Page 5 of First Dates and Birthday Cakes: MM Romantic Comedy

“Hi, Ben,” Jake said.

“Oh, thank god. It’s you.” I rushed outside and hauled the door shut behind me.

“Were you expecting someone else?”

“A stripper,” I said darkly.

He smiled. “Aren’t strippers more of a bachelor party kind of thing?”

“You’d think.”

He’d changed from the sweatpants and hoodie he was wearing earlier into black jeans and a navy shirt under a casual jacket, with a messenger bag slung crosswise over his broad chest.

He looked amazing.

Although I had also spiffed up in the shower and changed, I wasn’t fooling myself here. I probably looked as frazzled as I had when he’d first heaved me up off the ice.

Going on the unsubtle, deliberate way he checked me out, however, it seemed to be working for him. His smile deepened. “So,” he said. “I brought you something.”

“Really? You shouldn’t have.”

“I definitely should. Here.” He handed me my phone.

Of course. Not a present.

Awkward.

“Thanks.” I stuffed it in my back pocket. Jake raised a brow and I took it back out. “I know, I know, don’t keep your phone in your back pocket.” I wouldn’t learn.

“I also brought you this,” he said, pulling a bottle of champagne from the messenger bag. He did it with a little flourish. There was a red ribbon rosette stuck to the neck.

I took it from him. “Thank you. I haven’t actually managed to have a glass of anything yet. Hey, wow. Thank you. This is an expensive one.”

Oh, yes, very cool. Comment on the price of the gift to the gift-giver’s face.

Stay classy, Ben.

Then again, I could be forgiven my momentary lapse of manners—it was a Veuve Clicquot, which cost at least fifty pounds.

He obviously hadn’t just raided his fridge for a bottle of Tesco’s finest sparkling French wine, left over from last Christmas and ready to regift on short notice.

“This is lovely.” I clutched the cool neck of the bottle in my damp, nervous grip.“I’m really glad you came. Not because of the expensive champagne, but because it’s…uh.” Because it’s you, I didn’t say. He heard it anyway, going on his soft, intrigued expression. “I hope you didn’t spend the afternoon thinking I ghosted you.”

“No.” He shifted closer. His dark-blue eyes were warm and he seemed amused. “I liberated your phone from reception before I even had a chance to make the dinner reservation.”

“That’s a relief.”

“Mm-hmm.” He reached out and brushed my hair back from my forehead. His fingers drifted down the side of my neck and came to rest at the join between neck and shoulder. “Do you want it now?” he said, his voice low.

“You already gave it to me,” I said, and waggled my phone at him..

“Your birthday kiss.”

“Oh.” I swayed towards him.

“Or are you going to invite me inside?”

“Oh! Yes, of course. Come on in.”

He’d moved closer, crowding me against the door. I was all but in his arms as I turned to open it. His body was hot and hard behind me, and at the feel of him, of the tension strung tight between us, I couldn’t repress a shiver. “On second thought,” I said, turning back to face him, “now is good. I really want to kiss you and I don’t know how long this party will go on.”

“Bit of a rager, is it?”

“Not really. I’ve missed most of it and it’ll probably be over in an hour. I still don’t want to wait that long.”

“Neither do I,” he said with a smile. He placed a hand on the door beside my head and leaned in.

I attempted to grab him, but since I held his gift in one hand and my phone in the other, all I did was bang them against his hips. “Sorry,” I said.

Why was I so damn nervous? I’d kissed men before, for crying out loud. Admittedly, I hadn’t kissed any hot ex-figure skaters before, but this was ridiculous.

Jake tipped my chin up and lowered his head, smiling.

Before our lips met, the door clicked open behind us—because of course it did—and I staggered when the support at my back suddenly vanished.

Jake caught me with an arm around my waist.

“Oops,” Ravi said behind me. “Thought you’d locked yourself out again. Carry on.”

The door shut.

“Hold on a second,” Jake told me, and rapped on the door.

“That was quick,” Ravi said, opening it back up.

Jake extracted the champagne and the phone from me and shoved them at Ravi.

“Okay. I’m the butler, am I?” Ravi said. “I’ll?—”

Jake shut the door again. I had a second to register Ravi’s laughter, then Jake pushed me flat, lifted my chin, and laid his warm mouth on mine.

It was…it was lovely.

It was a lovely kiss.

Sweet and soft. Confident. Not too pushy.

Not even a little pushy.

You’d have to be a real diva to be disappointed with a gentle, respectful birthday kiss like that, wouldn’t you?

Because it was lovely.

We’d known each other a matter of hours. This was the fulfilment of a fun, jokey little promise between new acquaintances, that was all.

He hadn’t returned from war. It wasn’t Valentine’s Day. He wasn’t standing there before me after a few years of dating, a box with a ring in it burning a hole in his pocket.

