I look into the mirror and almost do a double take. I’m smiling like an idiot. Jeez, I’m crying; I’m smiling. I’m mad, then happy.
He’s right though. After the sunburn from Dolly’s welcome home party, sun protection is now part of my daily routine.
I bite my lip and my face heats up at the thought of that night. It wasn’t only the sex that made it the best day of my life. It was the laughing and watching movies the rest of the day. The eating cold grilled cheese sandwiches and ordering pizza. It was the way he touched me all night that made me want to tell him I love him.
Because I do.
No matter what happens, he’s my everything, and today is the day that all my secrets are out. No more hiding. I’m rolling the dice and betting on him. He hasn’t gotten rid of me yet. I smirk. If anything, every day we get a little closer, build a little more.
“Come on, baby. I’m a busy man.” Sighing I grab the sunscreen and slather it on. If he’s saying he’s busy that means he’s got things to do. Which is fine. I have to work anyway.
I walk out and slip on my favorite T-shirt of his. His eyes devour me in it.
“You like wearing the Dicks, huh?” He shakes his head at me.
“Yep.” I smile.
“Come here,” he demands, and I obey, stopping right in front of him. He smells like smoke and us, and all I want for my birthday is to snuggle my nose in his neck. He grins and his dark stubble tries to hide his dimples, but I see them.
“You know that’s the name of my old band right?” I barely hear him as I stare at his lips.
“Antoinette? Focus, babe.”
“Stop it.” I laugh because I’ve kind of given up on being coy or shy around him. He’s literally been in every hole and kissed my body everywhere, so why hide that I’m wet and want his lips on me.
“It’s my birthday. Wait, your band was the Dicks?” And it all makes sense. I mean, I knew that the shirt was a band shirt, but that explains why he has DICKS tattooed on the knuckles of his left hand. I’m not going to let the MJ on his right hand ruin my day. I’m not even gonna think about it. Oh God, I’m thinking about it. I have to swallow back my need to scream, Who’s MJ?
Realistically she can’t mean anything. If MJ was important she’d be here instead of me. He smirks and rubs my lips with his thumb forcing me to look into his beautiful eyes.
“Ask.”
I frown. I’ve got to work on my poker face. I hate that he can read my mind, although I was staring at his hand, so it’s not that hard this morning.
“No, I’m fine.” I spin out of his grip.
“Antoinette, if you ask me, I’ll tell you the truth always, but remember, you might not like the answers.”
That vibrates straight to my heart and the earlier happiness of being free of all my secrets seems to fade. I’m left with the knowledge that he’s honest—but that’s crap.
Axel is always honest and loyal. He has it on his neck, so it has to be true. Yet somehow I think that’s reserved for his club. So, I can ask, but I need to be ready for his truths. Which is why I don’t. So, he doesn’t have to tell me a lie, or even worse, the truth.
“Open up your gifts.” He sounds aggravated.
“Okay,” I snap, then feel guilty as I sit on the bed and unwrap the large box. Inside are several wrapped presents. As I look up at him, my heart races.
But he’s on his phone, ignoring me, and it’s like I’ve gone back in time. Visions of my dad doing this very thing on too many birthdays haunt me.
Old wounds that stay hidden seem to bubble up this morning. Memories of waking up early and being scolded to train before I can have presents flit through my mind. And then the disappointment that I didn’t dance hard enough. I was too delicate and prone to back spasms, which meant I was weak. I was the reason they had to spend so much money for dresses and shoes and training…
“Antoinette?” he says, bringing my attention back to the room. Blinking, I try to focus on him.
“You okay? What’s going on with you?” He sets down the phone, his gaze seeming to dissect my brain. I want to scream, Good luck, but I need him. He keeps the ghosts away.
Reaching down like a robot, I unwrap the first box. It’s brand new Asics running shoes. All he wanted was to run with me, give me presents, and celebrate my birthday. I want to cry because he’s not mad that I lied to him, and he doesn’t feel sorry for me about my dad murdering my mom.