And, quite frankly, not something I needed to celebrate at all.
Because, well, there was nothing so pathetic as a birthday-for-one. What, was I supposed to sing to myself? Light my own candles and blow them out?
No.
That sounded like a night that would end with my head in an oven. And I wasn't even suicidal. But just the mere thought of that kind of evening had me contemplating it.
I just was going to pretend I never found out, go about my day like any other day.
I grabbed my booze, got my car washed, hit the food store, went home to straighten up, and started to cook.
It was all of twenty minutes into simmering some veggies in a frying pan when there was a knock at my door.
And I swear to God... a sniff.
With furrowed brows, I padded across my cool hardwood floor, careful to avoid the piece a foot from the door that was uneven, jagged, perfect for gashes and hellish splinters - something I had learned the hard way.
I slid the lock, pulling open the door, paying no mind to my pantslessness because well, I never paid mind to that. Even if I wasn't sure I had shaved my legs that morning... or that week at all.
"Are ya cooking?" Adler asked, leaning forward.
"Are you... literally sniffing at my door?"
"Listen, that was not an answer. And this is serious business."
"How so?"
"I'm hungry."
"How is that my problem?"
"Take pity on me with yer soft, feminine heart," he suggested, knowing there wasn't a damn thing soft or feminine about me. At my raised brow, he smirked. "Aye, I figured that was a long shot. What's the occasion?"
"The occasion?"
"You've been here on and off for the better part of a year. I haven't smelled anything cookin' in all that time."
Don't ask me why I said it, what prompted it, why I felt the need to have someone know, but I did.
"It's my birthday," I supplied.
"It's yer birthday?" he asked, almost seeming taken aback, his eyes... sad? No. That couldn't have been right.
"Yep. The 'Big Thirty' or whatever the phrase is."
"And ya are cookin' for yerself?"
"Don't give me pity, Adler. I don't want it."
"Wouldn't insult ya with pity, duchess," he immediately shot back, shaking his head. "Invite me to dinner," he suggested. "Ya know ya want to."
Damn if he wasn't right.
Maybe it was pure loneliness, a need for human contact, a desire for normalcy after so much crazy, so much aloneness.
"I am making enough for an army." That was as close to an invite as I could get. A hostess I clearly was not.
"That's good. Since you eat like one," he agreed, smirking at me. "How long?"
"Ah... an hour. Or hour and a half maybe."
"Good. I'll be back by then. Don't ya dare eat without me. I want to eat with ya." My dirty little mind maybe dropped the 'with' in that sentence as it digested it, making a heat flare up in my belly, something that clearly must have been in my eyes because Adler's dark eyes went wicked. "With ya, Lou. But if ya want me to eat ya too, I am always game for some sweet dessert," he informed me, rushing off before I could shoot him down, leaving that invitation open.
Damn him.
I could think of nothing else as I threw the rice in the nifty rice cooker I bought four years before, but never even bothered to take out of the box, as I sliced meat to add to the veggies and beans slowly simmering, as I brought down plates, mismatched because, well, I wasn't even sure where they came from since I didn't remember ever actually going out to buy dishes.
By the time I heard boots in the hallway again, my body was humming with need, my nerves on high alert, sure just the scent of him - leather and a hint of soap - was going to cause all kinds of chaos.
After I heard the knock, I made sure to take another long swig of my drink, hoping to find some steadiness in the liquid. Or simply the lack of defenses that would allow me to fucking jump him, and get it over already.
"Happy birthday!" he called as soon as the door slid open, standing there holding a cake in one hand and a leash in the other.
My gaze flew down, finding a soft-looking tan Pitbull, all wide face, and stocky chest, but with a bright, cunning look to its eyes.
"Dog sitting again?" I asked as I dropped down, both hands reaching out, as they always did when a dog was around, landing on the collar around its neck only to pause, pulling back at finding something foreign situated there. "Why does it have a bow on its collar?" I asked, brows drawing low at the pink thing settled there. Almost like a prese... no.