I try to stop staring at my phone in hopes it will ring or vibrate.
It’s not that London doesn’t care. I know she cares. I know she would be here to celebrate my birthday if she had the option.
My eyes steal another glance of the black screen.
Okay, so I don’t know that she would. It’s just what I believe. She may not be a fan of “typical girlfriend duties”, like accompanying me to drinks at a colleague’s house, but she wouldn’t let her own hang ups about nomenclature stand in the way of being here if she had a choice.
“Oliver Lincoln Shaw, you might wanna grab a piece of that coffee cake now or forever hold your peace,” Mama playfully fusses as she sits down in her seat at the opposite end of the wooden table from me.
I give her a short shrug. “It’s fine, Mama. Not really hungry.”
“Or happy ,” Pop inserts.
“Come on, Pop,” Blake invades the conversation at the same time he enters the room. “It’s Oliver. He’s never happy.”
Not usually at gatherings like this. Not when we’re all together and the blatant truth about being the odd man out punches me in the chest repeatedly. Even on my own birthday I manage to not feel included.
Mama reaches up and snatches the plate out of his hand.
“Mama!”
“You can’t be nice to your brother on his birthday, you can’t eat his cake,” she scolds. “The rules are simple Blake Jenkins. They haven’t change even if you have.”
He groans and flops down into the seat beside her.
Blake has changed. Ford was right. Between his new job position and his girlfriend, he does more than whine about his appearance or brag about the women he’s bagged. He talks about music now. Appreciates the classics. We even had an enjoyable ten-minute talk about Bach before my nephews dragged him away to play kickball. Sadly, that’s the longest conversation we’ve had without erupting into an argument in years.
“Come on, Mama. It was a joke . Besides he’s not complaining.”
“Oliver could have three broken ribs and a swollen nut sack and he wouldn’t complain to you,” Pop announces, lifting his beer.
“Even if you of all people could relate to the latter,” Mama points out.
“Damn that shit hurt.” Blake shakes his head. “Having a bee sting you on your balls is literally a crime committed by nature.”
I roll my eyes. “What was a crime was what you were doing beforehand.”
His charming smile appears from the memory.
“Pastor Mueller, to this day, still thinks the sting was a punishment from God for ruining the virtue of his youngest daughter,” Mama sighs.
“That girl’s virtue was out the window long before me, I swear. I was at least…sixth.”
“To have sex with her or to have sex against her father’s church ?”
Blake turns his amused expression my direction. “Good question.”
“We don’t want the answer,” Pop informs. “Let him shove cake in his mouth instead.”
“Please,” I reiterate my father’s request.
There’s a small exchanged laughter between all of us.
One of the things I love about my parents is their lack of filter or care for what other people think. It’s the trait that didn’t rub off on me enough. It’s the one I admire. They’re foul mouthed yet loving. Independent but connected. They’re open minded, open hearted, and open to battle whatever the world throws at them. London would appreciate them as much as I do.
The thought of her has me glancing at my phone again.
“Expecting a text message for when your matching earrings are delivered?” Blake jokes between bites of his returned dessert.
I glance down at the bracelet London bought during our weekend at the beach.
He doesn’t know. Actually, no one in my family does. I wanted today to be the day I showed up with my girlfriend on my arm, introduce her to everyone, and have someone around who was actually excited I was born today. I wanted them to witness in person the way she makes me smile and care less that my clothes are a bit dirty. I wanted them to see the way she makes me laugh and the way I can barely take my eyes off of her. Part of me wanted to show them proof I’m capable of being liked and not just pitied.
“Blake Jenkins, what did I just say about being nice to your brother while eating his cake?” Mama fusses again. “Your hard head is about to get ya a soft ass.”
“Spankings on his brother’s birthday,” Pop doesn’t bother hiding his chuckle. “Wouldn’t be the first year.…”
“It was an accident!” Blake shouts with frosting smeared on his face. “I didn’t mean to light his gift on fire!”
It was a set of books about dinosaurs….Cost Mama and Pop more money than they let on to get them. I swore they didn’t have to replace them. Just renew my library card and I’d make do.
“Think we’re gonna head out,” Big Foot interrupts from behind me. “Boys are gettin’ a bit tired. They’re startin’ to whine about everything .”
I turn around in my chair and nod. “I understand. Get home safe.”
Big Foot gives me a huge smile. “Happy Birthday, Oliver.”
“Thanks again for bringing everyone out. Tell the boys, I will be putting their cards on my fridge and wearing my new tie to work tomorrow.”
He chuckles loudly and gives us all a final wave.
