13. Happy Birthday, Baby
13
Happy Birthday, Baby
Clayton
“ O h, I am, huh?” I clench my molars in irritation while simultaneously trying to fight the smile that’s trying to form from his drunk admission.
“Yeah, you are. I mean, you’re hot in pretty much anything, but this… " He fiddles with the hem of my new favorite shirt. “This is like, super hot.”
I slowly start stepping forward, backing Rocky up until he bumps into the wall in Jax’s living room. He doesn’t so much as flinch when his back hits the wall, his eyes gazing up at me in a euphoric alcohol-induced haze.
“Rockwell.”
“Yeah, Clay? ”
The dominating, possessive beast inside of me, the one very few have gotten the chance to see, roars to life the moment my name leaves his lips. The same lips that were about to touch Chloé’s skin. I grip his jaw in my hand, forcing him to look up at me when I know all his eyes want to do is spin in circles. I want to make sure I’m about to make my point crystal fucking clear. “Don’t let me see you touch Chloé again.”
“Why? It’s not like the two of you are exclusive. I know how you are, Clay.” His voice is soft, barely audible over the roar of the music, but there’s an underlying note of apprehensiveness.
Leaning down, I brush my lips against the shell of his ear, my hand still tightly gripping his sharp jaw. His body shivers in my hold as he feels my breath skate across my skin. “Chloé isn’t the one I give a fuck about, Rockwell. She can touch whoever she wants.”
Slowly, I stand upright so I can stare back down at him. I watch as his eyes dance back and forth between mine. And for a moment, it’s as if he’s stone-cold sober. He swallows roughly, and I watch his Adam’s apple bob in his throat. I force myself not to bend down and run my tongue over it.
Then, as if the thought were plastered on a flashing marquee sign on my forehead, Rocky’s eyes flash with panic before he reaches up and gently wraps his hand around my wrist, prompting me to let his face go. We both drop our hands at our sides, but I don’t move another inch. “I-I need another drink.”
The corners of my mouth turn up in a coy smile. If I’ve learned anything about Rockwell Campos, it’s not to push him when faced with uncomfortable emotional situations. When he’s backed into a corner and faced with a truth he isn’t ready to deal with, he runs. And now is no exception. “Anything for the birthday boy.”
Despite my words, I still don’t move. If he wants out of this situation, he’s going to have to do it himself. Slowly, he pushes himself off of the wall, brushing the fronts of our bodies against one another. His breath hitches when he feels how turned on I am brushing against his stomach. My only response is a raise of my brows and a shrug of my shoulders.
He quickly sidesteps around me without another word. “Meet me on the dance floor later, partner!” I half yell, half laugh, as he bolts across the makeshift dance floor toward the kitchen where all the alcohol is.
If he wasn’t drunk already, he sure as shit is about to be.
It’s been two hours since our conversation, and Rocky is officially on a different planet. My cheeks literally hurt from smiling as I watch him from my spot on the couch next to Jax.
It’s been a little over six weeks since his surgery, and he’s healing faster and better than any of us expected.
Like freakishly well, actually.
He’s allowed to bear full weight on his leg, which is wrapped up in a top-of-the-line brace, and only uses a single crutch when necessary. But he spent all afternoon helping me set up for this party at his house—which I begged him to let me have here since my condo is so far from campus—and has been buzzing around like the social butterfly he is since it started. Like the best friend I am, I could tell his body was starting to get tired, so I forced him to rest.
Which conveniently happened to be the perfect vantage point for me to watch Rocky shake his ass on the dance floor.
“Emerson!” he yells to his little brother on the other side of the room. Emerson is a sophomore at Palm University and the right defenseman on the third line for the hockey team. Unfortunately for him, he also lives with his big brother, Jackson, in the house their parents bought for them and has been stuck doing his bidding for the last six weeks. In the most dramatic fashion possible, Emerson rolls his eyes and pulls his stare away from the brunette he is talking to. Actually, scratch that. He pulls his eyes away from the breasts of the brunette he was talking to and sulks over to where we’re sitting.
“Yes, Jackson?” he drawls. “What can I do for you now?”
“I like the enthusiasm, Em. Go check the ice around the keg.”
“Fine.” Emerson spins on his heel without so much as an argument.
The two of us laugh and tip back our beers. I had every intention of getting drunk tonight, it isn’t often I have a free and clear weekend, but after seeing how heavily Rocky is leaning into one, I decided against it.
“Since when does he listen to you so well?” I ask my best friend.
Jax’s grin is practically sinister. “Since three weeks ago when I called Mom to tattle that he wasn’t helping me, and she then proceeded to chew him a new asshole.”
I bark out a laugh. “Jesus fucking Christ. I don’t know who’s more childish. You or the twins.”
Jackson is the oldest of four. He also has a set of sixteen-year-old twin brothers, Bryson and Grayson. The four of their names sound like they’re members of a country western band. And considering they’re all from Billings, Montana, they very well could be.
Jax takes another swig of beer and puffs out his chest in pride. “Oh me, definitely.”
