It was too shabby to wear in public anymore, anyway. And she looks better in it than I ever did. I glance at her again, seeing the shirt drape over her smooth, sun-kissed skin, and a subtle wave of pleasure creeps in that she’s wearing something of mine on her.

I shift in my chair, blinking at my cards to get past the stars in my vision.

“Need a hand?” Eddie offers her.

Flickering my gaze to Jordan, I see her bend over into the freezer, and I furrow my brow.

But Todd comments, a sly humor filling his tone. “Oh, leave her alone. She’s doing just fine on her own.”

The guys chuckle, unmistakably enjoying the view, and Jordan swings back upright, hefting the box of Otter Pops into the crook of her arm. She arches an eyebrow at Todd while letting the lid slam shut.

I brace myself for her smart mouth, but instead, she saunters to the table and looks over his shoulder and down at his hand. “Oh, look at that,” she says, her eyes lighting up and her voice chipper. “You have all the kings in the deck. What luck, huh?”

Dutch snorts, and I can’t help but shake with laughter as everyone joins in the amusement. Everyone except Todd, who throws down his cards, giving up his hand now.

She fixes a self-satisfied smile on her face and makes for the stairs again. I’m half-tempted to tell her to make sure no one gets those popsicles in the pool, but I’m trying not to micro-manage her and Cole like they’re kids.

“Oh, hey, can I ask you a question?” she says, stopping half-way up the stairs.

I meet her eyes.

“There’s a little cake in the refrigerator,” she goes on. “Cole’s begging to eat it, but I didn’t buy it and wasn’t sure where it came from. Just wanted to check with you before he digs in.”

Fuck. I keep my face straight despite my aggravation. I can feel the guys’ eyes on me.

“Oh, uh, it’s a…” I mumble, shaking my head and pretending to study my cards again. “I, uh… I got it for you guys…today, at the store…for both of you.”

She doesn’t say anything, and after a moment of completely, uncomfortable silence, I glance up. She cocks her head, looking confused.

I toss three cards at Dutch for him to pass me three more, although I’m not sure which three I just discarded.

She’s still looking at me. I can feel it.

I rush out with more info, hoping she’ll say something and get out of here. “I was just passing Etienne’s and remembered you didn’t get any cake on your birthday,” I tell her, acting nonchalant, “or a chance to really celebrate. I just thought you guys might like it.” I grab three new cards off the stack when Dutch fails to pass me new ones. “I was passing by anyway. No big deal.”

If it wasn’t a big deal, I wouldn’t have felt suddenly weird about it when I came home. It was stupid to get it in the first place. She’s not my kid.

But for some reason, passing the window and spotting the three-layer cake with pink roses covering every inch, I thought of her. I guess I was just still trying to make up for acting like a dick the other day.

And the other night she mentioned blowing out candles, making wishes…. She didn’t get to do that properly on her birthday—donuts don’t count—so I felt bad even though it wasn’t my fault. Buying it seemed like a good idea at the time.

Bringing it home felt sentimental, though. Too sentimental. I stuck it in the fridge, hidden in the pink box, waiting to see if the mood struck me again before I just threw it out.

“But yeah, it’s yours, so let him go for it,” I finally say, sparing her a quick glance before looking back down at my cards.

“Weren’t you going to tell me it was there?”

I shrug. “I forgot about it, I guess.”

The lie doesn’t sound convincing, but her excited voice saves me from the heat of everyone’s eyes on me.

“Well, in that case, then no,” she states firmly. “He can’t have any. It’s mine.”

My heart warms, and I can’t help it. I look up slowly. She’s smiling at me as she ascends the rest of the stairs.

“Thank you!” she calls, and then I hear the door open and the music flood in before it closes again.

Pink. I bought her a fucking pink cake like she’s seven. With roses on it. Did she see the cake? Does it look like a little girl’s cake? Or worse, something romantic? They had cakes with balloons on them. They had plain cakes. Fuck, I’m an idiot. I didn’t even think.

I throw down my cards, closing my eyes, and running my hand through my hair.

“Just a minute, guys,” I say, pushing back my chair and moving around the table, toward the stairs.

A few snickers and chuckles explode behind me as I leave the basement and run after the kid.

You know, it wasn’t long ago I could think clearly. I wasn’t constantly doubting every move I made and listing every possible outcome for a single action and how Jordan would respond to it. I haven’t been this confused about anything in a long time.

