“It is my birthday.” He sets his drink on the small, circular table. “Well, Happy Birthday,” she says. “And I hate to do this because celebrating your birthday seems like a lot of fun . . .” Uhh, hate to do what? Why is she standing from her chair? Why isn’t she lifting her drink to take a sip? Why the hell is she putting her purse strap over her shoulder? “But Perry called, and he came home early to surprise me. I’d love to see where this night takes us, but my Valentine is requesting my presence.” She pouts her lip, but it falls flat on me. I don’t believe her.
