I shake my head and wave an apology, quickening my pace.
I am in engagement hell. If only I could convince Landon to cheat just a little bit, then maybe I could erase at least some of the tension. Even if it won’t solve a damn thing, I’d at least get my clitoris to stop yelling at me every time he says something romantic. Or smiles. Or exists.
Yeah, a little finger action should be doable. It’s not like we’re having sex sex. Just making it so we both get through hell with our heads.
I get to the elevator, talking to myself again, coming up with a way to say, “I need a trip to Chocolateville” without completely giving up on the bet. My mind is still blank by the time I reach my floor.
There’s a light mumbling as I open the door and Landon snaps his lips shut as if he’s been talking to himself too. His hair is a mess. A good mess. I want to mess it up more. Sweet Georgia pie, I’m never going to make it.
And damn I want pie.
“How…how was your walk?” he asks. The tension is so thick in the room I have to push myself a step forward.
“Fine. Yep, fine. Cold, but I’m fine.” I shiver, just realizing I forgot to bring a coat.
Landon nods. Scratches his elbow. His hair is wet from a shower, and a tiny suspicious thought flies through my head that he cheated in there, but the tension in his back, the flex of his jaw, the short, tight movements he makes chase that thought away.
“Are you still mad at me?” I blurt. He stops looking past me and looks right at me, taking cautious breaths, and he shakes his head.
“I just…damn it.”
He tears at his hair and starts pacing. Pacing, pacing, pacing, and I’m trying not to give in, trying not to attack, trying not to grab him and give him the ride of his life, all while yelling “Yee-haw!”
Then he looks at me, fire blazing in his eyes and shouts, “I just want to touch something!”
I’m struck dumb, watching him take two steps toward me, two steps back, and repeat it. My fingers twitch at my sides, and my brain tells them to stop it.
He lets out a long breath, drops his head, and starts talking to the floor. “Can I…can I have a hypothetical conversation with you?”
I nod.
“If we get back to the real reason why you want to take this break, it’s because you want our wedding night to be special, right?”
I nod.
“I do, too. But as it sits, if we make it, the night will be special for about ten seconds.”
My eyes flick to the hard line in his shorts, then back to his face when he looks up at me. My heart feels like it’s thumping in my nethers, and it’s like the answer to my frustrated ramblings, so I gulp and say, “That makes complete sense.”
Landon’s gray eyes widen. “I’m not saying we do it.”
“Neither am I.”
“But maybe just help each other out…once a week until the wedding.”
“Once a month.”
“Once every two weeks.”
“A month.”
He hesitates, but I hold my ground. Any more than a month and I’ll be caving by week two. And then our love life will be stale like it was right before the bet.
No, not stale. Just…not as kapow!
“Reasonable,” he says.
“Harmless.”
“No rules broken?”
“Right.”
We stare at each other for exactly point five seconds before our bodies crash in the center of the room, fingers tearing and grappling at these stupid clothes. Our lips hit each other, miss each other, are practically all over each other, and he lets out a loud growl, snapping his hand around my jaw and holding me still.
Stroke one of his tongue makes me shiver.
Stroke two has my knees buckling.
Strokes three, four, five, and I’m moaning as Lady Liz tightens and heats and pulses. I rip his belt from his belt loops, wishing I could do it in one easy motion. But it gets stuck, and I jerk, and jerk, and jerk, till the damn thing pops loose.
“Bed. Now!” I scream at him in my new relationship sex voice. It’s back. I haven’t sounded like that in forever. He grins and hoists me by the middle, swinging me over his shoulder while giddy giggles rumble my lips. I almost sing “Here I Come to Chocolateville” out loud.
His zipper is the next thing to go once he flings me on the mattress. Lord Landon pops free, and I flick my eyes up to his face.
“How do you want it?”
“Huh?” he grunts. Better keep talking to a minimum—seems like his brain has already gone straight down.
“Um…” I point to my hand. “Or…” Then I gesture to my mouth. His eyes widen a bit and he lifts a shoulder.
