Page 82 of My Best Years

“It’s hot as hell outside today, so feel free to hang out in here with Ollie if you want.” I offer. “Or you can sit out back with me while I cook. Whatever you want.”

“I’ll go with you,” she answers. “I’m dying to see your beach view.”

I can’t help the ear-to-ear grin that stretches across my face at her response.

Before we head out, I pour us both a glass of red wine. I didn’t have to ask Birdie what kind she wanted because I already knew. One night in high school, we snuck a bottle of her mother’s Moscato. I’ll never forget how sick Birdie was the next day. As she emptied her guts into the toilet, she swore never to drink sweet wine again.

A few minutes later, we’re walking out to the patio with my hand resting on her lower back. Right as we step out into the salty air, I lower my head to her ear and whisper words that cause her nipples to harden through her dress. Nipples that I’ve dreamt of having between my teeth. My lips brush the shell of her ear as I speak.

“Since you basically confessed to thinking I’m hot,” I quip before my tone turns seductive, “I have to be one hundred percent honest with you… You look so goddamn sexy tonight, Birdie. You showing up in that little red dress when all I’ve been able to think about is you for the past three days is the sweetest kind of torture.”

Her chest rises and falls with heavy breaths as the heartbeat in her neck skyrockets. An ache fills my groin when she bites down on her lower lip.

Fuck.I’m dying to kiss those lips again.

Maybe if I’m lucky, I’ll get the chance tonight.

The sun startedto set by the time the burgers were ready, so we decided to eat outside on the patio table and enjoy the view. Our conversation consisted of small talk, but we didn't discuss anything deeper than work or the current heatwave. And honestly, it was nice to talk about something as mundane as the weather. It felt normal.

It feels like all we’ve been doing is having these important conversations, which is definitely needed. But it’s also nice to just…be. To ask Birdie about work and not feel like there’s an elephant in the room.

After we finished eating, Birdie decided to hang around and keep me company while I brought everything inside and cleaned up. She offered to help, but I refused to let her. She’s my guest, and after a long day on her feet, I want her to relax and enjoy herself.

She’s currently sitting on the kitchen island, swaying her legs back and forth as she swipes to the next photo. After cleaning up, I took out my phone to show Birdie the eight hundred pictures I have of Ollie, as if he were my child.

What can I say? I’m a proud dog dad.

Birdie also pulled out her phone, showing me pictures of the renovations at her parents’ coffee shop and photos that Winnie had sent her from California.

For the past twenty minutes, we’ve been swapping photos and memories, trying our best to catch up on lost time.

“Wait, wait, wait. Let me see that.” I burst out into a fit of laughter as I reach for her phone.

While Birdie was swiping, she accidentally paused on a selfie after having her wisdom teeth removed. White gauze hangs out of each side of her mouth, causing her cheeks to swell like a chipmunk. She’s awkwardly smiling while giving the camera a thumbs-up. Her eyes are all red and hazy from whatever drugs the doctor gave her.

Not only is the photo hilarious, but it’s the cutest damn thing I’ve ever seen.

“Let me see it, Birdie.” I’m belly laughing now, still grabbing for her phone.

If she weren’t sitting on top of the island with her arm lifted as high as possible, I’d be able to reach the phone with no problem.

“No, it’s embarrassing!” she giggles, having way too much fun teasing me.

Her breasts are right in front of my face, stretching and bouncing as she struggles to keep her phone from me. My cock stirs as her body writhes, her hips and chest less than a foot away from where I stand between her parted legs.

“It’s not like I’m a cute kid in the photo,” she protests. “I was a late bloomer and had my wisdom teeth removed when I was twenty-two.”

“From what I saw, you look cute as fuck in that photo. The cutest damn chipmunk I’ve ever seen.”

When she lowers her arm half an inch, I finally wrap my fingers around her dainty wrist. I expect her to laugh or even blush at my comment, but the kitchen is deadly silent.

I swear I could hear a pin drop.

My smile fades as I lift my gaze to meet hers. Instead of looking at me, her eyes are glued to my wrist.

And then, it hits me.

My tattoo.

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