Page 2 of Before I Loved You

He smiles, and I swear I’m about to pass out.

Either that or jump on him, wrapping my legs around that torso that I’m certain contains a perfectly sculpted six-pack.

“Your birthday, huh?” He signals to the bartender, who begins fixing us drinks.

“Yup.” Not a day that I very much care for, and honestly, I don’t even know why I admitted that to him so easily. No one knows when my birthday is. And I keep it that way on purpose. I brazenly take a step closer to him, feeling his warmth radiate over me, and inhale his masculine scent.

It might be the two drinks talking, but this man feels like he was made for me. Even if just for one night only.

“Is it the big twenty-one?” he asks.

“Mm-hmm.”

He glances around the room before his eyes land back on me where I want them to stay. “Are you celebrating with anyone?”

I shake my head.

“Well, happy birthday…”

He waits for me to say my name, but I won’t.

Giving names will only make things complicated. Messy. But this can only happen once.

“Nope.” I shake my head. “No names.”

“No names? You on the run or something? Should I alert the authorities?” he asks, grinning.

I laugh, and it feels unfamiliar but pleasant. It makes me realize I can’t remember the last time I genuinely laughed.

Pathetic.

I shrug. “You can. But then that would probably spoil my plans for tonight.”

He licks his thick bottom lip, and I clench my thighs together in response.

I’m the one in control. Not him.

“And what would those plans have you doing?” he asks.

“You,” I say very matter-of-factly.

The bartender slides two drinks towards us, and I reach for mine without a second thought, gulping down the liquid courage.

His eyes watch me, darkening with each sip I take. As I place my glass back on the counter, I purposefully stick my finger in my mouth, sucking off the contents that spilled on my skin.

“Fuck,” he whispers, giving me satisfaction in knowing how much I’m affecting him.

“As a matter of fact, that’s exactly what I hope we’ll be doing tonight.”

He takes a single step, closing all of the distance between us. “Don’t you at least want to know my name?” He leans into me, his lips lightly brushing over my ear. “You know, before I give you your birthday present.”

My birthday present.

No one has given me a birthday present in years. Granted, what he’ll give me won’t be wrapped in fancy paper and tied with a big, pretty bow. But somehow, I think it will be the best birthday present I’ve ever received.

I smile but shake my head. “No. It’s better this way.”

“Better for whom?” he asks softly. His large hand splays over my hip, his thumb gently stroking my bare skin, which is not covered by my black crop top, emitting a pleasurable surge throughout my body.

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