Lovely.

What else was he supposed to have done, anyway?

Knocked me into the door and pinned me there with his big, hard body?

Pulled my head back with a commanding fistful of hair, opened my mouth with his and tongue-fucked me until I was limp and moaning like a hussy, scandalising Mrs Hughes from down the road as she walked past with her elderly terrier, Dougal?

That would have been so inappropriate.

Jake lifted his head and smiled down at me.

“That was nice,” I said. “Thank you.”

His smile froze in place. A dark blond brow slowly rose. “Nice?”

I patted his chest. “It was a lovely birthday kiss. A lovely ending to the day. Lovely.”

“So what I’m hearing is, it was lovely.”

“Absolutely.”

He made a thoughtful noise. “You didn’t think something was lacking?”

Yes. “Well…”

He leaned more of his weight into me, gaze dropping to my lips.

“It’s okay, though,” I said. I shifted against him, and told my dick to stand down when it perked up at the light friction. “Sometimes the chemistry isn’t there. No harm, no foul.”

“Ben?”

“Yes?”

“Are you disappointed with your birthday kiss?”

“What kind of hard-to-please diva would?—”

“Because before you go writing us off, I’d like to point out that there is a window full of people watching us?—”

I gasped and whipped my head to the side. My sitting room had a bay window and yes, it was filled with faces staring out at us. I scowled and made a shooing gesture. They reluctantly dispersed.

Jake touched a hand to my jaw, redirecting my attention to him. “Other than not being keen on doing this in front of an audience, I’m hoping to come in and hang out with you for a while, and I’m trying to get my boner to go down first. Kissing you the way I want to kiss you is not going to help me achieve that goal.”

He had a boner? I arched my hips to suss out the pants situation, and he sucked in a sharp breath.

He caught me and held me still. “I’d hate for you to go on thinking that the chemistry isn’t there. Because I think it is.” He ducked down and murmured against my mouth, “Let me show you.”

He kissed me again.

This one was also quick, but it wasn’t soft and it wasn’t gentle.

It was demanding, and hot, and before he pulled away, a teasing, there-and-gone flicker of tongue shot a bolt of arousal through my stomach and down my thighs. My fingers flexed into his sides.

“What do you think?” he said. “Better?”

I stared up at him. He held my jaw and rubbed a thumb over my damp bottom lip, eyes intense. “A little,” I said.

“A little?” He seemed legitimately annoyed this time.

I shrugged. “There’s potential.”

Jake narrowed his eyes at me. “Potential.”

“Yeah.” Hiding my giddy smile, I turned in his arms and opened the door. The noise of the music and people talking loudly washed over us.

Jake kept his arm around my waist, and as we crossed the threshold, he tugged me backwards into him and kissed the side of my neck, nipping lightly. “You’d better believe there’s potential,” he growled in my ear before he let me go.

I believed it. In fact, there was such an overabundance of potential, I was having a hard time not saying screw the party, and running him up the stairs and into my bedroom right now.

“Let’s get you a glass of champagne,” I said instead, leading him to the kitchen.

I found the Veuve Clicquot sitting in the fridge—I made a mental note to thank Ravi for his excellent butlering—and brought it out.

“Why don’t you save it for another time?” Jake said. “It would be a shame to open it if it hasn’t been chilled properly.”

“What kind of host do you think I am? I’m not saving the good stuff for myself?—”

“You don’t have to save it for yourself. I’d be happy to help you drink it. Later. Or on another occasion, even.”

We locked eyes as he took the bottle out of my slack hand before I dropped it.

“Unless I’m assuming too much here?” he said quietly, setting the bottle on the counter.

“I don’t know. Maybe you are. I’ll need some more detail on what, exactly, you’re assuming before I can give you a clear answer on that.”

“Detail,” he said. “All right.” He nudged me against the counter and put a hand either side of me. The handle of the cutlery drawer was jammed into my arse, but I didn’t mention it. The sensation of his body on mine was too delicious to give up. “Here’s what I’m assuming. I’m assuming that later, when the party has broken up and everyone has gone, you’ll ask me to stay just a little longer. How am I doing so far?”

“That sounds very possible.”

“I’ll stay, and I’ll help you tidy up the mess.”

“That sounds very helpful.”

“I’m a helpful guy.”

Helpful. Generous. Sexy as hell.

He continued, “Once we’ve done that, I was thinking that I’d tease you until you broke down and begged me to kiss you.”

“That sounds very intriguing. Although I don’t think I’ll need all that much teasing. Or any. I think you’re teasing me enough right now, in fact. So we can skip that part and go straight to the kissing. As in, the moment the last plate hits the dishwasher, get your lips on me.”

“Good to know,” he said. “But I think I’d like to make you desperate first.”

