Page 113 of Crazy In Love
“Yeah. Really.” He ran his fingers through the ends before his eyes moved beyond me to the island, where a small birthday cake and a present sat on the counter.
I’d known it was his birthday today, and I’d planned to bring this over with me. I hadn’t texted him until later in the day, because I didn’t want it to look like I was too eager.
I didn’t want him to read into it and get freaked out.
“What is that?” he asked as his gray gaze moved to mine.
“It’s just a little cake and a gift. I planned to leave them here for you, but you caught me before I left. The painters just finished up a little while ago. I’m trying to get as much done for you before Christmas as I can, because people will go on vacation.” Why was I rambling?
His lips twitched the slightest bit as his finger came over my lips, and I stopped talking. “You got me a cake and a gift. Thank you.”
“It’s not a big deal.” I shrugged.
“It is a big deal to me.”
“I thought you hated your birthday?”
“I do. But this makes it better. You being here. You thinking of me. It makes everything better.”
My heart pounded at his words. “How much have you had to drink, Bridger?”
He leaned down, and his lips grazed over the shell of my ear. “It’s my birthday. Call me ‘lover boy.’”
I took a step back, as his nearness was having me feel all sorts of things. “How many whiskeys have you had?”
“Too many.” A soft smile crossed his handsome face.
“All right, I need to get home. The snow is coming down hard,” I said as I glanced out the French doors leading to the backyard.
He reached for my hand. “Stay. Have a piece of cake with me.”
I nodded, trying to play it cool. “Okay. We can have some cake together before I go.”
I moved to the kitchen and grabbed two plates and a knife, and he moved to the refrigerator and grabbed a beer. He held one up for me and shook it back and forth.
“Cake and beer?” I chuckled.
“Yes. It’s my birthday. Have a beer with me, angel.” His voice was smooth as silk tonight. No edge. No hesitation.
“It’s snowing and I’m driving, so that’s a no for me. But I’ll have cake with you,” I said.
“Obviously I wouldn’t let you drive if you have anything to drink. I know you’re a lightweight.”
“Yet you’re asking me to have a drink with you?” I asked as I set our two slices of cake down on the table and took a seat.
“Maybe I’m trying to get you drunk so you stay here.” He smirked.
Now I was irritated.
I was struggling with being around him, and he was just casually asking me to stay? After we’d agreed what happened in Paris would stay in Paris. Or at least stay on the plane home from Paris.
That memory was still etched in my mind.
“Bridger, don’t mess with my head,” I said firmly. “Open your gift, drink your beer, and eat your cake. I need to get home.”
“So salty,” he said teasingly, and I pushed the box toward him.
He unwrapped the box, pulled the lid open, reached in, and pulled out three framed photos.
