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I hear things being moved in the freezer and glance over, my gaze immediately falling to her feet. She’s on her tiptoes and bent over, holding the lid up with one hand as she digs in the huge container. She seems to be aware of her shorts and that she’s bending over in front of a table of guys, because she keeps straightening every few seconds and pulling her shorts down as much as she can.
Her toes are painted a soft pink, and I can tell she’s wearing a bikini top under the gray T-shirt. The strings are visible tied behind her neck, and I can see more of it through the sides of her sleeveless T-shirt which are cut out, showing off the curvy, sun-kissed skin of her waist. The muscles flex in her thighs, and my stomach swoops up and around.
I start to glance back at my cards, but I catch her pushing her hair behind her ears, and that’s when I notice the little holes in the T-shirt. Up on the shoulder, by the seam.
Is that…?
“Isn’t that your shirt?” Dutch leans in, whispering.
I squint at it a little, and then I notice my baseball number in faded, chipped green peek out from behind her hair. I knew I recognized those holes.
I look away. I must’ve left it on the furniture the other day, and she picked it up, thinking it was Cole’s maybe? He was in baseball, too, I guess.
And she cut out the sides of it? I kind of want to be angry at the loss. I’ve had that shirt since high school, but…
It was too shabby to wear in public anymore, anyway. And she looks better in it than I ever did. I glance at her again, seeing the shirt drape over her smooth, sun-kissed skin, and a subtle wave of pleasure creeps in that she’s wearing something of mine on her.
I shift in my chair, blinking at my cards to get past the stars in my vision.
“Need a hand?” Eddie offers her.
Flickering my gaze to Jordan, I see her bend over into the freezer, and I furrow my brow.
But Todd comments, a sly humor filling his tone. “Oh, leave her alone. She’s doing just fine on her own.”
The guys chuckle, unmistakably enjoying the view, and Jordan swings back upright, hefting the box of Otter Pops into the crook of her arm. She arches an eyebrow at Todd while letting the lid slam shut.
I brace myself for her smart mouth, but instead, she saunters to the table and looks over his shoulder and down at his hand. “Oh, look at that,” she says, her eyes lighting up and her voice chipper. “You have all the kings in the deck. What luck, huh?”
Dutch snorts, and I can’t help but shake with laughter as everyone joins in the amusement. Everyone except Todd, who throws down his cards, giving up his hand now.
She fixes a self-satisfied smile on her face and makes for the stairs again. I’m half-tempted to tell her to make sure no one gets those popsicles in the pool, but I’m trying not to micro-manage her and Cole like they’re kids.
“Oh, hey, can I ask you a question?” she says, stopping half-way up the stairs.
I meet her eyes.
“There’s a little cake in the refrigerator,” she goes on. “Cole’s begging to eat it, but I didn’t buy it and wasn’t sure where it came from. Just wanted to check with you before he digs in.”
Fuck. I keep my face straight despite my aggravation. I can feel the guys’ eyes on me.
“Oh, uh, it’s a…” I mumble, shaking my head and pretending to study my cards again. “I, uh… I got it for you guys…today, at the store…for both of you.”
She doesn’t say anything, and after a moment of completely, uncomfortable silence, I glance up. She cocks her head, looking confused.
I toss three cards at Dutch for him to pass me three more, although I’m not sure which three I just discarded.
She’s still looking at me. I can feel it.
I rush out with more info, hoping she’ll say something and get out of here. “I was just passing Etienne’s and remembered you didn’t get any cake on your birthday,” I tell her, acting nonchalant, “or a chance to really celebrate. I just thought you guys might like it.” I grab three new cards off the stack when Dutch fails to pass me new ones. “I was passing by anyway. No big deal.”
If it wasn’t a big deal, I wouldn’t have felt suddenly weird about it when I came home. It was stupid to get it in the first place. She’s not my kid.
But for some reason, passing the window and spotting the three-layer cake with pink roses covering every inch, I thought of her. I guess I was just still trying to make up for acting like a dick the other day.
And the other night she mentioned blowing out candles, making wishes…. She didn’t get to do that properly on her birthday—donuts don’t count—so I felt bad even though it wasn’t my fault. Buying it seemed like a good idea at the time.
Bringing it home felt sentimental, though. Too sentimental. I stuck it in the fridge, hidden in the pink box, waiting to see if the mood struck me again before I just threw it out.
