39
IS THAT A MARIACHI BAND?
Olivia
THE UNIVERSE WAS LAUGHING WHEN it planted Carter’s birthday on Valentine’s Day.
I know, because I sure laughed when I found out. Carter was unimpressed.
He narrowed his eyes and told me I’d better get ready, because he was about to unleash a lifetime of missed Valentine’s and cheesy “love shit” on me, and that he was allowed since it was his birthday.
I’d be scared, but the threat was harmless. He’s been gone for a week and we still have ve days to go.
Twelve days. It’s our longest stretch apart and I’ve hated every second of it.
But today Carter is twenty-eight, and I hate even more that I can’t spend it with him.
I check my phone while I brush my teeth, laughing at the text from Emmett from late last night that says Ur boyfriend is a fucking goof. The attached picture is of Carter at the bar, grinning from ear to ear, a beer in one hand and two deep- fried pickles in the other, wearing one of those I HEART NY shirts, which makes sense, since they played in New York last night.
Except instead of I HEART NY, it says I HEART MY GF.
My brother’s sent me an article that contains several similar pictures from dierent vantage points. The only word he’s attached to his message? Loser.
My phone rings as I’m nishing up, and I answer eagerly.
“Morning, birthday boy.”
Carter’s naked. From the waist up, at least. That’s all I can see, his broad chest, the smattering of dark hair he scratches his ngers through while yawning, giving me a sleepy smile. “Happy Valentine’s Day, beautiful girl.”
“How was your night?” I ask, riing through my closet. It’s pink and red day at school today. I’m not much of a pink girl, so I settle on a red T-shirt dress, propping my phone up on my dresser as I start peeling o my pajamas. Carter likes to watch me dress every morning. It’s oddly endearing. I enjoy his facial expressions and the way he stumbles over his words.
“You, uh…” He swipes his tongue across his lower lip. “You didn’t, um… yeah. Oh. That’s a nice bra. I love you.”
“Hey, Ollie!” I hear someone holler, and then Carter’s shrieking “No!”
Everything goes black, and I yank on my dress and a pair of tights.
“Cover yourself, Ollie!” Carter yells. “Incoming! Incoming!”
The phone lifts to Garrett’s amused face. “Dang. Not even a bare shoulder.”
There’s an oomph as Garrett gets tackled, and a moment later, Carter emerges looking victorious.
“Sorry. He was supposed to be sleeping.”
“Can’t a guy get a little Valentine’s action around here?”
“Yeah, her name was Reba, and you disappeared with her for about forty-ve minutes last night.”
Garrett looks at Carter like he’s lost his mind. “Reba? Her name wasn’t Reba.
Her name was… it was…” He scratches his head with a guilty, gritty grin.
“Rachel?”
“You guys are the worst.” I laugh, moving into the kitchen, keeping my phone trained away from the package of Oreos on my counter and the recipe lying next to it. I found the most deliciously tempting recipe on Pinterest for an Oreo cake to celebrate Carter’s birthday when he gets home. I’ve also framed a photo of us, got him a T-shirt with one of his self-proclaimed nicknames on it, and bought tickets to a VIP showing of the new live-action Disney movie, because it’s all Carter talks about. That’s about all I have planned, plus a homemade dinner. What the hell do you get the man that has everything he could ever want or need, especially when your own funds are severely lacking?
Cara told me to take a naked picture of myself, blow it up to life size, and hang it above his bed. I neglected to tell her he has an entire album full of naked pictures of me already, and though I’m sure he’d enjoy it, I would not.
“Jason’s gonna pick you up for work today,” Carter says as I shovel Corn Pops into my mouth.
“What?” I don’t need his driver to pick me up and I certainly don’t need to be arriving at school in a limo. “Why?”
“Because you shouldn’t drive yourself to work on Valentine’s Day.”
“People have been doing it for years, Carter.”
“Yeah, well, your car sucks in the snow, I know it snowed a fuckton there last night, and I can’t be with you today, so humor me.”
“Bossy man,” I murmur, sighing as I stare at the several dierent kinds of decaeinated teas in my pantry. I rub my temples and frown at the sting of pain there. Lack of sleep—and lack of Carter—is exhausting and painful.
“Need a coee this morning, pumpkin?” Carter sets the phone down and disappears, and all I can hear is the sound of water and tinkling. This man pees on the phone way too often. He groans deeply before I hear the toilet ush and the sound of the faucet.
“I think so. I’m so tired this week.” I shut the cupboard, deciding on a Starbucks run. “Big plans for your birthday tonight?” They’re ying out to Chicago this morning for their game tomorrow. I assume that means— “Oh, big plans, all right. Huge plans. I’m gonna fuck my hand while you fu —”
“Jesus fucking Christ,” someone grinds out. “There are three other people in this room right now, Carter!”
“Sorry.” The way he says it lets me know he’s not sorry at all. “I’m gonna spend the night in the hotel room on the phone with you. That’s all I wanna do.
Naked or clothed.” The re in his eyes tells me I’ll absolutely be naked.
