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The second he finishes; the box starts falling apart. All four sides begin coming down and it’s as if it happens in slow motion. I wait impatiently as the cardboard begins to reveal what’s inside and when it does, a slow grin starts spreading across my face.
It’s a fucking cake. The biggest mother fucking cake I’ve ever seen with two massive candles at the top. “You got me a cake?” I laugh.
Maxen steps up to the side of the cake with a light. “The cake is only the start of it,” he tells me, reaching over the top. The second the fire hits the candles; they turn into two little explosions. Fire streams out of them like fireworks and the whole room starts singing the most dramatic version of ‘Happy Birthday’ that I’ve ever heard.
I let out a sigh. I never know where to look when people sing me ‘Happy Birthday.’ Do I look at the people and make it awkward? Look at the cake and appear like an idiot who can’t control her sweet tooth? Smile like a loser or keep a straight face? I freaking hate it. It’s the one thing about birthdays that truly sucks.
I end up doing a bit of everything and feel extremely awkward, that is until halfway through when the cake explodes into a million tiny pieces and my boyfriend comes shooting out of it in nothing but a bright pink thong and a joint hanging between his fingers.
Cake covers everybody. Girls squeal, guys laugh, Tully roars in horror, while all I manage to do is gawk at my drunk off his ass boyfriend in a fucking pink man-thong. He starts towards me, his heated eyes on me, proud as ever in his lingerie.
Embarrassment floods me, but Noah couldn’t give two shits which is when it all goes south. Ginuwine’s ‘Pony’ begins playing through the speakers and he puts on one hell of a show, rolling his body and doing his best ‘Magic Mike’ impersonation as cake drops off him in chunks.
I mean, it’s fucking hot, but he’s going to regret it in the morning. It’s clear as day he’s a mix of way too drunk and high, which no doubt will come back to bite him on the ass tomorrow. I mean, that joint between his fingers means he no longer has the power to hold my joint experience over my head.
Checkmate, Noah Cage.
As nearly every phone in the room hits record, I have no other choice but to relax and enjoy his willingness to put that exceptional body of his on display, knowing tonight is about fun while tomorrow’s theme will be ‘damage control.’
Chapter 9
The late afternoon sun streams through Noah’s bedroom window as I lay sprawled across the top of him, hating how my head has seemed to ache since the second I woke up half an hour ago. Noah hasn’t moved an inch since he passed out last night and I tend to keep it that way.
He’s not going to be a happy boy when he wakes up later, especially when he realizes that he was getting around in a pink thong for hours. In fact, he’s still in it and while he’s confident enough in his sexuality to get away with it, it’s not exactly a look I ever envisioned for the man I’m desperately in love with. Don’t get me wrong though, it was certainly a sight to behold as he moved his body while I licked cake from his abs.
The insistent screeching of someone’s phone comes from the living room. I ignore it for a while but on the fifth ring, it has Noah stirring beneath me and without a doubt, Noah needs another few hours before he can even pretend to act like a decent human being.
I let out a frustrated groan and climb off him as my head spins. I get on my feet and have to stand still for a few moments before being able to move forward. I pull the door open and the first thing I notice is the stickiness beneath my feet.
I hold back a gag and slip my feet into a pair of flip flops before trudging out into the house.
“Shit,” I breathe, taking it all in. In the dead of night with too much alcohol pulsing through me, this place didn’t look quite so bad. Now, as hungover as humanly possible with the brightness of the sun shining on every tiny little thing, it’s clear as day that I had dramatically misjudged the situation.
This place is a fucking mess. There’s cake slathered on every available surface, the couches are destroyed, there are cigarette burns on the walls, and not to mention, an extremely foul smell coming from the bathroom that I refuse to check.
Noah was the one who decided this party was a good idea, so it’s now his responsibility to clean that shit up. I’ll be more than happy to help with everything else though. I guess the question is the possibility of getting Tully to pitch in too. I have a feeling she isn’t going to clamber out of her bed until the sun is pissing off the people on the other side of the world.
