Frankie wasn’t a crier. Even as a kid, if she fell, she’d bite her lip so hard, to stem the tears, that her mouth would hurt more than whatever she’d cut or bruised. But if she bit her lip hard enough to stop the tears forming in her eyes right this minute, she would draw blood. So she let her eyes fill and her heart fall at their feet. There were three pieces of paper taped to the wall of the kitchen with the words Happy Birthday Frankie scrawled across them. Balloons were dancing around the room in a rainbow of colors. As the boys sat nicely at the table, Ryan watched her as she stood in the doorway, her eyes taking it all in. One tear slipped and she rubbed it away roughly. Ryan took a step toward her and bent his knees to look in her eyes. His cologne was almost as intoxicating as the scent of chocolate that filled the air. His dark eyes and that hint of a smile made something more than desire stir inside of her, but she wasn’t willing to think too deeply about that just now.
“You okay?” She nodded and smiled at the boys. Travis’s nerves showed in the firm set of his mouth. Carter looked like Carter, unconcerned but with less of a sneer than normal. Miles was grinning loudly, his smile filling the room along with the balloons.
“I can’t believe you guys did this,” she muttered. She stepped into Ryan, wrapped her arms around him, and held tight. She felt him kiss the top of her head, as he rubbed his hands up and down her back. She leaned back and looked up at him, biting the inside of her cheek, then walked to the boys.
“Get up,” she instructed. Carter and Travis frowned, just looking at her, but Miles jumped up out of his chair like moving was the best idea he’d ever heard. She looked at the older two and said, “I’m going to hug you. You’re both going to get up and take it like men.” Carter laughed and Travis almost showed teeth when he smiled. They stood and she hugged Carter first. He was taller than her and his hug was easy. Travis was thin and she could fit her arms all the way around him with no effort. His hug was, like him, slightly reserved, but real. She saved Miles for last because he was the easiest to show affection to. She lifted him and he wrapped his small arms around her neck, hugged her just as tightly as she hugged him.
“You guys are the absolute best, you know that?” she whispered. Miles nodded, telling her, yes, he did know that. They sat down to eat and once again, she was impressed by Travis’s cooking skills. He’d made a rosemary chicken, garlic mashed potatoes, and steamed vegetables. They ate and they laughed and Frankie couldn’t remember a birthday dinner she’d enjoyed more. Every moment of it felt how birthdays were supposed to—about the person, not the celebration.
She’d never been big on parties but her parents were and most events, birthdays or otherwise, were over the top. Frankie always felt lost at them, like no one really knew why they were there except to socialize and update each other on their latest successes. Helping Miles mop up the milk he spilled, dragging information out of Travis about his school work, and listening to Ryan and Carter argue over batting stance brought Frankie more joy than she thought possible. She’d come here to be alone, to figure out who she was and what she wanted. It scared her, to an alarming degree, that what she wanted was at this table.
Miles gave her paper flowers. Carter cleaned the kitchen after they’d eaten the delicious cake. She thanked Travis again for the meal. Then the three boys, pumped at the thought of a sixty-inch screen, went over to Ryan’s. Miles hauled his own pillow and the small, ragged scrap of cloth that he wouldn’t sleep without. She watched them walk down her driveway and when she shut the door and leaned against it, Ryan stood in front of her, sexy and smiling.
Her heart didn’t race, it didn’t kick into overdrive looking at him, standing there in a short-sleeved, dark blue shirt that emphasized his strong arms and hard chest. Instead, as her eyes moved over the solid length of him, it slowed, like the weight of wanting him so badly was too much to pump through. Tiny shivers danced over her skin and he hadn’t even touched her yet. This time, when she bit her lip, it was to stop herself from blurting out how hard she was falling for him. Ryan’s eyes were locked on hers when she finally brought them back up.
“You could have told me your birthday was coming,” he said, his voice slow and thick like her heart and the air.
“That seemed…needy,” she said honestly. She’d thought of telling him.
“You’re probably the least needy woman I’ve ever met.“ He gave a sweet, one-sided smile and now her heart picked up its pace, building steady momentum.
“I feel pretty needy right now,” she joked, then cringed.
Cheesiness and clichés. God, she knew better. But with him looking at her like that, she couldn’t help herself. He laughed and the sound settled her, washed over her like warm water. Taking a deep breath, she closed the distance between them and laid her hands on his chest, his heat firing into her palms. Everything about him was solid and not just physically. It was alluring to her that he could be so strong, despite the punches he’d taken.