Carter keeps me on the phone until Jason arrives to pick me up. The bouquet of owers he’s holding covers a good third of his body, and whatever he’s got in that cup and brown paper bag smells like cinnamon and heaven.
“Carter texted that you needed coee this morning. It’s a cinnamon bun latte and a cinnamon bun to go with it. He suggested you to drink half now and half
later so your stomach doesn’t hurt too much.”
My phone dings, the man himself reminding me how lucky I am.
World’s Sexiest Man: happy valentine’s day, princess. i love u & miss u.
IF YOU KNOW CARTER, AND I think you do, you know he doesn’t stop there.
Oh no, why would he?
The second gift arrives after rst period. It’s a teddy bear wearing Carter’s jersey. Something to hug when I’m not there to wrap you in my arms, the card says.
The third comes partway through second period. It’s a bouquet of chocolate- covered strawberries, and the message tucked in the tiny envelope tells me he’s imagining licking the juices from the strawberries o my body. I shove that note in my pocket real fast and share the strawberries with my junior girls.
The fourth comes right before lunch. It’s Jason again, and he’s got a bag of food and a box lled with leggings and yoga pants from Lululemon. Your ass looks too good in these to only have one pair, this note says. It’s a travesty.
I pray that’s it, but in true Carter fashion, he saves the most embarrassing gift for last.
“Madam.” Brad bows as he opens the gym doors.
“Bradley.” I eye him suspiciously as he gestures me into the gym. “Thank you.”
Him holding the door for me is the rst clue something isn’t right. The second is that the lights are o.
Heart racing, I scramble to ick them on, stopping short at the sight in front of me.
“No,” I whisper, shaking my head. “He didn’t.”
But oh, he did.
The gym erupts with music, the sound of guitars and violins and trumpets bouncing o the walls, and my jaw drops in horror.
It’s a mariachi band. A fucking mariachi band. Carter hired a fucking mariachi band to serenade me at school.
“This can’t be real,” I mutter out loud, one hand on my cheek, the other over my mouth.
“Isn’t this great?” my principal shouts, shaking a maraca—and his hips.
One of the boys takes my hand and starts spinning me around, but I’m sti as a board and wind up stumbling over my own feet.
When the music ends, the only thing to be heard above the applause is the cackling. The piercing, high-pitched, evil cackling.
Cara falls out of my oce with her phone in hand. She keels over, slapping both knees as she howls with laughter. “Oh my God. That was priceless.” She’s crying. I might be too. “You shoulda… your face… Oh my God! This video is gold, Livvie, pure gold! Carter’s gonna lose it!”
Oh, he’s gonna lose it, all right.
I’M EXHAUSTED BY THE TIME I get home. All I want to do is take o my bra and devour a pizza in the tub before inevitably passing out mid-FaceTime with Carter.
The man has managed to avoid every single one of my text messages today. At rst, I suspected he was scared after the mariachi band. Then I realized he’s probably getting some sort of sick enjoyment out of it. He likes to get me riled up. Something about hot sex when I’m mad at him. Except we can’t benet from hot, angry sex tonight, and that thought is more depressing than it should be as I step inside.
I’m not surprised by the red and pink foil heart balloons taking up my entryway, or the small gift they’re attached to. He got Cara to lm the mariachi band debacle, so of course he got her to nish the day with one more gift at home.
Running my nger along the edge of the pink envelope, I pull the card out.
There’s a picture of a smiling octopus on the front, and it says I wish I were an octopus so I had eight hands to touch your butt with.
The inside of the card? Way better than the outside.
Ollie Girl,
I’ve made a lot of mistakes, lived my life a little too carelessly, in ways that people didn’t approve of. But I wouldn’t change a thing. Because I was waiting for you. Waiting for a love that would walk into my life and blow my whole world up.
I want to celebrate every Valentine’s Day & birthday with you.
Love, Carter
I’d like to say the tears are unexpected, but they’re not. I’ve come to learn that every time this man opens his mouth, there’s a solid chance he’s going to make me laugh or cry in the best way. I don’t know where he came from, but I do know I never want to let him go.
The tiny package reveals the most beautiful bracelet. Set on a dainty golden chain is a small heart, the letters C and O hanging next to it. I slip it on, knowing the last thing I’ll be doing tonight is falling asleep on Carter.
One step into the hall, and my heart stops when I spy the rose petals scattered on the oor, leading to my bedroom. My pulse races, every nerve ending alive with anticipation as I follow the trail of petals, the soft music that coaxes me there, the gentle icker of candlelight against the open door.
“Carter,” I breathe out before I even see him.
And when I do… oh boy, when I do… “Paint me like one of your French girls,” he whispers in a deep, husky voice from where he’s sprawled out on my bed, totally naked, save for the box of chocolates on top of his crotch.
My face shatters with a grin at the sight of him. It takes everything in me to resist the urge to jump on him, instead planting my hands on my hips and arching a brow. “Is there actually chocolate in that box, or is the present your dick? Did you cut a hole in the box so you could stick your dick through it, Carter?”
His smile falls. “No. Fuck. Why didn’t I think of that?” He looks down at the box, contemplating. “And fuck you! This box is way too small to house my dick and you know it!”