He was going to have a problem if he wanted to make me desperate.

I already was desperate.

I rewrote our little script in my head: instead of begging him to kiss me, I’d just jump him.

“What else are you assuming?” I asked. “Anything after the kissing?”

“I’m assuming that it will be time for bed by then.”

My hands had somehow wandered to his waist, and they tightened at the thought of Jake sprawled out on my bed.

“At which point,” he said with a big grin, “I’ll wish you goodnight and head on home.”

I sighed. “That sounds amaz—wait, you’re going to what?”

“Head home.”

“Not, I don’t know. Drag me upstairs, and throw me on my bed and have your filthy way with me? Because you could assume that. If you want.”

“No.”

“Oh. Well. That sounds…lovely.”

“You seem disappointed again, Ben.”

“What? No, no. Not at all.” I eased out from between him and the counter. “I’m going to get that glass of champagne for you. And a piece of cake.”

I had clearly let myself get carried away, because I’d been assuming a whole other scenario.

Which was stupid.

I met him a few hours ago. We’d planned on having a date, a birthday kiss, and that was all. There had been no mention of sex at any point. Or anything else, come to that.

The cupboard where I kept the glasses was empty. The sink was full of them. I turned the hot tap on and snagged the detergent.

“And then,” Jake continued, “assuming you don’t lose your phone between now and tomorrow morning—a bold assumption, perhaps, but I’m going with it—I assumed that I’d call you, and see if I could talk you into going out on that first date I had planned. Which will now technically be a second date.”

I turned to find him watching me with amusement. And heat. A lot of heat.

“Oh.”

“I don’t want to fuck and run here, Ben,” he said. “If that’s all you want, then let me know. We can do that. But…” He rubbed a hand up the back of his neck and glanced at the ground before looking back up at me. “I kind of really want to date you.”

“I kind of really want to date you, too,” I said breathily. For god’s sake. I was forty. There were teenagers out there with more game than me.

“Yeah?” he said.

“Yes.”

We stared at each other.

“Although,” I said, watching his pupils expand, “I still vote that you drag me upstairs and?—”

He laughed. “I’d love to, trust me. I can’t. It might be a Sunday tomorrow, but I have to be at the rink by eight a.m., which means getting up even earlier. I’m too old to be crawling home at two in the morning for a few hours sleep.”

“Too old?” I scoffed. “You’re in your thirties. You’re a baby. Back when I was your age, I could party all night and kill it at work the next day. Besides, impress me enough and I’ll let you spend the night.”

Wow. While I was at it, why didn’t I just fall to my knees right there and beg the man?

“Back when you were my age? You mean three whole years ago, you were regularly out partying until dawn?”

“Yes. That’s exactly the sort of thing I was doing. I’m a very glamorous and exciting man. I’m sure you’ll agree, once you get to know me.”

I hadn’t partied until dawn for—nope. I wasn’t going to ruin the moment by working out that particular number.

Jake was standing close and smiling down at my nonsense when someone cleared their throat behind him. We both jumped.

It was my mother.

“Hello,” she said brightly, crossing the kitchen with her hand outstretched. “I’m Joyce, Ben’s mum. It’s very nice to meet you…?”

“Jakub,” he said, taking her hand for a polite shake. “Good to meet you, Joyce.”

Instead of concluding the social ritual like a normal person would and letting the man go, my mother expertly turned her grip, her Tiffany bracelet loaded with charms jangling, and strode off, hauling him after her.

“Jake,” she said, “there is a piece of cake in the other room with your name on it. We’re down to the last couple of slices, but don’t worry, I’ve got Barry standing guard. Barry’s his father, in case you didn’t know. Did you know?”

“I did not.”

“Interesting. Either he’s ashamed of us, or this is new. Is this new?”

“It is.” Jake shot a laughing glance over at me as he permitted my tiny mother in her ridiculous shoes to march him out of the kitchen.

“You’re not subtle, Mother,” I called after her.

The woman thought she had Columbo-level interrogation skills. She thought she was Sherlock Holmes, Miss Marple, and Benoit Blanc, all wrapped up in a five-foot-nothing package. Nobody could convince her she was about as subtle as a sledgehammer.

“If you told me anything at all about your life,” she said sweetly, “I wouldn’t have to try to be.”

I told her plenty.

“Now,” she said, “Barry might be standing guard and I do love that man, but he’s a complete pushover. If he fails in his mission and we don’t get you a piece of the good cake, I’m afraid you’ll have to settle for some of Ben’s wishing cake.”

“Do not feed him any of my wishing cake,” I said. “It’s unsanitary.”

“It’s not ideal,” Mum conceded, “but hopefully Jakub won’t mind, since the two of you are dating.” She tipped her head all the way back to look up into Jake’s face. “Are you dating?”