She’d run from nothing and he’d run from everything and somehow, they’d smacked straight into each other like that was exactly where they were meant to be.
“Tell me what you need, Frankie.” His voice was rough, desire edging out the last of his teasing tone. He ran one finger up and down her arm, waking up her skin. She didn’t want her answer to be quite so true, but at the moment it was and since her heart wasn’t fickle, she couldn’t see it changing. So she pushed aside her nerves and her reservations, and answered honestly.
“You.”
He made a low humming sound in his throat, and then his hands were in her hair and his mouth was on hers and it was completely evident that he needed her as well. He nipped at her lower lip, pulling it between his own, sucking slightly before tracing his tongue over it teasingly. She inhaled sharply, fisting his shirt in her fingers. He kept one hand gripped in her hair and let the other run roughly over the side of her, down and around to grip her and pull her tightly against him.
She made a sound of her own and pushed closer, wanting more and taking it. She yanked at his shirt, tugging it, needing it off of him, to be closer. To have her hands on his skin. He helped her by pulling it up and over his shoulders, tossing it, and before she could appreciate the view, before she could catch her breath, he was kissing her, consuming her, again.
His skin was hot or maybe that was hers, and Frankie inhaled the scent of his soap, grazing his shoulder with her teeth. He backed her against the door, his mouth making her dizzy. When she wrapped her arms around him, he slid his hands down again, spreading them wide on her thighs, his fingertips digging in so he could boost her up and press against her. She wrapped her legs around him but it was her who felt surrounded. He leaned back, their noses touching, both of them breathing in only each other. She curled forward, tasting the smooth skin where his neck met his shoulder; even there, he was hard and toned and sexy. But it wasn’t enough. She anchored her hands in his hair, needing something to hang on to but she was falling too fast, tripping over the rush of wanting him so completely.
He fought with the buttons of her shirt, not allowing enough space between them for his hand to actually get through. One button popped. His fingers paused, but his lips didn’t, and then another button, helpless under his restless fingers, tore away. A laugh tickled her throat as his lips trailed over her neck and one of her hands explored the ridges of muscle in his back.
“You owe me a shirt,” she whispered. He leaned back, his eyes heavy with lust and amusement.
“In that case.”
One hand on either side of her shirt, he yanked, pulling it open, the rest of the buttons flying and the sound of cloth thrilling her even as his mouth found hers again. She whispered his name as her tongue and lips trailed over his skin. His hands wouldn’t stop moving or she couldn’t stay still. When he gripped her ass with both hands and spun, all the air left her lungs. It didn’t seem to matter, as long as she had him. He carried her to her bedroom and with arms and legs locked around each other, she felt like she was falling. Too far to ever be caught.
The soft fabric of her comforter slid against her back, emphasizing the hard feel of him when he came down on top of her, hands still moving everywhere at once. She hadn’t closed her blinds so the bit of light from the moon that was pushing up into the sky came through and blanketed both of them. When he leaned back slightly, she ran her hand along his smooth jaw and over his lips, and sucked in a harsh breath at the intensity she felt mirrored in his eyes.
His breath rushed over her fingertips as they touched his lips. He sucked lightly on her index finger, sliding his mouth down, his eyes not leaving hers. She slid her other hand into his hair, even as she tightened her legs around him, urging him closer. Time slowed between them as they watched each other in the moonlight. He allowed little space between them as he peeled the rest of her clothes from her body and then his own. She couldn’t say why she felt tears threaten again. But, as if he sensed it, he kissed each of her eyelids when they drifted shut. Opening them, seeing him above her, feeling his breathing in time with hers, made her chest constrict. She hadn’t known something could be so tender and so incredibly sexy in the same moment. He ran his nose along hers softly.
“What’s Frankie short for?” he whispered.
“Frances.” He smiled and her nerves made her giggle. “My mom’s favorite movie was Dirty Dancing.” She felt him everywhere when he laughed and the sound filled the room.
“Nobody puts Baby in the corner?”
She felt her cheeks color and she nodded, biting her bottom lip. He used his thumb to pull her lip free and kissed her softly.
“I like Frankie,” he said, then amended his statement. “I like you.” Her heart beat hard against her chest, or maybe it was his but she could feel the steady beat between them, pushing her emotions too close to the surface. Making her want. Making her need. More than she ever had.
“I like you, too.”
His hands gripped both of hers, his breath against her ear, her skin pulsing, his name on her lips. She closed her eyes, lost in sensation, in him.
“Look at me. Look at me, Frankie,” he whispered. When she did, she wanted to tell him that she could do just that forever. But, there were no more words needed.