- Margot -
I don’t know why I was so surprised. Hitting the brakes was Landon’s go-to move. Every time things got a little heated between us, he’d act like our relationship was a flame he couldn’t keep his hand over and back off.
Right when I wanted him to do the opposite.
In the past, his behavior used to hurt my feelings, but at least I could see how it was justified.
After all, when I was underage, his stonewalling was defensible. And after my eighteenth birthday, the timing was terrible. I was packing up to go to college, and he was making arrangements to study abroad.
But what was his excuse for blowing me off this time? Was it work? I mean, that was a pretty good reason. It had taken him several years to earn his coveted position at the agency, and I knew he would be hesitant to do anything that might jeopardize that. Not only because it was his livelihood, but because he tended to cling to stability when he could find it.
Even as a kid I’d picked up on that. To another Type A person, it was obvious. He appreciated schedules and routines in a way that seemed extraordinary for a teenage boy.
But I was sick and tired of his routine when it came to us. His wary fence-sitting may have been warranted in his mind, but I could feel in my bones that it was liable to destroy me, and I didn’t want to go to my grave still waiting in vain for him to realize how much I’d always been his.
“Should I be worried?” Izzy asked, peeking her head through my cracked bedroom door. “It’s almost noon.”
I sighed and rolled my head towards her. “No. I’m fine.”
“Really?”
I tried to shrug, but since I was lying down, it didn’t quite come across.
She opened the door and crawled onto my tiny bed, lay down beside me, and propped her head up on her hand. “You want to tell me what’s going on?”
“Nothing,” I said. “Nothing is going on. That’s the problem.”
She raised her eyebrows.
“I have been enamored of Landon fucking Bishop for as long as I can remember, and I’ve been patient with him. So patient. I’m, like, practically eligible for sainthood at this point.”
“Uh-huh.”
“But every time we actually manage to step foot outside the friend zone, he hits the brakes without warning or explanation.”
She squinted at me. “And you have no idea why?”
I shook my head.
“Do you think he does?”
I furrowed my brow. “What?”
“Do you think he knows why he does it, or do you think it’s just a pattern at this point?”
I rolled my head to face the ceiling. “I have no idea.”
“Can you just ignore it?”
“What do you mean ignore it? He’s putting walls up between us.”
“That may be,” she said. “But figurative walls only work if the person you’re trying to keep out acknowledges them.”
“I’m not following.”
“Have you ever been really pissed at someone you were dating—like, fuming—but they were too stupid to notice, so you realized after a while that you were wasting your energy?”
“Of course.”
“Well maybe that’s what this situation calls for,” she said. “Because if you back off every time he backs off, you’re only encouraging—maybe even legitimizing—his behavior.”
“So you think I should just carry on like we’re still making progress?”
She shrugged. “What’s the worst that could happen?”
“I don’t know. My heart shatters into a million little pieces when he doesn’t return my feelings.”
“Better a broken heart than an unused one.”
I pressed my lips together. “Not a bad point.”
“Thanks,” she said, her eyes smiling.
“How will I know if it’s working?”
“That depends on how impatient you are to interrupt this annoying pattern of his.”
I rolled onto my side and looked up at her from my pillow. “I’m listening.”
“Well, you could try a slow burn approach and hope he realizes you’re not interested in playing these stupid games anymore.”
“Uh-huh.”
“Or, since subtlety is lost on men 99% of the time, you could do something that would make it impossible for him to ignore how much you are not—under any circumstance—going to cool your jets.”
“Like what?”
“I don’t know. Seduce him in some way that he won’t be able to resist?”
“I’m not a seductress, Izzy.”
“All women are seductresses. It’s just that too many haven’t realized it.”
I rolled my eyes.
“Fine,” she said. “But if you change your mind, you can always follow my favorite advice. Don’t—”
“Don’t be yourself,” I said, finishing her thought. “Be whoever can get the job done.”
“Bingo.”
I had to admit the thought of trying to seduce Landon filled me with equal parts terror and excitement. “I don’t know the first thing about seducing someone.”
“It’s easy,” she said. “All you do is have so much fun in front of them that they can’t help but join in.”
I groaned and rolled onto my back again, wondering if she could actually hear the crazy coming out of her mouth.
“It works for anything,” she said. “You can even seduce kids into eating broccoli with that approach. Or friends into bungee jumping.”
“Or brothers’ best friends into forgetting they were trying to keep their distance?”
“Guaranteed.”
“What makes you so sure that would even work?” I asked.
“Besides the fact that you already know this guy wants you back? I’m telling you, if you offer yourself up to him, he’s going to go all Garden of Eden on your ass and reach for any juicy apple you shove in his face.”
I laughed. “You’re certifiable.”
“Maybe,” she said. “But I’m not the one under my covers at noon touching myself and wishing my hand was someone else’s.”
“I wasn’t touching myself.”
“That’s even worse,” she said. “At least if you had been, it would be easier to forgive you still being in bed.”
“Don’t torment me.”
“As if you can put that on me. You’re the one tormenting yourself.”
I rubbed my eyes and took a deep breath.
“Now get your ass up, and I’ll take you to my favorite brunch spot. There’s nothing to eat here, and your sad story makes me want to eat my feelings.”
“Don’t put that on me,” I said. “Dancing nine hours a day is what makes you want to eat your feelings.”
“Fine,” she said, crawling over me and swinging her feet back onto the floor. “But that doesn’t change the fact that Cajun home fries will sort us both out.”
“I’m in,” I said, throwing my covers off and sitting up.
“I’ll be ready in five,” she said, nodding her approval at my immediate progress before walking out of my room.
I stared down at my feet and wiggled my pink-painted toes. Could they really belong to a seductress? Could that really be the best way to prove to Landon that I wasn’t going to settle for intermittent scraps of affection anymore?
And if I somehow found the courage to give it a shot, how far would I be willing to go?