“It’s a storm, Cami. It was probably a tree on your house or something.”

I take a deep breath and sit on the edge of the bed, bat in hand.

“You’re probably right. I don’t hear anything now.”

“Go back to sleep. The storm will blow over.”

I nod. “Okay. Good night.”

“Night.”

I hang up and shine my phone around the room. It all looks normal. Riley is probably right, I’m just scared because of the storm.

Just when I stand to let Scoot out of the bathroom, I hear another noise. I tiptoe to the door and peek my head around, petrified to see my front door creaking wide open.

Holy fucking hell.

I clutch the bat in my best grand-slam stance and take a deep breath.

“Whoever you are, you need to get the fuck out of my house!” I yell, sounding much more confidant than I feel. “I have a gun and the cops are on their way!”

“Jesus, don’t shoot me.”

Landon.

I drop the bat just as Landon reaches the top of the stairs and I launch myself into his arms. And I do mean launch. My arms are wrapped tightly around his neck, most likely cutting off his air supply, and my legs are wrapped around his waist.

“You scared me!”

“I’m sorry.” He’s holding my ass, but when he realizes that I’m glued to him and he doesn’t need to hold me up, he runs his hands up and down my back, soothing me. “I didn’t mean to scare you. I wanted to come see if you’re okay.”

“Why didn’t you just knock like a normal human being?” I ask with my face buried in his neck.

“I didn’t want to wake you up if you were sleeping.” He sits on the bed with me in his lap.

“So you thought that me waking up to a tall man at the side of my bed would be less scary?” He chuckles and kisses my cheek. “You seriously need to stop breaking into my house.”

I pull back.

“Wait. Is that how you got in yesterday morning? You picked the lock?”

I can’t make out his face in the dark, but I feel his shrug. “Old habits die hard.”

We used to break into each other’s bedroom window when we were kids. We’d sneak in and talk, especially during storms. I hate thunderstorms. I always have. I’m surprised Landon remembers.

“Here I thought you had some kind of magical powers,” I say. “But in all reality, you’re just a felon. I couldn’t pick a lock these days if my life depended on it.”

“I’m not a felon,” he says with a laugh. “And if I am, then we all were when we were young. And if memory serves, it was you who taught me how to pick a lock.”

I laugh softly. “No one lived in that old scary house by the river when we broke into it. It was empty.”

“It wasn’t ours to break into. I’m pretty sure I could turn you in for breaking and entering.”

“I’m pretty sure the statute of limitations has expired on those adventures,” I reply, and poke him in the ribs. “Besides, it was you who used to taunt me and Mia about how it was haunted, and horrible ritual killings used to happen there.”

“I was hoping to scare you away from there, not entice you even more.” He kisses my forehead. “I never would have guessed that the cute, responsible girl we all knew would have been up for trespassing.”

“I was up for a lot of things back then,” I reply softly. “The consequences don’t seem so dire when you’re young. It seems you never outgrew your trespassing tendencies.”

“You would have opened the door to me.”

“Just freaking knock next time.”

“Or you could just give me a key and save us all the trouble,” he replies, and kisses my forehead. As the adrenaline slows down, I realize that he smells delicious. His muscles feel amazing under my hands.

He just feels so damn good.

“They tore it down, you know,” I say, still staring into the dark. “That old house.”

“I know. I drove by the other day and it was replaced with a row of town houses.” His hands are roaming soothingly up and down my back. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine.”

“Where’s the gun?”

Silence. I smile against his neck.

“You don’t have a gun, do you?”

“No, but I wasn’t going to tell a potential rapist that.”

“You’re so funny,” he says, his hands moving over my back again. “I don’t have power either.”

The sky lights up and I can see him for just a split second. His hair is still messy from bed. His eyes look tired.

“Thank you for coming to check on me.” I rest against him. “You didn’t have to.”

“You hate storms,” he murmurs.

“That hasn’t changed,” I agree, and then I panic all over again. “Shit! Scoot’s trapped in the bathroom!”

I shimmy off his lap and run to the bathroom, almost tripping on my new Choos on the way.

“Why is he in the bathroom?”

“Because I put him there to protect him,” I reply, and open the door. A pissed-off cat scurries out of the bathroom and jumps up on the bed. “He’ll be pissed at me for a while. Although, he’s always pissed at me.”

“Now that I know you’re okay, I’ll head home.”

“Stay.”

He stills in the darkness. “Cami—”

“You don’t have to have sex with me,” I rush on. “But I’d rather not be alone.”