Page 160 of Birthday Girl


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I sit in the truck, spending the next half hour searching websites and parent blogs, trying to figure out how I can talk to him. He isn’t allowed a cell phone during training, and I can’t call him unless there’s an emergency, and even then I have to go through the Red Cross to reach him.

Fuck. I feel like I’m in the Twilight Zone right now. He’s gone. With no way to immediately reach him for eight weeks.

We haven’t spent much time together the past few years, but he was still only a phone call away. I can’t let things be left like this for two months.

I search the local recruiting station in the area and call the office. I might be able to get his address through them once he receives his assignment.

There’s no answer, so I’ll track him or her down tomorrow and find out how I get a hold of him.

Goddamn it. “Shit!”

I feel so fucking helpless.

Knowing his cell phone has probably been confiscated by now, I dial him anyway and hold the phone to my ear. It goes immediately to voicemail.

“Cole,” I say, swallowing a few times to wet my throat. “I…I...”

I shake my head, closing my eyes.

“I love you,” I tell him. “And I’m always here for you. I know I…I know I have no excuse. I just…” Tears well in my eyes, and I don’t know what else to say but the truth. “I tried not to fall for her. I did try. I’m sorry.”

Hanging up, I throw the phone down, feeling empty. I don’t want either of them out there without them knowing that I love them.

I’m alone again, and I just want them back. They’re everything.

Jordan was right. I should’ve just told him, gotten it over with, and got him moving toward accepting it. I was never going to give her up willingly. How long was I planning on lying to him? Even if she and I didn’t end things, I would’ve had to tell him at some point.

I start the engine and shift into reverse, backing out of the parking space and speeding out of the lot. Getting back onto the road, I head across town, periodically checking my phone for any messages.

Jordan left nearly everything at my house. She took some clothes, her books, and a few personals, but her models, her bed and furniture, and the painting are still there. She’ll be back for that stuff, right? All hope isn’t lost yet. I’ll see her again.

But I haven’t seen her in town anywhere, she hasn’t been at work, and I haven’t spotted her car. Where is she?

She was so calm the other night. Eerily calm, actually. As if she didn’t care anymore.

I’ll hate myself forever if I ruined her. My beautiful, happy, sexy girl who kills me with her smiles and jokes.

Pulling into The Hook’s parking lot, I hop out of the truck and walk through the rain, into the club.

There’s no one at the door, taking covers, but I doubt I’d stop anyway. I walk in and halt, déjà vu flooding me. The same song from Jordan’s little FaceTime dance is playing as two women twirl around poles up on the stage. The picture of her beautiful body performing for only me hits me, and I’m almost sick with how fucking stupid I am and for what I lost.

Spotting Cam to the left, I walk over, not even caring she’s on top of some guy right now. She straddles him, her arms resting over his shoulders.

“Where is she?” I demand.

Cam shoots her eyes up, arching a brow as she grinds on the guy, not skipping a beat.

“Look, I just want to talk to her, okay?”

Cam finishes the guy, whispering something in his ear, and rises from the chair, brushing past me.

I follow. “Can I at least know if she’s alright?” I ask, my tone firm. “It’s been days. Is she’s staying somewhere safe? She left nearly everything behind, so I know she doesn’t have her own place.”

Cam keeps walking, and I’m a little uncomfortable with the fishnet wrap she has around her thong-clad ass, but I keep pursuing. She gestures to the bartender who reaches into a cooler and pulls out a bottle of water for her, sliding it across the bar.

But instead of stopping, she takes the water, turns, and keeps walking away from me.

“Cam, Jesus!” I blurt out, taking out my wallet and fishing out money. “Here’s a hundred bucks for five minutes of your time!” I slap it on the bar. “I don’t want a dance from you. All I want—”

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