Pushing through the door at the top of the stairs, I hear the blare of I Love Rock ‘n Roll coming from the backyard and the splash of someone jumping into the pool. I’d tasked Jordan with collecting keys for anyone drinking, but if the neighbors decide to call the cops because of the noise, my safety measure to keep kids from drunk driving wouldn’t save me from the illegality of letting minors drink here in the first place.

Although I have a cop downstairs, so I’m guessing the odds are on my side.

I enter the kitchen, catching glimpses of the party-goers outside, and see Jordan by the refrigerator, pulling out the pink box with the cake.

She turns around and sets it on the island, looking up and meeting my eyes. “I’m not going to eat it yet,” she says. “Otherwise I’ll have to share it. I just want to see it.”

Apprehension creeps in as she lifts the lid, and there’s an apology on my lips even as I see her break into an excited smile.

I walk to the fridge and get a soda I pretend I came up here for. “Sorry if it’s childish,” I tell her. “Not sure what I was thinking.”

She crosses her arms and folds her smile between her teeth, like she’s trying to contain herself, but it’s not working. I can see the blush on her cheeks in the dark kitchen and the way her breath is trembling.

She turns her head toward me. “I don’t think I’ve ever had a cake this pretty,” she says. “Thank you for thinking of me. It’s a nice surprise.”

She looks back at the cake, a whimsical look in her eyes.

Great. Now I feel worse. She looks like this is the nicest thing someone has ever done for her, and wouldn’t that be fucking sad?

It kind of is a pretty cake, though. The frosting is designed into roses and starts off at the bottom in white and slowly grows pinker by row as it moves toward the top where it’s finally evolved into a dark hot pink.

See, it wasn’t stupid. I knew she liked pink.

“It’s pink on the inside, too,” I tell her. “Pink cake, I mean.”

Her smile grows bigger.

And it’s not made for kids, now that I remember. The cake is made with champagne, the sales lady said.

Ok, I did good. My head finally evolves into the perspective I had when I bought it, and I feel less tortured.

She dips her finger into a rose and brings it to her mouth, sucking off the sugar. My gaze freezes, watching the way her lips purse and her tongue dips out to lick the tiny bit of frosting left off the tip.

I groan inwardly, unable to stop myself from wondering how warm her mouth is.

I clear my throat. “Uh, I completely forgot candles,” I admit, moving for the drawer behind me, “but I know you have to do this, so...”

I pick out a box of matchsticks next to the pot holders and light one, going to stick it in the center of the cake, but I stop. “Should we call Cole inside?”

She glances out the window and then waves me off. I stick the matchstick into the cake.

I watch as she closes her eyes, exhales a breath and relaxes her shoulders, and then slowly, a small smile curves her lips. Instinctively, I smile, too, like I don’t know what she’s thinking, but I think I know what she’s feeling in that moment.

She blows out the matchstick and opens her eyes, the stream of white smoke billowing in front of her face.

I stay by her side for a moment, not wanting to budge.

Someone should be holding her right now. Someone should be coming to stand in front of her, putting both his hands on the counter at her sides, and feeling her breath against his face.

I breathe a little faster, imagining what she tastes like.

And then I reach for the soda can I’d set on the counter and fist it until the aluminum crackles.

That’s not good. Those thoughts aren’t good.

I walk away, swallowing three times to wet my throat, and I grab the cassette tape container from my truck off the counter and slide it across the island to her.

“And that’s for you, Birthday Girl,” I say to distract from any vibe I might’ve just been giving off. “You’re welcome.”

Her eyes fall on the black container, recognizing it, and widen, her jaw dropping. “What?!” she exclaims. “Are you seri—no way!” She smiles brightly. “I can’t take these! They were your dad’s.”

I nod, now feeling safer with the island between us. “My dad would want someone to have them who’s going to love them. You’ll love them, right?”

It’s not like I ever play the damn things. I just listen to whatever’s on the radio. She seemed pretty in awe of them, so it was the only thing I could think to give her that she’d want.

She holds up her hands animatedly and makes a face like she doesn’t know what to do with me. “But…” She trails off, scoffing. “Pike, I…”

“You want them, right?” I ask.

She scoffs again, making a face. I can see the struggle in her eyes. To her, it’s a valuable gift, and she doesn’t have a right to them. But she’s also dying to take them.