“I—I don’t know. Whatever you want.”
“I’ll do whatever you want.”
He leans down, cups my face, and gently coaxes me to my back while his weight settles. I have missed this position.
“Well, I kinda want to do you first. Because if you go second, it’ll get me all riled up again, and we only get once, right?”
A whole bunch of reasons why once is totally ridiculous zip through my mind like they’re on a roller coaster. But I say, “Right.” If I give way too much, I’ll give in completely, and no tropical paradise sex for me.
He bends, kissing me sweetly on the lips. “Then what do you want?”
I breathe out as his mouth travels down the length of my neck. He kisses my cleavage, hands smoothing up the hem of my shirt.
“I…I don’t…Um, I don’t care.” I can’t even think. My legs are pressed together so tight I could crush a walnut.
His mouth leaves, but only to get my shirt off. My bra is in the same sweep. He usually spends time up top before going to my bottoms, but either he’s too impatient or he thinks I’ll suddenly change my mind—no way—because my yoga pants are off in the next second. When he has me completely naked, a relaxed smile hits his lips. He falls on top of me, making me squeak out an “oof!”
His hands hold tight to my shoulders before they roam down my sides, thumbs getting naughty with my breasts, and his lips press patterns all over my neck.
“I’ve missed your body,” he says.
“Really?” I ask, and he leans up, eyebrows slightly bunched in confusion. I get it. I’ve never questioned his attraction to me before. We tease and flirt and make fun of each other in bed. That’s us and it’s comfortable. But right now, after today, I’m wondering if he notices the extra pounds.
I sniff. My voice and nose have suddenly gone stuffy. “I…I couldn’t fit into my wedding dress.”
He hovers unmoving over me, and a small laugh seeps from my mouth as I watch him struggle with what to say.
“Sorry…I’m just trying to…” He kisses me, squeezes my hip. “You’re not fat.”
“Well, thanks.”
“I figured I was safe saying that.”
“They have to take the dress out…and it’s expensive. Like, out of the budget expensive.”
He takes in a breath, lets it out before planting kisses on the tops of my breasts. My skin puckers with goose bumps.
“I love this body,” he says, and his hands back up his words. He slithers down to kiss my stomach. I hold my breath out of instinct.
“Don’t suck in,” he playfully scolds, tickling my ribs. My stomach pops out as I laugh. “I love this.” He kisses right below my belly button. “And I love these.” He kisses my love handles, and I tap the top of his head because he so should not acknowledge their existence. But the way he caresses my stomach, lets his thumb tumble over the hills in my figure, makes me feel like the sexiest woman on the planet. Upped dress size and all.
I hitch a leg up, and he travels back to my lips. I push my tongue into his mouth, strip the rest of his clothes off, and tell him with my actions that I’ve missed his body too.
His hand pushes my thighs apart, and the pulsing down there kicks up a notch.
“I want my face to be near yours,” he says through a grin as he dips his
hand into position. “So you’re getting my kick-ass, talented fingers.”
I roll my eyes before pushing a pillow over my face. He growls and rips it away. I fight back for it, but he starts working on my neglected lady bits and I forget about hiding my face and hop on the jet destined for Chocolateville and its neighboring town, Dessert Bay.
I’m fast. I’m so fast he doesn’t even get to do all his signature hand moves. But he kisses me, muffling my normally loud orgasm screams, so maybe I can get away with pretending that I didn’t just take a ride on the main attraction and run back in line. His fingers are still working their magic, and as I come down from the high, I use all my strength to pretend I’m still building. Yes, I’m totally cheating. No, I don’t care. I won’t stop him as long as he keeps doing what he’s doing.
Pretty soon I don’t have to pretend anymore. I really am building, back on that ride and going straight to the top. And I’m half thinking, hell yes! and half damn it! because it’s almost over. I won’t be able to stop the screams this time, since his mouth is buried in my neck and he’s doing his thing—the one he knows will get me in ten seconds flat. I cling to his shoulders, sliding a bit with all the sweat we’ve accumulated between us, and scream his name and other choice words as he takes me to Chocolateville and back. Again. But I’ll keep that to myself.
