“There are parts of New York that I think you’d enjoy, other than my fun speakeasy clubs.” He chuckles.
“So?” I insist, swatting his knee at a red light.
“There’s a pier I used to go to when I needed to think. I have this feeling, you’ll like it there. We can watch the boats sail by, find some interesting rocks.”
And that’s just what we do. Gunner holds my hand as we walk along the stony beach. I squeak when the water brushes my feet until Gunner pulls me onto his back while laughing. He points out tide pools, complains about the chill that always seems to find the air in New York.
We stop as the sun hangs low in the sky and Gunner sets me down. He holds my hand tightly and I roll my eyes. “Nick talked to you.”
“All of us talk pretty well when it’s about you, sweets.” He leans against me and plays with my hair, his fingers busy at the base. Every brush of his fingertips on my scalp makes me want to purr. “You deserve normal stuff too. You were right about the one-on-one dates and spending time together.”
I lean into him and rub his belly. “I’m just having a … quarter-life crisis or something. I don’t want to be a burden to you guys and sometimes I feel like I am … so it’s easier to just keep things inside.”
“Well knock that shit off. I’m capable of a lot, but I can’t read your mind. No one can. You can be predictable sometimes, but …” He takes my swat and chuckles, rubbing my arm with his free hand. “The point is that you can tell us these things. Wewantto know.”
“I don’t know that I can handle you being all reasonable and logical.” I meet his eyes. “What happened to my playboy?”
“He’s reformed.” Gunner grips my hair tighter, then jerks me towards him, hot need spreading through my system as he flashes that wicked smile. “Mostly.”
“Mostly is good.” I pant.
“It is.” He loosens his hold. “When we’re not on a beach talking about serious things.”
We sit there for a while, saying nothing. On the way back, I finally find the words. “I’m lucky to have you guys.”
“Oh stop.”
“I mean it, Gun. I can be a whole dumpster fire of a person when my thoughts get to me. But you guys never let that happen.”
“You still have to talk about it, sweets.” He kisses my palm. “Trust me. Not even alcohol can fix every problem.”
“Like what?”
“Figuring out what’s up with Roman for one.” He narrows his eyes out the windshield. “I think he’s up to something.”
“Gunner.” I shake my head, then remember the ring.
“Do you know something?”
“Nope.” I pop the p. “Not a thing.”
HOLDEN
Sophie has to go to work again on Tuesday which means I’m alone. I stretch out my arms, high over my head, and slump back in my chair. My vision is swimming with numbers. Luckily, they all have a trail, so I’m not worried about how things are going there.
I’m more worried about this weekend.
It’s been so long since I’ve had a birthday, I’m not sure what to think or do. Should I just accept it, even if it means Sophie puts a crown on my head? Should I just sit there and drink? Will they sing Happy Birthday?
Fire and a bunch of people, that sounds like a winning combination.
My mother told me there would be a time that celebrating a birthday would go from selfish to self-ish. I guess this is the year. Not celebrating for years has made life feel normal, stable.
I get a call from my mother and that’s all I need.
Now there is going to be a cookout, with guests, with presents, cakes, and expectations. I would have preferred having Sophie all weekend, wrapped around me in bed. We could talk, she could whisper “happy birthday” in my ear.
I’d be pleased as can be. But apparently, it’s important to her that we celebrate.