Me: Someone has a birthday coming up... but I have a little problem with your gift.
Boyce: Oh?
Me: It would intrude on one of your Sundays.
Boyce: But my birthday is on Wednesday...
Me: Yes, but your *gift* isn’t on Wednesday.
Boyce: Okay...???
Me: You said no one has influence over your Sundays.
Boyce: That has nothing to do with you.
Me: You sure?
Boyce: Yep. Positive. So what is this gift??
Me: I’ll tell you more on your birthday. If you’re still here and want to see me?
Boyce: Let’s get something straight that I should have already said. I’m not leaving. I’m busy as hell right now and I know you are too with classes and the inn, but I’m here. I don’t want you coming over because of my mom’s shit-for-brains BF hanging around. That’s the ONLY reason.
Me: I miss you. ☹
Boyce: Same. Yes I want to see you Wednesday. That’s all I want for my birthday. Let me take you out.
Me: You taking me out wouldn’t be much of a birthday – besides, I asked you. I’ll pay.
Boyce: Like hell you will. I’ll pick you up at 7.
Me: Stubborn man.
Boyce: Yep. ;)
• • • • • • • • • •
The frosted cupcake the waitress set in front of Boyce was almost the size of a salad plate and boasted one lit candle standing in the center, weeping wax from top to base.
“You gonna sing ‘Happy Birthday’ to me all sexy like you sang that Lady Antebellum song?” He leaned over the candle from across the table, one brow cocked, mouth drawn up on one side. Lord have mercy, he was mischief incarnate.
“I think you endured enough of my singing on my birthday-celebration night.” I crossed and uncrossed my legs under the table, half-embarrassed, half-itching to blow that candle out and climb into his lap. Or run down to the rapidly darkening beach and hurl myself in the water because it was suddenly beyond warm in the burger joint we’d chosen.
“Naw, baby—you can carry a tune.”
The way I’d sung that song that night—right to him, hips swaying and lips puckered—oh. My. God. No wonder all my colleagues thought we were hooking up. “Psssh! If by carry you mean mangle ruthlessly.”
He laughed, that tiny flame from the candle dancing in his green eyes. “Sounded just perfect to me.”
“Then you are clearly tone-deaf, thank God. Now blow that candle out and make your wish.”
“Yes, ma’am,” he drawled, extinguishing the flame in one short burst. Another naughty smile pulled at the corners of his mouth. “Am I gonna get my wish?”
He was in a wicked mood, and God help me, I loved everything about it. I leaned an elbow on the table, my chin cupped in my hand, and batted my lashes twice. “I suppose that depends on your wish.”
The waitress arrived with the check and Boyce shoved three twenties in her hands without looking at it. “Keep the change,” he said, grabbing my hand and stalking to the door.
“Boyce—our bill was only like thirty-four dollars—”
“Worth it,” he said, not slowing. He shoved the door open and pulled me into the twilight-purple evening. The temperature had cooled from roasting to sweltering with the sun’s departure.
I stumbled over a rock in the gravel-strewn parking lot—flip-flops and I had a shaky relationship lately—and Boyce immediately turned and swung me into his arms. I slid my arms around his neck and stared up at his taut profile. “Are you mad? Did I say someth—”
“Not mad. Not mad at all.” He stared down at me, turning to thread through the haphazardly parked cars without slowing. “I have to kiss you. I have to touch you in very publicly inappropriate ways. Right now.” He leaned closer as I went molten from the center out, breath quickening, every individual part of my body pulsing fiercely all at once. “I wanna fuck you, sweetheart,” he murmured, setting me down against the passenger door of his TA and absorbing my shocked gasp with his mouth, his hands cupping my face as he kissed me. When his lips released mine, we panted, eyes locked, inches apart. “I’m afraid none of that made sitting in the Lodge in full view of a few dozen people a good idea.”
I shook my head. “N-no. Staying would have been… inadvisable.”
He chuckled, opening the car door and kissing me again. “Get in. No seat belt.”
I nodded and obeyed as he circled to his side, glancing around the lot. No one was near us, but the lot was far from deserted. The dusking sky caused streetlights pop on, but they cast a feeble amount of illumination. Oh my God, was I considering DOING IT in his CAR? That was disturbing and uncharacteristic and illegal and—and—so hot.
His door slammed shut and he lowered the windows partway. He shoved his seat back as far as it would go and reached for me, pulling me astride his lap. He kissed me, hands pushing under the back of my shirt and unhooking my bra. Lifting the hem just above my breast, he nudged one loose cup aside and took the nipple deep in his warm mouth, sucking and humming.
My head fell back and all I could hear was my own low moan and the pounding acceleration of my heartbeat. I pressed against his erection instinctively, squeezing my thighs on his hips and grinding against him, and he gripped me closer. His hand on the bare skin of my back was so hot he could have left a rosy handprint between my shoulder blades.
Releasing my nipple, he filled one hand with my breast and pulled my mouth back to his with the other. Our kisses were hungry and the humidity-heightened temperature in the confined space spiked. His lips moved down my throat and he murmured softly, “Goddamn, beautiful girl. Can I make you come for me like this?” Placing soft, sucking kisses at the base of my throat, he moved his hips, thrusting upward as though he were already inside me.