The oldest Shaw is most like our father. From his looks to the fact that he’s got five boys, a lovely wife, and his own business, he’s more than a chip off the old block. He’s more like a carbon copy. And me? I’m not even sure if I got anything other than our father’s height and his ability to fix the little shit around the house.
Blake finishes up the last of the cake on his plate before he mumbles, “I should get going too. Abby’s getting off soon and I wanna make sure I’m there when she gets home.” He turns his face to me once more. “She really is sorry she couldn’t make it, Oliver.”
“It happens.”
At least it does when it comes to me. Runt and Ollie announced she was pregnant a couple weekends ago and Abby was here. The whole family was here to celebrate. As they should be. It’s a big deal to have another child in this family. But today? She’s got rehearsal. Dawn, Big Foot’s wife was out of town for some…family thing, he didn’t want to talk about. Eddie was working and one of his sons has a stomach bug. Ollie and Runt were here for about an hour before pregnancy got the better of her and she had to leave. This type of shit happens anytime we get together for me . Something always comes up. You’d think after all these years I would be used to it.
Blake clears his plate and gives us all one last goodbye.
The sound of the front door shutting prompts Pop to poke, “You’ve been wearin’ that scowl for thirty-six years now, Oliver. Don’t ya wanna try on a smile? Maybe a smirk?”
His joke tips the corner of my lip up.
“Why isn’t she here?” Mama questions folding her hands on the table. My mouth drops to deny the assumption there is anyone like that in my life when she snaps, “Oliver Lincoln, I know my boys like I know when the sewing machine is about to give out.”
The comparison furrows my eyebrows.
“Now I wanna know two important things. One, why haven’t you mentioned her before and two, why isn’t she here to celebrate with us?”
My body slumps down in the chair. “I didn’t think anybody cared.”
Her daggered glare causes Pop to shiver before me. “Did you just cause hell to freeze over with that look?” She aims it at him. “Oh no. Direct that back at your son who seems to forget every other goddamn month that we love him.”
She does and I grumble, “Thanks Pop.”
“It’s every man for himself when your Mama makes that face.”
I start to nod my agreement when the look deepens. “I am waitin’ for an answer, Oliver Lincoln and I do not think I need to remind you I am not a patient woman.”
Nope. Learned that when she made me wash all the dishes one Thanksgiving for refusing to eat with everyone else because I didn’t want to be laughed at for using my utensils instead of my hands.
“Her name is London. We met a few months ago.”
“And I am hotter than fish grease about you waitin’ this long to bring her up.”
“He didn’t bring her up,” Pop corrects. “ You did.”
“Not helpin’, Pop.”
“Not happy, Oliver .”
“Look Mama, we’re just dating . There’s no need to make a fuss about it.”
She tilts her head at me unconvinced.
“We’re not….We’re not placing the pressure of labels or responsibilities on our time together.”
Even if I feel we need to.
“We’re together when we’re together.”
My mother’s silence begins to feel like it’s strangling me.
“We’re…casual. Our thing is… casual .”
“Are you buyin’ the bullshit you’re sellin’, ‘cause we’re not,” Pop says with mirth in his voice.
I try to stifle my groan of disapproval.
“Look, I don’t care what you do or don’t call each other. She makes you happy.”
“We’ve noticed,” my father interjects. “And not just the little trinket she’s responsible for around your wrist.”
Instinctively, I touch the accessory I wear whenever I miss her too much.
“When you call now you don’t jus’ bitch about work. You magically remember the good things that happened while you were there. When you come over for dinner, you laugh more. Smile more.”
“Hell, you even sat and watched the Highflyer’s game with me on T.V. willingly last week.”
London was in London and I missed her. Watching her favorite baseball team, which is also Highland based, helped me imagine her shouting at the screen beside me and Pop. It helped eased some of the pain I feel when we’re apart. And it is painful to be away from her. Swear, it’s like a piece of my heart can’t settle until she’s back in my arms.
“You know all we want for you is to be happy, Oliver,” Mama’s voice drops the hint of betrayal she had to it for keeping London a secret. “For all you boys. Can you admit to me she makes you happy?”
I don’t hesitate to agree, “She does, Mama.”
My mother nods slowly. “Then introduce your own little piece of joy whenever you’re comfortable…but don’t feel like we don’t care because we would rather you be open when you’re ready than push you when you’re not.”
“My apologies.”
“Mmmhm.” She reaches for Pop’s beer to have a sip. “And is she not here because you don’t think she’s ready for this family yet or somethin’ else?”
“She couldn’t get off of work.”
“What’s she do?” Pop inquires, hand folding with Mama’s. “Bass player in a rock band? Professional diver? Bear trainer?”
The odd mix of suggestions sends my eyebrows to the sky. “Why the hell would you guess those things?”
