Page 7 of Striker

So, I shove back my laptop and open the bag she brought for me. Inside I find a club sandwich on ciabatta bread with three kinds of meat and some kind of dark glaze that gives it a sweet, tangy finish. I don’t ask what it is because I don’t want to seem ignorant. I just enjoy the good food she made me. My stomach gives a little spasm, like maybe it doesn’t know quite what to do with food this good.

We go to her place, which is kind of getting to be our thing. I don’t know quite how to react when we walk through the door to find balloons, cake and a large wrapped gift. I start to worry that it’s her birthday and I forgot. Only when I see my name on the cake do I remember that it’s my fuckin’ birthday. Although we’ve never talked about it, I’m sure she got the date from my personal coffee profile.

“Are you surprised?” she asks with a big grin.

I gesture to her high-top dining room table, where she has everything set up. “I’m fuckin’ shocked that you remembered the birthday that slipped my mind.”

“Yeah,” she says, wrapping her arms around my waist. “That’s so on brand for you that it’s not even funny.”

The cake looks homemade and it’s sitting in a covered glass cake plate. It’s about the prettiest thing I’ve ever seen, besides Beth. “I can smell the sugar from here, although the cake is covered.”

“It’s Black Forest cake. I remembered you saying it was your favorite. I made chocolate buttercream icing for it.”

The number of glistening cherries on top is innumerable. I rub my hands together like the greedy bastard I am. “I want a slice right now. Is that okay or do I have to blow out candles to earn a piece?”

She pulls the cover off the cake, commenting, “What a bizarre thing to say. You know, the part about blowing out candles to earn cake.”

My eyes flash up to hers. “That’s somethin’ my mom used to say to me as a kid. I highly suspect it was meant to keep me from tearing into the cake before they could sing happy birthday.”

Beth laughs as she cuts me a slice. Rather than singing to me, like I’m a kid, she just hands me a generous slice on a saucer and says sincerely, “Happy birthday, babe.”

I can’t keep the smile off my face as I dig in. Her cake is light, fluffy and melts in my mouth. It’s honestly the best cake I’ve ever tasted in my life. And what makes it better is the fact that she made it with her own hands, just for me.

I devour it in five bites, amazed that she’s throwing me a little birthday party for two. This is worlds better than inviting a bunch of people over. I don’t know why I like this so much. Maybe because it feels like sharing a special occasion with the person I like most in the entire world.

She slides the large prettily wrapped gift over to me. “I hope you like it. I picked out something you could use every day.”

“A practical gift, right?”

She shrugs carelessly with one shoulder. “Maybe. I guess it all depends upon how you think about it.”

Her cryptic response has me intrigued. I tear the wrapping paper off and am shocked to find one of those fancy coffee makers that makes coffee by the cup. It doesn’t take pods. It’s the kind where you have to pack the coffee in a small puck. It’s a proper espresso machine, the kind that pulls a shot or brews a full mug if that’s what you want. I turn the box over in my hands, fascinated to read about all the features.

“A man who loves gourmet coffee as much as you do deserves a nice machine,” she says.

“This beast must have cost a small fortune,” I grumble.

She just laughs and takes a bite of the cake she cut for herself. “Luckily for you, you’re not dating some broke-ass girl. And besides, you’re totally worth it. Now you can have gourmet coffee anytime you like.”

“Beth. This is too much—one of the best gifts I’ve ever gotten in my life. I’m gonna have a lot of fun with this thing.”

“I’m glad. Look, I know you’re the kind of guy that’s used to giving instead of receiving expensive gifts. So I also know how personally awkward it must feel to let somebody treat you to an extra nice gift.”

Beth is so genuine that I don’t do that thing I usually do, where I start calculating how much the gift costs and how I can pay her back with equally expensive gifts. I don’t know why I do this, but I’ve built my whole life around making sure gift-giving balances out. Beth gave me this gift with no expectations of getting anything in return. She just wanted me to have good coffee.

I give her a fierce hug, feeling a bunch of emotions bubbling up to the surface. We set the machine up together and give it a trial run. I read the manual out in a loud, staccato voice that makes her laugh. She times how long it takes the machine to brew cups of coffee on her cell phone and calls out the seconds like she’s on a pit crew. Nothing compares to taking the first sip of warm brew and knowing this is how I’m gonna be starting my day for the rest of my life.

When we’re finished, she cleans the machine and packs it back in the original box for me to take home with me. “There,” she says, sounding pleased with herself. “Now, you have the kind of coffee maker that goes with that civilized, old-money name of yours.”

I look at her and realize that every wall I’ve quietly built over the years just came tumbling down.

I don’t remember quite how it happens, but one minute I’m standing there admiring her and the next, I suddenly understand what real love is. It’s a bond born of emotional intimacy, respect and genuinely caring about the other person. It’s wanting and needing to be with them, protect them, and make a life with them. It’s this strong feeling of home and hearth building in my chest.

She moves closer and her hands fist in my shirt, where my cut is open. I sift one hand through her soft hair as we kiss. Like always, our attraction is intense. We go from zero to a hundred in seconds, like we’ve both been starved for affection our entire fuckin’ lives.

She tastes like the chocolate cake and coffee we just made together. I back her against the table, and she makes a whimpering sound that makes my cock instantly hard. With any luck, I’ll be hearing that sound for the rest of my life. I tilt her head and deepen the kiss. When we tangle tongues, Beth is as eager as I am. I love that about her.

When her hands go to my zipper, I know what she wants without her having to say it. She wants us to have birthday sex on the prettily decorated dining room table.