Chapter 28

Jace is in my kitchen, glaring at the instructions on the back of a box cake, and I don't know how to feel about it. As soon as I got into his van, he mentioned he forgot to lock up the office and went back inside. Turns out, he was stealing the cake mix from the kitchen—the same cakes Jonah makes for kids' birthday parties.

I sit on the kitchen counter, watching his eyebrows lower with each passing second. "I thought everything came in the box."

I try to stifle my laugh, but he catches it anyway and turns his glare from the cake mix to me.

"It's okay," I assure. "I appreciate the sentiment, but you don't have to bake me a cake."

"But it's your birthday," he deadpans. "And we're doing this."

He pulls out his phone, I assume to check the time. "I'll drive to Fremont. The store there should still be open… if I speed."

"Jace…"

"But it's your birthday," he says again, focusing on the instructions. "I just need milk and eggs."

I hop off the counter. "I have milk and eggs."

"You do?" he asks, surprised.

"Who doesn't have milk and eggs in their fridge?"

"Me."

I open the fridge, pull out what he needs, and set them on the counter for him. "What do you have in your fridge then?"

"My grandpa's beer, mostly."

I freeze, my gaze refusing to move from the carton of eggs. "Oh."

Jace doesn't skip a beat. "It says I need a mixer. I can just use a spoon, right?"

An hour later, we're standing side by side at the kitchen table, staring down at what's supposed to be cake. Jace inhales a breath, long and loud. "Maybe I got the measurements wrong."

The genuine concern in his tone warms my chest. "I'm sure it's fine, it just looks a little…"

"Lopsided?"

I suggested we let the cake cool, hoping that would be enough to make it a little less… how it looks. It doesn't seem to have changed. "Lopsided. Sure."

He pokes the middle of the cake and hisses when it deflates completely, then sputters out what can only be described as ooze. "Huh," is all he says.

"Maybe there's something wrong with my oven," I try to soothe.

He turns to me. "You think?"

It's so hard to keep a straight face. "Maybe."

He eyes me sideways. "Are you lying?"

Try as hard as I can, I can't contain my giggle.

"Harlow!"

I turn, grabbing a spoon from the drawer. "I bet it tastes better than it looks."

He watches, wide-eyed, as I dip the spoon right into the center of the "cake" and bring it to my mouth. He tries to stop me just before it hits my lips, but he doesn't quite grasp my wrist. He knocks it instead, and next thing I know, I have ooze splattered on my face—my nose mainly and some on my cheeks. My forehead too.

Jaw unhinged, I slowly lift my gaze to his. His lips are pressed tight, face red from his withheld laugh, and so I make a show of dipping the spoon back in the wet cake mix. Then I position the spoon like a catapult and ignore his exclamation of "No!" right before it hits him square between the eyes.

I bust out a laugh as he shakes his head, and I know what's coming next. He doesn't go for a spoon like I did. Instead, he uses his hand to scoop it up. "You better run."

Squealing, I bolt around the table, using it as a barrier between us. He shakes his head, his long legs making quick work of catching up to me, but I don't let him get too close before I'm running full speed again. This happens again and again, all while I laugh hysterically. Occasionally, he'll switch directions, and I squeal even louder, until finally, he chuckles, catches me from behind, his arm around my waist, hand smearing the cake mix all over my face. I try to get out of his grasp, but he's too damn strong, and he lifts me off my feet, his quiet laugh beside my ear consuming all other sounds. Legs kicking out wildly, I shout through my laughter, "Let me go!"

He does as I say, and I immediately push past him to the table, where I grab the entire cake tin and hold it up in a threatening motion. "You wouldn't dare," he says, eyes squinted.

"Wouldn't I?" I scoop a handful and throw it at his chest, laughing at the way his gaze shifts down to his now stained shirt, then back up at me.

"You realize it would take me two seconds to disarm you, right?"

A bigger scoop this time, and I aim for his face. Hit it.

He wipes it from his eyes, takes one step forward. "Harlow."

With an unrestrained giggle, I hold the tin to my chest, take one step back. "Jace."

"Hand me the cake."

I hold the tin tighter. "No. It's my birthday. It's my cake."

"Harlow," he says again, taking another step.

"Jace." I attempt to follow his movement, but my back hits the fridge.

Hand out between us, he smiles through his words. "Hand me the cake, Harlow."

Before I can react, he tugs the tin out of my grasp and throws it in the sink, and then he's in front of me. As in, only inches away. And for the first time in what feels like forever, his eyes meet mine. A hand reaches up, cupping my jaw, and I crane my neck to keep our gaze locked.