“Yes,” he said firmly. “We’re dating.”

I chased after them, despite wanting to take the coward’s way out and stay in the kitchen to throw back a couple of glasses of champagne—or a bottle—for courage. I lost them three steps into the sitting room, getting waylaid by Lizzie, who wanted to know if I’d stopped having a crisis now that the universe had seen fit to drop a cake, a party, and a hot guy on me all in one day.

She also wanted to know how, exactly, I’d managed to swing it. Vision board, affirmations, witchcraft? She was turning thirty soon and would like a few tips.

I told her to screw the toxic positivity and marry Ravi because we all knew it was inevitable, and by the time I’d extracted myself, it was too late to save Jake. My mother had whisked him into the thick of the party, and, no doubt, cranked up the interrogation as my triumphant father handed over a laden plate.

Knowing Mum, she was grilling him about his job, any past relationships, where he saw this going, what were his thoughts on kids and/or dogs, was he busy at Christmas and all sorts of horrifyingly nosy things, unaware that when Jake said it was new, he meant today.

It was new today.

Jake appeared to take it all in stride and I marvelled at his cool. What must life be like, I wondered, if you were relaxed enough to be able to just roll with things.

Perhaps if I spent more time with him, some of his cool would rub off on me.

I glazed over at the thought of Jake rubbing off on me, and flinched when Ravi cheerfully said, “Stop eye-fucking him, mate, we all know what’s up. Quite the show you put on out there.”

“Quite the show?” I said indignantly. “It was a little kiss. There wasn’t even any tongue.” There had been a little bit of tongue.

“So much sexual tension, the street lights were flickering,” Ravi said, coming to stand next to me where I was leaning against the wall, staring at Jake. He shoved a piece of wishing cake at me.

“Thank you,” I said. “And the street lights aren’t even on.” I made short work of the cake and chased the final smudges of buttercream on the plate with a forefinger. I stuck the finger in my mouth and made sure I got it all.

Looking up, I made inadvertent eye contact with Jake across the room. I noticed with interest that his composure wasn’t quite as unshakeable as it seemed at first glance. His cheekbones were dusted with colour and his lips parted as he watched me.

I pulled my finger out slowly, and almost died when I realised my bemused father, talking to Jake, was also watching.

“Shit.” I hunched in on myself, yanking Ravi in front of me as a shield.

“It’s a good thing you’re going to get you some,” Ravi said, obligingly shifting his tall frame between us. He was my shield and my knight, the noblest of men. “I’ve never seen you this wound up before.”

“I’m not getting it tonight,” I said glumly.

“Why not?” Ravi sounded outraged.

“He wants to date me first.”

“What a tosser.”

I pressed my forehead between his shoulder blades and groaned. “I really like him, Ravi.”

Ravi turned to face me. “I know you do, Ben. Everyone in this room knows you do.”

“What if…?”

“What if what?”

“What if he’s…you know.” I hesitated, hardly believing I was even saying it. “What if he’s the one?”

Ravi snorted. “You’ve known the guy for ten minutes. Why don’t you wait until you’ve taken him out for a test drive before you start fretting about the rest of your life together? He might be a damp squib, you never know.”

There I was, once again cracking open my quivering and hopeful heart, showing my vulnerability, reaching out for reassurance from my oldest friend. And there Ravi was, being crass. “Take him for a test drive?”

“Yeah. Jump in the driver’s seat. Stick your key in his ignition. Open up that throttle. Burn some rubber.” He held out his hands. “A test drive.”

I stared at him. “Do you have any romance in you? At all?”

“Yes, but unlike you, I try not to let it drown out simple reason.” He sighed dramatically. “Ben. You’re an idiot. What if he is the one? Why are you even asking me that? Happily ever after. That’s what if.”

I’d never really seen myself having a happily ever after. Not really.

Then again, I’d never really seen myself turning forty either. It wasn’t that I’d expected to die young, but forty was one of those things that had always seemed distant, nebulous, belonging to the future.

Like it or not, the future was now. It had caught up. I was forty. Maybe I could have a happily ever after, too?

“Stop taking it all so seriously,” Ravi said, “and eat more cake.”

“I can’t help it. I’m a worrier.”

“Yeah. I know. And I love you, you weirdo.”

I looked up into his warm brown eyes. “I love you.”

“Happy birthday, mate.” He hooked an arm around my neck, leaned down and pressed a smacking kiss square on my lips.

I was still squawking about it when he turned and bellowed, “What do you say, party people? One more rendition of Ben’s favourite song before we wrap it up?” He launched right in. “Haaaaaaappy biiiiiirthday…”

I tried to bolt, but Ravi caught me and held me against the wall while I endured, feeling like the luckiest man in the world, and the party wrapped up.