“ You’ve got the boring office job, so it only makes sense for her to have somethin’ more thrillin’.” My father smugly smirks. “Gotta have some of the crazy. Life’s more fun that way.”
“You two have been tellin’ me that for years.”
Mama gives me a knowing smile. “Are we wrong?”
Despite my best interest, I sigh, “Not even a little.”
The glee in my mother’s expression has me hiding my own.
“She’s an extreme sports blogger.”
Their jaws plummet to the table.
I reluctantly nod. “I know.”
Pop tries first, “You don’t-”
“I know.”
Mama whispers out, “And you hate-”
“I know.”
My parents grin together before Mama starts, “But-”
“It does.” A wave of happiness rolls through me for the first time since she texted early this morning. “I would’ve never guessed in a million years, but it works for us. And the only reason she didn’t come today was because she’s in Doctenn doing PR work for the company. She wanted to be here.”
“I believe she did,” Mama hums in a way that actually soothes me. After a brief lull, she suggests, “Why don’t you go ahead and get out of here? Go home and use the phone you’ve been staring at all day to talk to her?”
“She’s probably busy.”
Pop shakes his head. “All that information about how technology in the world works and you’re not any brighter than the rest of the Shaw boys.”
Offended and unsure of what to say I merely just stare, stupefied.
“Use the phone anyway ,” my father commands. “Leave her a voicemail. Send her a text. Let her know she was missed today. Just because she hasn’t had a minute to stop to tell you those things doesn’t mean you shouldn’t take the time to do it.”
I smile at his offered advice. “You’re right, Pop.”
“Damn right, I’m right. It’s not just good sex and good looks that keeps your Mama around.”
The comment rips a disgusted sigh from me. “Come on, Pop….”
“It helps…” Mama less than coyly adds.
I gag again, which is when my parents chuckle and kiss. Immediately after, I take the opportunity to promptly exit.
Sunday evening traffic from Middlebrook to Highland is nonexistent. I let the top down on my Audi to enjoy the hot summer air. With the music blaring the mess of a playlist London created for our road trip to the beach, I try to muster up a reason to smile.
Another year older and another mediocre birthday celebration. At least we celebrated on the actual day this year instead of rescheduling it because everyone already plans like the day I was born sporadically changes.
On my way up to my floor I curse myself for not at least grabbing a piece of cake to take home. My sister in law can bake any kind of cake known to man, and it always tastes like something that should have an award ribbon attached to it. I bet even the great Chef Boy-R- Douche known to my girlfriend as Wyatt would be impressed. The lack of cake reminds me of the gifts from my nephews I left in my trunk. The yellow and white polka dotted monstrosity they call a tie flashes in my mind. Deciding it’s not crucial to bring it or the other things inside, I brush off the idea of going back to my car for them.
I round the corner to my apartment stunned immediately by the vision waiting.
She pulls her straightened hair, which now has tints of turquoise spread throughout it, to the side of her tilted face. “Your security is atrocious.”
The joke doesn’t crack the paralyzed expression on my face.
London slides her free hand into her long, trench coat pocket. “Would’ve just let myself in but I still don’t have a key.”
Even the reference to the last argument we had doesn’t break my surprised stare.
“Sorry, I wasn’t here sooner and had to miss your dinner. Took the first flight out of Westburg that I could, but still ended up with a two-hour layover when I hit the states.” She offers me the small box wrapped in orange and white stripes. “Got you a gift. You should-”
My mouth envelops hers while both of my hands bury themselves in her soft hair. She softly moans against me, and I grip desperately harder. Our tongues rapidly collide, battling ruthlessly to keep each other imprisoned. We nip and suck until our teeth brazenly bump into one another.
I pull back to breathlessly state, “ You are my gift.”
London lifts herself to the tips of her toes and gives my lip another lick. “Then take me inside and unwrap me.”
Getting my door unlocked has never gone by so effortlessly. The moment we’ve crossed the threshold our mouths gravitate momentarily back together. We’ve barely turned the corner when she drags my hands to the tie around her waist. With one swift pull, it falls open, revealing a sight that makes my knees buckle.
“You flew like this?”
She drops her hands onto her red lace thong covered hips. “Uh-huh.”
A barbaric groan rumbles between my gritted teeth.
London wiggles completely out of the coat to show off the matching red lace halter top.
My dick strains itself to the point of pain against my khaki shorts. Instead of continuing our route to my bedroom, I drop into one of the short white chairs in the seating arrangement opposite of the dining room table, and yank her into my lap. She turns to toss the box onto the glass table and her hardened nipples graze my chest. I dip my head to capture one between my teeth. She trembles profusely like she doesn’t possess the ability to stop. Another animalistic sound echoes throughout the apartment as I use my teeth to tear the material. The moment her nipple is exposed I suck harder than I ever have before. London whimpers in pain. In pleasure. In surrender. She yanks my head away yet silently pleads for me to repeat the action on the other side. With a cocky smirk, I do and submerge myself into the sounds of my name being screamed. I suck and suck until I’m once again drunk on her intoxicating freeness, drunk on our own brand of madness.