"Harlow," he repeats, but it's a whisper this time, and my heart hammers against my chest. Electricity pulses through my veins when he settles a hand on my hip and moves forward just enough so our fronts touch. Fingertips pressed to my neck, his throat moves with his swallow as he runs his thumb over my lips, removing the cake mix from there. I inhale a shaky breath, hold it, and when he starts to lower his mouth to mine, I close my eyes… just as my phone rings.

I snap my eyes open in time to see Jace step back. All the way away. His hands fist at his sides, he stares down at the floor, as if his shame refuses to look at me.

Heart in my stomach, I grab my phone from my pocket, confused when I see my brother's best friend's name flashing on the screen. I answer, watching as Jace starts to clean up the mess we've made—our almost kiss included. "Hey," I say into the phone.

"Happy birthday!" he greets.

And I almost smile. "How did you know?"

"My mom told me."

"How did she know?"

"I have no idea. Maybe your mom posted it on Facebook or something?"

Un-fucking-likely. "Maybe."

Jace is wiping down the table now, his brow bunched in concentration. I don't know if he can hear Levi, but it sure as hell looks like he's trying to.

"Well, thanks for calling. It means a lot."

"Of course."

I push off the fridge and hold the phone between my shoulder and ear while I grab the cleaning supplies from under the sink. "Actually, I was going to call you…"

"What's up?"

"Do you know how Christian found out where we moved?"

Levi's tone changes instantly. "Why? Did that motherfucker find you?"

"Yeah, he showed up at my work over the weekend."

"I hope your dad was there with his twelve gauge."

"He wasn't…" I almost tell him about Jace, but what would be the point? "So he's not still in contact with any of the team or anything?"

Jace taps my shoulder, asking me to move, and so I do. He runs the tap to wash his face while Levi asks, "Not that I know of, but I'll ask around."

"No, it's okay," I tell him, moving to the kitchen table. "I was just wondering. Don't make it a thing."

"If that's what you want."

I set the cleaning caddy on the table and turn to lean against it. A second later, Jace is in front of me again, as close as he was before. I stare in his eyes while he stares at my face. Then slowly, carefully, he lifts both his hands. One cradles my head while the other uses a paper napkin to gently wipe away the bits of cake on my face. First one cheek, then the other.

Through the phone, Levi asks, "So what did you do today to celebrate?"

I grasp Jace's wrist for no other reason than my need to touch him. "To be honest, I had a pretty shitty day, but… it got better. Someone's here right now, and he just baked me a cake."

Jace's eyes flick to mine, a subtle smile playing on his lips.

"Right, right. Sorry to disturb you," Levi says. "Call me sometime, okay? Just because Harley's gone…"

My eyelids fall at the mention of my brother. "Yeah, I will."

"Later, Low."

"Bye, and thanks again for calling."

"Always."

As soon as I hang up, Jace lowers his hands and steps back, depriving me of his touch, of his closeness. He moves to the sink, as if we didn't just share not one moment, but two, and looks out the window facing the half-court.

I mute my disappointment and focus on finishing the clean-up. "You can go out there. I don't mind."

He's still a moment. No words. No movements. "Nah," he says finally, facing me again. "Why don't we watch a movie?"

My eyebrows shoot up. "You're going to sit through a whole movie?"

"It's your birthday," he says, shrugging. "We can watch that Wizard of Whatever."

"Oz." I eye him, completely confused. One minute he was about to kiss me, and then the next… "You've really never watched a movie?"

Arms crossed, he says, "Not never ever, I'm sure, but nothing comes to mind."

"Hmm." I tap my chin. "Why don't we meet in the middle and watch a basketball movie?"

His mouth dips at the corners as he looks down at me. "You mean, like, a game?"

"No, like a movie. Like He Got Game or Hoosiers or Coach Carter…"

His face turns blank.

"Space Jam?"

"Nope," he says, shaking his head.

"You know, a bunch of cartoon aliens playing ball in outer space?"

He drops his arms. "No idea what you're talking about."

"Okay," I say, pulling him by his arm and leading him out of the kitchen. "We'll start with Space Jam. The Michael Jordan version, because LeBron James is overrated."

He gasps, out loud, and digs his heels into the floor, refusing to move. "You wash your mouth out with soap right now, young lady!"

I laugh.

Free and unrestrained.

There's no denying that I like Jace Rivera.

But Jace with jokes is my favorite combination.