She stands, and walks over to me, and that’s when I notice what she’s wearing. Tight as fuck black jeans hug her curves flawlessly, paired with a lacey black top, that pushes her tits so high, if I wasn’t already speechless I’d definitely be at a loss for words now. Her dark hair is wild and tousled like she’s been freshly fucked and her bright green eyes are lined with something dark.
Holy wet dream.
Ivy steps up to me, and clasps her hands behind her back, still looking sheepish. My gaze drops to her perfect tits, and I briefly imagine my dick sliding in between them.
“Sorry, I didn’t tell you,” she whispers, startling me out of my fantasy. She’s gnawing on her lip, obviously nervous. “I just didn’t know how to bring it up naturally.”
“It’s my birthdaywould’ve done the trick,” I say, and it comes out harsher than I meant it to.
Ivy can definitely tell because she glances over at Lilah who is racing around the house scrounging up craft supplies for her card, and cringes. “Yeah. Sorry. You’ve just done so much for me already, it felt weird telling you randomly. I didn’t want you to think I was only telling you because I expected something from you.”
“Alright, alright, we get it, grumpy gills,” Sophie interrupts, patting me on the chest. “Let me take our girl out for a bit then we’ll be back. You gave her a tattoo, that’s a pretty good gift,” my sister adds, pointing to Ivy’s arm.
That’s not enough. Not for Ivy.
Before I can even get a word in, Sophie drags Ivy out the door, and I watch as Ivy mouths “Sorry” just before the door shuts. I just stand there stunned for a few moments. When I realize I still didn’t tell her happy birthday, I rip the door open to do just that, but all I see is Sophie’s tail lights down the road.
Shit. I need a plan.
I turn my head to see Lilah at the dining room table, crayon and markers sprawled about with her tongue sticking out of mouth as she scribbles violently on a piece of paper.
An idea comes to mind, and I think it through quickly to decide if it’s doable. I have about two hours to accomplish it. It’s cutting it close, but I’m going to try like hell anyway.
I call out to Lilah. “Lilah Mae, want to do something for Ivy?
34
Ivy
“Remind me again why you didn’t want me to tell Wes about your birthday,” Sophie says, slurping the last dregs of her drink noisily from her straw.
“I’ve already told you, it felt weird just telling him. I thought if it came up naturally, I’d say something. Then I forgot for a little while, basically until this morning when I checked my phone and saw that I got a birthday email from my dentist.”
“Aw, I love those,” Sophie coos.
“Plus your brother has done so much for me, I just didn’t want to put that on him.”
“What do you mean put that on him? Why do you always say that?” Sophie asks, the humor that was there before, gone.
“Say what?” I ask.
“You always say you ‘don’t want someone to feel like they have to do something’ Or ‘I don’t want to put that on you.’ Or my favorite, ‘I didn’t want you to feel obligated.’” She of course mimics me with her air quotes.
Well, this just got real.
I don’t answer for a beat, and stir my drink with the straw, scanning the crowd of The Whiskey Hollow on the slow weekday night.
Sophie waits patiently, but eventually I muster the courage to speak up. “Well, my therapist likes to tell me that I have a fear of being a burden or have difficulty with vulnerability.” I grin at her, then wiggle my eyebrows playfully, just further driving that point home.
“Ah, yes. Well, you know that you aren’t right? A burden. To Wes, to me, to any of us.”
“Yeah, I know.” I reply, waving her off.
“Do you, though? Because someone who knew they weren’t a burden, probably would’ve called a friend when they needed somewhere to live. They probably wouldn’t have made themselves at home in a run down motel room, and lied to everyone around them about it. And they probably would’ve told their boyfriend that it was their birthday. Don't you think?”
I scrunch my nose at theboyfriendcomment. Is he my boyfriend? He said we were together. The expression on her face is soft. She’s not angry with me, but she’s not sugar coating anything either. All attempts at deflecting with humor have vanished and I clear my throat to will the burning sensation away to answer honestly.
“Yeah, probably.”
