Page 101 of Wild Card
I know why. He can see Tripp’s vehicle just as clearly as I can. I just desperately want to will it away, pull out an eraser, and remove it from our afternoon entirely.
“It would also appear that Tripp is back.”
I sigh and glare at the car and make a wish for it to disappear. He’s the last person I want to see right now.
My wishes are not answered. The car is still there, mocking me.
Bash continues talking. “Don’t worry. I’ll manage Tripp, I know he won’t make a scene because the real issue is that I invited our friends over for a surprise birthday party.”
I freeze and then bite down on a smile, not wanting to react too obviously. No one has ever planned a party for me. “I don’t think you’re supposed to tell people that they’re about to attend their own surprise party.”
Bash scoffs. “Well, these goofs didn’t do a very good job of covering their tracks, now, did they?” He tips his head toward where the cars are lined up in the driveway.
“You could have come up with some other excuse. Like… Clyde invited everyone over for a group taint-tanning session?”
Bash looks disgusted. “That’s a horrifying visual. But yes, I could have made something up. But you broke my brain. I’m not firing on all cylinders.”
I smile. “Bash, this is actually so romantic,” I tease. “You planned me a big birthday party? The perpetual bachelor and town loner invited other people to his trash can just for me?”
I get an eye roll now. “Good god, you and Clyde with that Oscar the Grouch metaphor. That really needs to die.”
“Why? It’s so cute. Everybody secretly loves Oscar. Yeah, he’s grouchy, but it’s part of his charm. Just like you. If you were too happy, it would just be weird. I would wonder if you were sick or dying or something.”
He rumbles a laugh now, shaking his head as he cuts the engine. “What a way to be known: the guy who, if he was too happy, would probably be dying.”
He’s about to hop out of the car when I reach across the center console, grip the lapels of his jacket, and pull him to me. I kiss him quickly, needing one more before we walk into the house.
He freezes at first but only for a beat, then he softens. Those rough fingers trace the edge of my jaw, fluttering over it like I’m porcelain and he wants to be careful with me.
Less than thirty minutes ago though, he certainly was not concerned about being delicate with me.
And I am captivated by both sides of him.
He kisses me back, so full of longing that it makes my chest ache.
“Thank you,” I whisper, pulling away slightly. “I needed that.”
He plants one more quick, firm kiss against my lips, and then another, like he just can’t help himself. Like he just can’t get enough. His eyes trace mine, dropping to my mouth, and then back up.
When he looks at me like this, I feel like I might be the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen. I feel like I’m his.
“Always,” he murmurs, just before a low grumbling sound rumbles in his throat. Then, “But goddamn it, right now I’m really regretting the surprise party. I should walk in there and cancel it. Tell them all to get the fuck out.”
I burst out laughing at that. “Yeah, the best of intentions and all that.” I chuckle, planting a kiss against his stubbled chin. “This will just make what’s coming later that much better. So let’s go get this over with. Start early and end early. Then you can follow through on all the things you said because it would be plain rude to break those promises on my birthday.”
His lips curl into the most subtle of smiles. “Yeah, that’s probably true. Can’t be lying to my girl on her birthday.”
I sigh wistfully, pulling myself away from him. Knowing that if I don’t create some space, I’ll be crawling across the center console for a repeat performance.
He unbuckles himself and points at me before getting out of his truck. “Stay there. Don’t spoil my last chance to touch you before we go in there.”
Then he slams the door, and I wait because I’d never want to spoil that for him.
We walk in to an eerily quiet house, kick our shoes off, and suddenly I’m glad that Bash did tell me because now I can do my best to control my facial expression.
I pad into the kitchen, the warm heat of him following closely at my back, urging me forward. When I round the corner, a chorus of shouts ring out.
“Surprise!” everyone yells, popping up from beyond the island—except for Clyde, who’s seated on his usual stool at the countertop, rolling his eyes.
