Page 21 of That Girl is Trouble

“I’ve seen the bitches you ran through before me, Jess. I know you’d sink that low.”

Jesse’s responding curse echoes up and down the stairwell, followed by a thump and the sound of drywall breaking.

I rip my door open, and they both freeze. Jesse is towering over Kat, who’s a solid wall of stubbornness, arms folded over her chest, her face twisted in anger, her cheeks splotched red. She doesn’t drop her scowl when she turns to me. Instead, it deepens as she tilts her chin up, daring me to fucking do something like she’s obviously been daring Jesse.

Jess clears his throat and steps back.

“Go take a walk,” I bark at him before he can get a word out. “Dinner is in an hour. Sort your head out before then.” I eye the hole he punched in the wall and then jerk my head at Kat. “And you. Inside. Now.”

She gives me a long, scathing look. Knowing her, she’s gauging my mood, deciding how far she can push me like she’s pushing him. I’m not sure what she sees, but after too long of a silence for her to be comfortable, she shoots Jesse one last glare and shoulders past me into my apartment.

Kat stalks over to my fridge, pulls out a beer, pops off the cap, and then presses it to her lips.

Mid-sip, I rip it from her hands and bring it to my own mouth, tasting a hint of something sweet along with the hops. What is that? Her fucking lip gloss? Cherries?

“It’s my birthday,” she snaps, reaching out for the bottle.

I smile and pull it back. “Yeah. Your seventeenth birthday. Last time I checked, legal drinking age was nineteen.”

“Since when do you care about what’s legal?”

Ignoring her, I take another swig and wipe my mouth with the back of my hand. “You two need to cut that out. The yelling. It’s irritating.”

“Tell him that,” she snarls. “What do you know about last Saturday? Did he—”

“Don’t involve me in your shit.” I infuse my tone with enough warning that she drops it. Not all my guys are the one-woman type, and I don’t pay much attention to where everyone’s dipping their dicks. I’d rather not start by trying to figure out whether Jesse’s treating Kat the way he should be.

Not my girl, not my business.

She takes an angry step towards me, fire in her eyes like she’s gearing up to run her mouth again. But before she can start, she catches sight of the cake box on the counter, and she stills. “Did you… did you guys get me a cake?”

I cock an eyebrow. “It’s your birthday, isn’t it?”

“Yes, but…” Kat swallows, and then the way she looks at me, it does something strange. There’s a pull in my chest, a tightness tugging at my throat.

“Not a big deal, Kat. It’s just a cake.”

“Right. You’re right,” she says. “I’ve just never…”

I tilt my head and squint at her, confused. “You’ve never had a birthday cake?”

“My mom just… she forgot things. Triss would pick up cupcakes. It was usually just the two of us. We’d do this mini birthday thing. A cupcake each. A candle in mine. I’d always make a wish.”

The soft smile that spreads across her face draws my attention to her lips, and I suddenly have a craving for strawberries. Or maybe cherries. I take another sip of my beer to confirm. Definitely cherries.

“When she was away for school, sometimes she’d have one dropped off. She’d call me, and I’d blow out my candle while she was on the phone with me. It was our thing, I guess.” Turning away, she clears her throat and quickly wipes her eyes. “Thank you, Axe. This is…”

With my free hand, I pull open the second box and grab a chocolate cupcake with white icing. I snag a single birthday candle off the counter and spear it into the centre.

I light it.

She studies me, lips parted.

Our faces are too close, so I step back, lifting the cupcake between us.

“Make a wish,” I say.

Another smile splits her face, and she closes her eyes. A sigh slips from her mouth, making the flame between us dance, but I can’t pull my focus away from her face. The soft curve of her chin, her lashes resting delicately on her cheeks, the small bow of her lips. It shouldn’t feel this good. Sneaking this moment, taking in all those features that are usually pulled into some kind of scowl. I’m not sure which face I like more— the Kat that’s soft and quiet, or the one that’s mouthy and dripping with sarcasm.

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