The moment we’re both on the edge of sexual destruction despite being mostly clothed, I push her off my lap, to finish the job I started. My hands wrap around the edges of the delicate fabric and prepare to pull.
London looks down at me with mischief floating around her crystal stare.
She loves when I behave like this. When I put the gentleman to rest for the evening and let the beast come out to play. She loves the domination. Being claimed. I love to be the one to claim her. To give her what she wants the same way she’s always giving me what I need .
The tear is merciless. The ripping of the fabric echoes around my apartment like a warning shot. She bites her bottom lip as she flashes me the yellow condom already in her possession. Hastily, I banish my shorts, cover my dick, and bury myself to the brink. Her tight pussy fits around my cock like a custom-made glove. My head lolls backward on a loud groan. London slowly lifts and lowers herself, pussy blazing hotter than an out of control wildfire. Each time she sinks to the base of my shaft my name becomes a whispered invocation for more. Our opened mouths manage to reconnect, and the force our tongues touch with is promptly matched by the rest of our bodies. One of my hands grips the base of her neck. Both of hers use the lapels of my shirt to choke out the small bits of air my burning lungs crave. My canted cock pistons faster and faster to meet every bounce she delivers with piety.
London releases one last soft cry only seconds prior to her entire body quaking with such severity I can’t stop myself from joining her. Her pussy quivers and my cock throbs, anxious to have the sensation seep so deep into it that it becomes stamped ‘Property Of London ONLY’. I let my arms flex around her entire body while my face lands against her chest hoping to capture the cadence of her heart beat. We stay wound together until we’ve successfully soothed one another out of our sexual haze.
She carefully removes herself along with the condom from my dick. “Let me dispose of this while you open,” her head motions towards the present on the table, “ that .”
I watch her perky ass flounce out of the seating area before I give into her instructions. It doesn’t take any time to tear off the paper revealing a plain white keepsake box like the one I keep my milk caps in. I hesitate to continue to open it. London also keeps her strange connections to the universe in boxes like this. Crystals. Potions. Oils. Lucky animal teeth. After giving my scruff covered jaw a minor scratch, I remove the lid and toss it onto the table. My eyes settle on the contents of the box, my brain once more lacking the ability to process what it is that’s in my possession.
“So, I did a little research and apparently these POG things are still like a really big deal. We’re talking baseball card collecting level of cut throat.” She leans against the wall near the kitchen. “It took a couple favors and one shady deal for an early pair of my father’s latest shoes that don’t go live to the public for another few months , but I managed to score those.”
Disbelief has my mouth barely moving, “Do you have any idea how valuable these are?”
London shoots me her smart ass smirk. “I have a clue .”
I grab another glance of the rare No Fear POGs, all ability to form words disappearing again.
Her footsteps approaching pull my eyes back up to hers. “They’re in amazing condition. The guy said they weren’t for playing. I, however, reminded him for the amount of money I just put in his bank account they were for whatever I wanted them to be.” She sits on the arm of the chair that’s beside me. “I even bought a cheap set for myself so next time we play, we can play for keeps.”
If only she knew I’ve been playing for keeps from the minute I saw her…
Overwhelmed not only by the thoughtfulness, but the validation someone other than my parents give a shit about me on today of all days, my gratitude comes out in almost a whisper. “Thank you, Sunshine.”
She avoids letting her heavier emotions get the better of her. “That’s what you say until I’m taking a few of those babies home. I’ll have you know I’ve been practicing.”
I carefully place the box on the glass table, grab her hand, and tug her into my lap. “Is that righ’?”
London winds her arms around my neck and nods. “Oh yeah. And I’m gonna kick your ass at it, Hot Stuff.”
“Doubtful.” Before she can argue I briefly fuse our mouths together. When I pull back, I pin her eyes in place with mine. “Thank you, London. I think this is the best gift I’ve ever gotten.”
“It was nothing.”
My lips feather hers. “It was everything .”
She is everything to me. Even if she never says the words I wanna hear or uses the phrases I’ve always longed to have muttered, I know deep down inside she feels the exact same way I do. Flying across the world last minute with a unique and very expensive gift isn’t the shit you do for just anybody. It’s the kind of action you only take for someone you truly love. I lied before. Knowing she loves me back is the best gift I’ve ever gotten. And I do love London Hall. I love her with every inch of my bruised soul.