I can’t hold back anymore, erupting with laughter as I bound over to him, leaping into his arms and crushing my mouth to his. “Happy birthday. Happy
Valentine’s Day. What the hell are you doing here? You’re supposed to be in Chicago. I love you.”
“I wanted to spend today with you,” he says between kisses. “I y out at four- thirty tomorrow morning.”
I push on his chest, forcing him to his back as I start pulling o my dress. “So we should go to sleep early tonight.”
“I’ll sleep on the plane,” he growls, jerking my tights down my hips.
I swipe the box of chocolates o his crotch, stopping at the gift below.
No, literally. Carter’s tied a red ribbon around his dick. I lift an amused brow as I trace the silk, watching that thick muscle jump.
His grin is devilish. “You can unwrap him, but only after you put on your outt.” He gestures toward my closet, where a beautiful piece of crimson lace and silk hangs from the door.
“Oh, Carter.” I climb o the bed and nger the lace, the thick silk ribbons that seem to—just barely—hold it together. “It’s stunning. I love it.”
“I thought you’d like it. That’s why I bought two.”
“Two?”
“Uh-huh.” Those mossy eyes storm over. “Because I’m gonna fucking destroy that one when I rip it o of you.”
There’s no point in trying to quell the re that spurs inside me at his words.
I’m going to let him destroy this and me like he always does, and then I’ll enjoy every second of the way he puts me back together.
I slip into the closet to change, admiring the ribbon I tie into little bows at each of my hips. “You know, when you said outt, I was scared it might be that I heart my girlfriend shirt you were wearing last night.”
“No, that’s for later.”
My ngers halt. “Later?”
“Yeah, I got you a matching boyfriend one. We’re wearing them to dinner later. They’re in your dryer right now.”
“Carter!”
“Olivia. Get your sweet ass out here before I come after you.”
“You must know that’s not a threat.”
“I’ll get my face printed on your boyfriend shirt.”
Yep, that’ll do it. That’ll get my ass into gear.
Carter’s sitting on the edge of the bed when I step out of the closet, and when his gaze comes to me, his jaw drops. “Sweet. Fucking. Christ.” He twirls his pointer nger in the air. “Imma need you to do a three-sixty for me, nice and slow.”
He hums appreciatively while I spin, biting his knuckles. “Get… get over here. Now. Right now.”
My steps are slow and purposeful, a little nervous. He’s everything I could ever ask him to be, and I want to be the same for him.
He reaches for my hands, tugging me between his muscular thighs. Fingertips dance up the lace, along the ribbon. He tugs one end, watching as the middle falls open, letting my breasts drop, before he quickly ties it back together and rests his forehead against my stomach, whimpering.
I repeat, Carter Beckett is whimpering.
His gaze torches my skin. “Now I need you to lay back and be a good girl.”
“A good girl?” I absolutely utter my lashes. For dramatic eect.
“Uh-huh. You know how to do that?”
I trail the tips of my ngers over his thighs. “I’m not sure. What does being a
good girl entail?”
“Doing everything I say.”
“Everything?”
Carter’s smirk is all dangerous, naughty decisions mixed with a heaping side of pure lust and tender love that’s been put on the back burner for the last week.
“Everything. And you can start with sitting that perfect fucking pussy right over my face.”
THE BIRTHDAY BOY IS HUNGRY tonight. He’s currently working on his second entrée, even after feasting on me for two hours straight, and he doesn’t look anywhere close to being sated. That’s the only logical explanation as to why his hand is beneath the table, where it’s been all evening, stroking my leg.
“Can I tell you something, Ollie girl?”
“Of course.”
He stirs his pasta around his plate. “I’ve never been with anyone before for Valentine’s Day. Or my birthday.” His cheeks tint as he raises his gaze to me, looking me over in the warm glow of the candles. His eyes land on my shirt—yes, he wasn’t joking about the I HEART MY BF shirt; I’m here, and I’m wearing it —and he smiles. “Valentine’s Day means a lot to some people. People don’t want to be alone. They want hope for more. But I… I never wanted it to mean anything. Not then, at least. And my birthday, it was my day, my time. I didn’t want to spend it pretending, not even for one minute.”
He looks down at his plate, smiling. “My mom said she was happy I found someone that makes me want to y all the way home just to be with her on this day. The best part, for me, is that I’m still not pretending. I get to be myself, and there’s no one else I want to do this with, today and every day.”
My heart squeezes in my chest, and he leans across the table, taking my chin between his ngers and kissing my lips.
He settles back in his spot and clears his throat. “I can’t wait to see the new
Disney movie with you.”
My fork clatters to the table. “What?”
His head bobs as he avoids my gaze. “Yeah, and I owe you a new box of Oreos for my birthday cake. I accidentally ate a row while waiting for you to get home.
That recipe looks fantastic, though. Oh, and you know how I washed these shirts? I also washed the one I found in a gift bag, the one that said Mr.
Incredible.”
“Carter!”
He pins me with a sheepish grin that’s anything but innocent. “You can’t be mad at me. I’m the birthday boy.”
