- Margot -
t was obvious that Landon didn’t want to talk about his mom anymore, and I couldn’t blame him.
God knows how my own family would’ve fallen apart if my mother had rejected us. The pressure he must’ve been under at that age, especially considering how poorly his dad coped at the time, seemed terribly unfair.
And as horrible as I’d feel for anyone in that situation, the fact that it happened to someone I cared so deeply about—someone I thought so highly of—really angered me. How could she not see how amazing he was? How deserving of affection?
Who knows what he must’ve thought of our family. My parents were so happy, so loyal. My dad sometimes had an awkward way of showing it, but there was no question that they’d been reliable constants in mine and Matt’s life from the beginning.
How Landon had turned out so well without the same resources was beyond me. Even as a teenager, he never sulked about it, never used it as an excuse to slack off or fail. I admired him so much for that.
“So what else can you make?” I asked as he slid the foil-covered casserole dish in the oven.
“All the classics,” he said, righting himself again. “Though I’m partial to stir-frys, and I’m especially proud of my Spanish omelet.”
“I’m impressed.” I drained my drink, and before I’d even set the glass down, he was getting the ingredients out to make me another. “My skills in the kitchen plateaued around the time I learned to make ramen and cheese sandwiches.”
“I see.” He tipped a splash of grenadine over the ice in my glass. “Well, I didn’t really learn until I got competitive at lacrosse and started to care about nutrition, so my motivation was high.”
“Ahhh. Caring about nutrition. That must be the piece I’m missing.”
“Same with Matt.” He unbuttoned his work shirt and pulled the tucked-in part from the top of his pants.
My mouth watered at the way his undershirt hugged his chest.
“He’s lucky Kelsey’s so good in the kitchen.”
“She’s an amazing baker, too,” I said. “I already bet him he puts on at least five pounds this year.”
“Five if he’s lucky,” Landon said, stirring the ingredients of my fresh drink together. “Sometimes I think he likes sweets more than he likes a drink.”
“And that’s saying something,” I said. “Did you see the pictures they put up from their honeymoon?”
“A few of them,” he said. “Looks like they had a good time.”
“I’ll say. And the scenery was stunning.”
“Agreed,” he said, sliding my glass across the counter. “But it wouldn’t be the honeymoon for me.”
I furrowed my brow. “No? Why not?”
“Because I’d be too damn busy making sweet love to my gorgeous wife to bother with the camera, for one thing.”
My mind dizzied at the thought of what it would be like to tumble with Landon across crisp hotel sheets.
“I’d order room service for every single meal,” he said. “And we’d get all our exercise and sightseeing done in bed and from our own balcony.”
I smiled. “So even if you did take pictures, they wouldn’t be fit for sharing?”
“Exactly,” he said. “In fact, we wouldn’t even need any luggage. Just an outfit to wear on the plane there and back.”
I clung to his use of the word we and wondered if he had a picture of this woman in his mind, this fictional wife I couldn’t help but be jealous of. “Sounds pretty romantic.”
He eyed me for a second before grabbing another beer from the fridge. “No offense to Matt, though,” he said, turning back to me. “I’m glad they enjoyed themselves.”
“Me too,” I said, still longing for the honeymoon Landon described.
“Do you mind if I change out of these pants?” he asked, taking his work shirt off entirely.
“Not at all,” I said. “By all means make yourself comfortable.”
He glanced at the timer on the microwave and disappeared around the corner.
It was only then that I realized how shallow my breathing had become. I made an effort to slow it down in the hope that my heart rate would follow suit. Then I combed my fingers through my hair, licked my lips, and wondered what would happen if I ambushed him in his room. Would he would stop me if I threw myself at him?
He came around the corner thirty seconds later in the same undershirt and a pair of dark jeans that made him look so fuckable I had half a mind to throw my drink over him just to see what he’d look like in a wet T-shirt. Seriously, why the hell was he spending his Friday night with me? He probably could’ve been out clubbing with drunken supermodels…
“What did you mean at the office?” I blurted.
He leaned a hip against the counter across from me. “What?”
“When you said sometimes you think you want more than my company?”
His eyes bounced between mine.
“Landon.”
He ran a hand through his hair. “I shouldn’t have said that out loud.”
“What did you mean?”
He crossed his arms, and the sleeves of his T-shirt tightened around his muscles. “I just meant that sometimes I wonder…”
I craned my neck forward. “What?”
“How things might be different if—”
I narrowed my eyes at him. “If what?”
“If you weren’t my best friend’s little sister. If I wasn’t so protective of you.”
I flattened my hands on the counter. “What exactly is it that you’re so desperate to protect me from?”
He shrugged. “Everything.”
“Everything?”
“Getting hurt, mostly. Or getting taken advantage of.”
“I can protect myself, though,” I said. “Literally. My roommate has been giving me self-defense lessons.”
He raised his eyebrows in obvious amusement.
“I’m serious,” I said. “I’m sick of trying to prove to you that I’m not a little girl anymore.”
“I know you’re not a little girl,” he said. “Trust me. I’m all too aware of that.” His eyes turned down at the corners but lifted again when the timer went off.
I exhaled as he slipped a blue oven mitt on and watched him move the pasta bake to the stove top.
“This will have to cool for a second,” he said, keeping his back to me.
I watched as he got two plates and forks out. “Landon.”
“Yeah?” he asked, still not turning around.
“The circumstances are never going to be different,” I said, lowering my voice. “But that doesn’t mean I don’t want them to be.”
“Okay,” he said, peeling the foil off the edge of the sizzling pan. “I’d say that’s definitely done.”
My heart sank. “It smells delicious.”
“Wait till you try it,” he said. “There’s nothing more cruel than taking back kind words you’ve already said.”
I clenched my jaw, frustrated that he would even suggest I didn’t know what I was saying, that I would say things I didn’t mean. Especially to him.
“Shit,” he said, jumping back and waving his thumb through the air.
“Did you burn yourself?” I asked, sliding off the bar-stool and walking around the counter as he stuck his hand under the faucet.
“It’s nothing,” he said, his face twisted with frustration.
“Let me see.” I pulled his thumb from under the cool water and looked at the red blister that had already formed where he must’ve grabbed the pan.
“I got distracted,” he said, turning off the water with his free hand. “I wasn’t think—”
I pressed the pad of his thumb to my lips and closed my eyes. When I opened them, he was staring at me. I lifted my face but kept his hand cradled in mine.
“Again,” he said, his voice low.
I kissed the burn once more, holding my lips against it as my heart pounded in my chest. Then I kissed a bit lower, slowly working my way down to where his thumb met his palm. When I kissed his wrist, his hand cupped my face and tilted it upwards.
I was breathless before his lips met mine, and I opened my mouth to him instantly, inhaling his air as he kissed me deeper, my stomach dropping when his tongue found my own.
One of his hands slid around my lower back and pulled me to him until my body melted against his chest. And as his hand sank down to squeeze my ass, I felt the bulge in his pants swell against my stomach, making my insides burn.
He moved his lips to my cheek and then just below my ear, his hands exploring my body as he kissed his way down my neck.
Finally, I thought, as I held his shoulders to keep from wilting.
His hand found the zipper at the back of my dress, and every hair on my body stood up as he pulled it down to my waist, his lips still on my throat.
I shuddered as he slid his palm onto my bare back and started for my bra, but just before the tips of his fingers reached the clasp, there was a knock on the door.