I lie on my back and try to even my breathing. He’s breathing hard too, and his hand is on mine, pulling me over to grasp him. But my limbs are gummy.
“Give me a second,” I say through an exhausted laugh.
“I’m gonna blow any minute.”
“That’s hot.”
He pushes his nose to my shoulder. “No teasing.”
“But that’s what we do.” I roll over and pretend to fall asleep.
“I was just sexy as hell!” he shouts to the ceiling.
I laugh, roll on top of him, and slide down his body to take him out of his misery.
“Tell me what you want,” I say before kissing where his boxer band would rest if he was wearing them.
“Less talking.”
I playfully bite him, and he jerks back for a second as we laugh. When he settles back in front of me, I grant his request, keeping my mouth too occupied to talk.
Chapter 21
We raisin-branned each other.
We are raisin bran.
Landon is out, snoring so loudly I’m surprised the neighbors haven’t banged on the walls. His butt is to me, my butt is to him, and I’m satisfied physically. I’m tired and gooey, and there’s a sleepy grin on my face.
But we are not kissing. We are not cuddling. We aren’t setting up for another round or giving in to each other.
We are raisin bran.
And what is most devastating about that is…I don’t even care.
—
“I love you, sweet fiancée of mine.” Landon gives me a big kiss on the lips, then grabs his jacket, his coffee, and his keys before heading out the door. It’s the first time he’s smiled before work in weeks.
As soon as he’s gone, I grapple to the side of the bed and pull up my laptop. Hurdle time now that I can look at it without turning into something that crawled out of the seventh circle of hell.
Dress Hurdle is done. I guess. I mean, I liked the one I ended up putting a deposit on, but I was a little blinded by THE dress. Maybe I’ll go try it on again now that I’m more relaxed.
Okay…one Hurdle sort of down.
Landon’s phone buzzes from his nightstand, and I reach over and answer it before I can register that it said “Mom.”
“Hell…Oh…I mean…hi!” Oy. Face meet palm.
“Oh, it’s you.”
Lord help me. “Yeah. Sorry, Landon just left for work. He must’ve forgotten his cell.”
She makes a noise like I’m stupid for stating the obvious. I control my defenses and try to go for calm and cool. And like she doesn’t make me feel like a tiny field mouse standing in front of a feral cat.
“Anything I can help you with, Julie?” Oh, I hope I got her name right.
“Just let him know I called.” Then her voice drops and I swear I hear her call me a bitch. A bitch! I’m being polite, damn it.
I grit my teeth and say, “Sure.” Then hang up and mutter, “I didn’t want to talk to you anyway. Evil wench.”
Hurdle “make in-laws love like tolerate me” is now so high it’s practically a pole vault.
I switch from my list to my bank account. Landon said that even with the cut hours he’s still getting his Christmas bonus, and when I see that it’s been deposited I get to my feet, jump on the bed, and slam my head on the ceiling.
Serious bruised brain, but hell yes! There’s our honeymoon money. I quickly stick it into savings and mentally forbid Landon or myself to use it for anything but that.
Now I’m on a high—despite the throbbing in my crown—so I roll out of bed and into my cleaning clothes and switch the music to loud-as-allowed Hanson. I don’t work until noon, so I’ve got all morning to scrub and surprise Landon with already made dinner for when he gets home.
We’ve got one stick of butter, about a quarter gallon of milk, and a half brick of cheese in the fridge. Mac and cheese is getting old, but it’s helping us get by without diving into the honeymoon fund.
I set everything on the counter, grate the cheese, and start the water boiling. Every “mmmbop!” from my music player I wiggle my ass and press the cheese down on the grater. After I set the bowl of cheese and the butter down on the counter between the stove and the fridge, I reach up for the giant tin of macaroni we keep on top of the freezer.