Emerson comes stomping back over. “Ice is good. Anything else?”
My eyes stray to Rocky just in time to watch him put his hands on his knees and twerk. Swear on my life… he’s literally twerking.
“Why can’t Clay do it?” I don’t know what Jax asked for, and I don’t care; my eyes don’t leave Rocky’s ass as he continues to shake it for the entire party to see. But I do hear Jax answer, voice full of amusement, “Because he’s… busy. ”
I know my best friend well enough to know I’ve totally been busted, but I also know he won’t call me out on it. Jax is a true ride or die.
1 The music changes to Teddy Swim’s “My Bad,” and the entire house starts cheering. Twenty seconds into the song, the entire party is singing along word for word, including Rocky.
I watch in awe as he tips his head back, finger pointed in the air, eyes closed, as if there are no burdens in the world holding him back. A radiant glow covers his rich walnut skin. His cheeks are flushed, and his movements are fluid. Unlike the carefully crafted mask he usually wears.
Drunk or not, he looks… beautiful.
Standing up, I slide the lightweight flannel I’m wearing down my arms and drape it over the couch next to Jax, leaving me in the most epic shirt known to man and a pair of light-wash jeans. “Are you going somewhere?” he asks as he looks from me to Rocky and then back to me.
“Yup, gonna go dance.”
“Figured as much.”
I point down at him and glare, although we both know there’s no real heat behind it. “Not a word, Jackson.”
He zips his mouth closed, locks the key, and throws it behind his shoulder .
Fucking smartass.
The song is on its second chorus by the time I reach Rocky, and like he can immediately feel my presence, he opens his eyes and looks at me. The two of us sway to the beat of the music, shouting the lyrics at the top of our lungs, all the while not daring to look away from one another.
It’s like we’re in our own little bubble, and I never want to pop it.
Someone knocks into Rocky as they walk past him, causing him to stumble forward and into me. My hands grip his waist, stopping us both from falling on our asses. My hands feel like they’re on fire as they rest against his skin underneath the hem of his cropped T-shirt.
“You good?” I ask him.
Just like they did a couple of hours ago, his eyes clear, and it’s as if I can see his every thought running through his eyes in rapid succession. It takes him a minute to respond, but when he does, the roughness in his voice almost sends me to my knees. “So good.”
The song ends, and the dance floor clears as people leave to get their next drink, yet Rocky and I remain still. I can feel everyone’s eyes on us, but as far as I’m concerned, they can all fuck off.
“I’m—I’m, uh, feeling a bit tired. You wanna—You wanna go to bed?” he asks me nervously .
“Yeah, I was planning on staying here tonight anyway. My stuff is upstairs in their extra room. You sure you don’t want to stay down here and ride out the rest of the party, though?” Right on cue, he hiccups and sways in my hold.
“Yeahhhhh. I think I’ve had enough.”
I huff out a laugh. “Yeah, you’re probably right. Come on. Jax should have an extra toothbrush somewhere. If he doesn’t, you can just steal Emerson’s.”
Reluctantly, I let go of him, grab my flannel from the back of the couch—ignoring Jax’s know-it-all smile—and head toward the stairs. I let Rocky go first so I can catch him just in case he falls.
After rifling through the bathroom drawers, I find a spare toothbrush and watch in amusement as Rocky brushes his teeth, all while trying not to throw up. I brush my own, shove two aspirin down his throat, along with a glass of water, and practically shove him down the hall and into the guest bedroom.
Thankfully, I had enough wherewithal to pack an extra T-shirt and basketball shorts. Grabbing them out of my duffle, I help Rocky get undressed, letting my hands graze over his bare skin slightly longer than necessary, and put on the clean clothes .
Once I slide his arms through the shirt, he reaches up and brushes a wayward curl off of my forehead. “You really are so pretty,” he says.
I don’t know how many times I’ve heard that from both men and women since I started at this school four years ago, but something about the way he says it has a blush spreading across my face. “So are you. Now let’s get you to bed before you pass out.”
I shuffle him backward until his calves hit the bed, and he plops down like a sack of potatoes. I lay him back and cover him with the comforter before he looks up at me and pouts. “You’re not coming in with me?”
God, do I fucking want to .
“No, I’m not coming in with you. You’re drunk, and I’m sleeping on the floor.” I grab the extra pillow and blanket and set up shop on the floor next to him. “But I’ll be right here if you need me, okay?”
I can already see him nuzzling further into the pillow as his eyes start to drift closed. His mouth opens into the largest yawn known to mankind. “Thank you for the party, Clayton.”
“You’re welcome, Rockwell.”
It takes all of point-two seconds for a snore to fall from his pouty lips, and I stare there, absolutely bewildered by everything that is him for a moment before stepping up to the side of the bed. Going against every one of my instincts, I bend down, caress the side of his face, softly press my lips to his forehead, and whisper, “Happy Birthday, Baby.”
I’m so fucked.
1. My Bad - Teddy Swims