“You’re gonna have to wait for that,” I say, but I kiss her softly.
“So,” she says after a few moments of silence, “when’s your birthday?”
My head whips around in surprise. That’s about the last question I expected to hear from her.
“Why?” I ask with my eyes narrowed. “Don’t buy me shit for my birthday,” I warn.
“Why not?”
“Because I’m the one who buys you things, not the other way around.” I clear my throat. The very idea makes me uncomfortable.
“When is it?” she asks again.
“I’ll tell you if you promise not to buy me anything.”
“Can you just tell me?” she snaps.
“March first,” I grumble.
“Do you want to know when mine is?” she asks.
“I already know. December sixteenth.”
“I don’t want you buying me anything either,” she says.
I lock eyes with her and smirk. “Who’s going to stop me?”
She opens her mouth to speak, but her phone rings. She pulls it out, puts a finger to her lips, and says, “Hi, Daddy.”
I tune out the conversation. Her father already knows, and I expect another visit from him tomorrow. Not that it will change anything. It was a done deal the night she touched me.
After she ends the call, her phone rings again, and I see the name Cori flash across her screen. She turns and gives me her back while she makes lunch plans for tomorrow.
She puts the phone down, and I pull her close and press my nose to her temple.
“What are you going to order?” She looks so hopeful at the question, but I can’t stop myself from rolling my eyes. She swats my chest.
“Whatever I want.”
“What do you like to eat?”
I hold her stare before I look down. My hand lands between her legs, and gives her pussy a firm squeeze over her pants.
“How is this supposed to work if you won’t tell me anything about you?”
I tap the bridge of her nose. “Here’s what you need to know, okay?”
She nods.
“I’m your man. You’re my woman. No one will fuck with you, and whatever you want is yours.”
“I want you to tell me about you.”
I grind my teeth. That’s the one thing I don’t want to give her. Running my free hand over my face, I sigh. She stares and bats her big, brown eyes at me.
“I’ll probably get an omelet,” I grit out. “I’ll eat anything. I’m not picky.”
She just stares. I know I’m not giving her what she wants, but that’s all I can give right now. She puts out her hand, and I place mine in it.