And it happens in a flash of macaroni and butter. The tin slips through my fingers, slamming into the bowl on the counter, into the stick of butter, then rolls to the floor and the lid pops off. I jump back with a yelp and watch the only food we have in the house scatter across the tile.
“No no no no no no,” I say in a panic. The water continues to boil on the stove, the boy band mix keeps playing in the background…as if the whole entire world didn’t crash with the macaroni. But my stomach crumples, my heart dumps to my butt, and my knees drop to the floor as if my entire world had just crashed.
I try to scrounge up the raw noodles, but the butter has made most of them gooey, and every piece of fuzz and dirt on my kitchen floor clings to the macaroni. Skating across the tile on all fours, I try to find any of it that isn’t ruined, but my vision is blurring as my eyes water. And I keep thinking how we still have a week and half till payday, and now that I’ve transferred Landon’s bonus into savings, we have $19.28 in checking and we need gas in the car.
We were set. We were scraping by, but now we’re not even that. And I have to use the honeymoon money. No way around it. Will we ever be able to just save?
With my heart heavy in my throat, eyes finally so blurry there’s no point in searching for non-germy food, I sit back on my butt. My back slams against the oven door, and I cover my face and cry. I cry so hard I can’t breathe. I can’t stop crying and I know it’s stupid and we have money but we don’t at the same time, and something always comes up and I feel so clumsy and hopeless that we can’t have even a day without something going to shit.
A click registers in my ears and I drop my hands.
“Hey, I forgot my phone.” Landon hurries through the door, and he makes it down the hallway before he backs up, brow furrowed as he sees me in the middle of butter, cheese, and raw noodles.
“I…I spilled,” I tell him.
Another fit of sobs rip through me, and I want to smack myself for reacting this way. Landon cautiously steps into the kitchen and turns off the stove. He slides down next to me, resting his feet against the cupboard under the sink.
“It’s no use crying over spilled…macaroni.”
“Nice try.”
He gives me his sort-of-a-smile and wraps an arm around my shoulders. “What’s going on?”
My nose pushes into his jacket, my hair gets stuck to the scruff on hi
s chin, and every stroke of his fingers through my hair somehow makes the whole situation worse rather than better.
“It’s the only food we have left till payday.”
His body tenses under me, and I wish I could turn back time and make sure he grabbed his phone this morning so he didn’t have to witness my complete breakdown.
“Can we…” He clears his throat. “Do we have any savings?”
“It’s all for the honeymoon. I just transferred your bonus money.”
“Well, we’ll just have to make it up.”
“How?” I lift my head, looking into his gray hopeful eyes—and I’m at a total loss. “Your hours are restricted. I’m maxed out on overtime. I’m trying so hard, and I don’t know what else to do. We’re going to starve till payday, and even then I’ll only be able to buy Top Ramen and chicken noodle soup, and what if I spill those, too? We’re going to lose our honeymoon money and I never see you, and when I do, we go at each other’s throats, and I’m just not sure how we’re ever going to make it married if we can’t even do the engagement right, because it seems like everything was great before you proposed and then suddenly the money vacuums sucked us dry and I just want so much for you to get what you want in life, but how can we do that if we can’t afford it? I mean, you can’t get a second job because of your movies, and I want that for you. I’m just…how…how…how do people do it? How do they build a life? How do they have kids? Go on vacations? Take time off? Move into houses? Money just…it just sucks.”
The corner of Landon’s lip twitches, and I deflate against him and pinch his belly button. “You’re laughing at me.”
“I’m not laughing.” He picks my chin up. “You’re right. Money sucks. But we’ve been here before, and we get through it. We always do. You’re the master of savings. So yeah, we don’t have the money for Sundance right now—”
“Bahamas.”
He grins. “But we will. Food kind of takes precedence, don’t you think?”
“Yeah, but…we’ll never get to buy the things we want. It’s always something.”
“Of course it is. We’re normal people. Shit happens, and we work our asses off, and we eat mac and cheese and never fill the gas tank up all the way and go on cheap dates.”