Page 13 of Strictly Yours

I walk across the street and toss my jacket into the big garbage bin on the other side. I have a closet full of them at home and if I had to choose between having another Italian suit jacket or sinking my hands into this girl’s silky hair while we kiss at the end of the night, well, that’s hardly much of a choice in my mind.

She’s smiling like she can’t believe I just did that as I jog back over.

“Now we’re getting somewhere,” she says when I return.

My adrenaline is so fired up that I take a risk and reach for her hand. She lets me take it. I can feel my heart pounding in my chest as I swallow her hand with mine and hold it like I’m never going to let it go.

Her gaze flicks up to mine—just for a second—but it’s long enough to spot the burning heat in her eyes.Damn. If she keeps looking at me like that, I’m going to get rock hard, and this is not the place—in public surrounded by firemen—to pitch a trouser tent.

She clears her throat and drops her gaze. “Anyway,” she says, pretending she wasn’t just mentally undressing me with those beautiful hazel eyes, “I think birthday nights should be spontaneous. No plans, no schedules, and definitely no spreadsheets.”

“You say that like spreadsheets are a bad thing.”

“They are,” she says, deadpan. “They’re joy-killers. Fun assassins. If a spreadsheet were a person, it’d be wearing khakis and saying ‘let’s circle back.’”

I laugh. I actually laugh. God help me.

Amber’s smile is full of delight as she looks up at me. “Was that an actual, legitimate laugh, Mr. Strickland? Careful now, what if someone saw you?”

“Don’t worry, it won’t happen again.”

Fuck, I don’t remember the last time I felt this... loose. This light. I’m standing in the middle of a New York City sidewalk in one hundred-degree heat and somehow I don’t want to hail a taxi and race home.

And it’s all because of Amber. She’s making it fun.

I’d go anywhere, and do anything with her.

The firefighters ahead of us cheer when it’s their turn to order. Amber hoots and hollers like she’s part of the team. One of them offers her a fist bump, which she accepts without hesitation. Somehow she knows everyone and no one at the same time. It’s effortless for her. She’s magnetic. It’s like shebelongshere. In this city. In this moment. In my life.

I’ve been here for twenty years, she’s been here for twenty minutes, and somehow she’s more of a New Yorker than me.

This girl is unreal.

I raise my hand, flagging Vito or whatever cousin is working for Vito tonight. “All the firemen are on me,” I say.

Now, they’re all cheering and fist-bumping with me too. They slap my back and thank me in their thick New Yorker accents. I can’t help but smile, feeling like a real, legitimate New Yorker for the first time in my life.

Amber whispers something to the pizza guy and when I get my slice, there’s a single birthday candle sticking out of the crust.

I laugh as she starts singing Happy Birthday at the top of her lungs. The firemen join in and so does everyone in line. Eventhe pizza cooks are singing as I go bright red, the whole street serenading me. It’s the best birthday of my life.

“Don’t forget to make a wish,” she says, bright smile, wide eyes, so unbelievably perfect.

There’s only one wish I could dream up. Only one thing I want.

Her.

I wish for her.

I blow out the candles and everyone cheers. Amber wraps her arm around my neck and plants a kiss on my cheek. I feel lightheaded as her kiwi-scented shampoo fills my lungs and her perky boobs press against my shoulder. That can’t be the last time those luscious lips are on me. I need to feel them again or I’ll die.

The firemen ask us to sit with them, but we both want to be alone so we grab two milk crates and sit under a street light off to the side.

Goddamn, even under the bright city lights, this girl looks like a dream. I want to see her in every kind of lighting—candlelight, sunsets, early morning sun waking up in bed… Hell, I even want to see her under those harsh fluorescent lights in McDonald’s. I want to see it all. I want to experience her in every way.

“What do you think?” she asks when I take a bite of the pizza. It’s good. Really fucking good.

“Better than Pizza Hut,” I say before taking another bite.