planned accordingly. Surprise.”
I started laughing, and I couldn’t help it, I grabbed her and pulled her soft body into a hot, affectionate hug.
Luckily she didn’t take immediate exception, her little arms wrapping around my middle as she laughed along with me.
“Birthday bitch, though? Really?”
“I saw it at Party City, and I just couldn’t resist.”
“So long as you know you’re wearing this on your birthday, too.”
I nuzzled the top of her head and she pulled away, shooting me a disgruntled look.
“What? I’m an affectionate guy.”
“Affectionate like a horny puppy.”
“A horny puppy? Really? That the best you can come up with?”
Her soft, pouty mouth was twisted thoughtfully. “Ridiculous, perverted, narcissist,” she tried.
“Hey!” That one hit close enough to home to actually sting a bit. “I’m not ridiculous.”
She was walking away. “I’m too busy for this, you gorgeous asshole,” she muttered under her breath.
“That one was practically a compliment!”
She ignored that.
“Now, listen,” I told her, following her persistently, going into my boss lecturing tone, “you’ve organized everything. The catering company and wait staff can take it from here. Why don’t you just relax and have fun? It’s a party. Enjoy yourself for once. Hell, put on a swimsuit.” She was still wearing some of her hideous work attire, as usual.
