I walk out to the parking lot half expecting zombie-Landon, but he’s makeup free. He’s leaning against his Pontiac, worn-out black cap on his head, and by the way he’s holding his phone and swiping madly across the screen…I’m assuming he’s playing Fruit Ninja.
I bounce into his arms, slide his hat around, and kiss him. He smiles against my lips, then I feel his warm hands on the small of my back.
“You’re off early,” he says, then goes back to kissing me.
“Mmhmm.” I bite on his bottom lip. Hell yes, engagement rocks. “I was not very productive today.”
“Seems to be going around.” His hands slide over my waist, down to my upper thighs. He hoists me up and sets me on the hood of the car. “Every call I answered today started with, ‘Thank you for calling. I’m Landon, and I just got engaged, so I’m useless to you.’ ”
I laugh around his mouth and drag my nails over the back of his neck. “Liar.”
“Well, I was thinking it.”
I put my hands on his cheeks, pull his face closer to mine, and give him a sweet kiss. He pushes his phone into my back pocket, then runs his palms up my back.
I could spend my whole life kissing him like this.
“Me too,” he says, and I laugh at my thoughts jumping out of my mouth again. “Hey, I sort of made plans for tonight.”
“With me?”
“Well, you can come if you want…” he teases, and I lightly smack the bill on his cap. He slides it off his head and sets it on mine. “Will you wear a dress?”
“Ooh, fancy.”
“I know. It’s completely out of character for you.”
“Well, what are you wearing, Mr. Boy’s Department Mannequin?” I tug at his graphic tee that says, “I’m kind of a big deal” with Anchorman splayed across his chest.
He flicks my nose. “I’m killing this look. I’m surprised you haven’t broken our new rules right here in the parking lot.”
“Oh please. I bet you’re just aching to tear this uniform off me.” I shake my bust at him.
He tickles my sides before helping me off the car. After taking his phone back he helps me into the passenger seat, kissing me while I sit.
“Where are we going?” I ask him, keeping hold of his T-shirt so he doesn’t move away from my mouth.
“Home, then a surprise.”
I pout, and he just nips at my bottom lip and backs up to shut the door. He thinks he’s won, but I really don’t mind surprises. If I really wanted to know, I’d bet another honeymoon that I’d get it out of him.
—
Landon’s covered in white. Like the Tide commercial white. He’s hatless, his dark hair perfectly messy. His tan arms sneak from a crisp short-sleeved button-down. Muscles ripple as he drives, manly hands gripping the steering wheel, and he smells yummy. Like toast actually, but spiced toast. I have to smack my lips together because my mouth feels incredibly moist.
My eyes drift over his forearm—which is probably the best muscle there is. I have a thing for forearms. Something about the way Landon’s muscles are so prominent when he’s hovering over me, holding himself up on those bad boys and giving me a hard pounding. Things flutter in the lady bits and I have to blink and focus on somewhere not his forearms, but my horny brain goes straight to his pants. I’ve never ever seen him in white pants, and now I don’t ever want to see him in anything else. If he’s trying to win the bet, kudos to him. We haven’t been on a date in forever, and I internally fist-pump the air because I finally feel like we’re crawling out of our norm.
I smooth out the white fabric of the dress I’m being forced to wear, wondering if I’m causing the same sort of effect on him that he is on me. I’d adjust the ladies to make sure they’re more bouncy, but jamming my hand down my bra and lifting the suckers probably isn’t that hot.
Adjusting again, I accidentally knock my head on the rearview mirror and Landon reaches over to fix it with a laugh. But seriously, I don’t wear dresses. I own three skirts, and I guess Theresa decided those weren’t good enough options for what Landon has planned, so she bought me this. It’s cute—albeit uncomfortable—but I have an inkling he’s taking me to some sort of white party. And I’m so not a clubber.
To dry out the lady parts and help out the nervous butterflies, I crank up the music and start belting it out.
“I knew I loved you before I met you!” I sing into the tire pressure gauge. “I think I dreamed of you with pies.”
Landon snorts and shakes his head at the windshield. He reaches for the iPod to change the song, but I bat his hand away.
“You stop that. Savage Garden is the shit.”
“You don’t even know the real words.” He makes a face as I sing the next lyric. “Stop torturing me!”
I evil laugh with the iPod, turning the volume up and dancing in my seat. My music preference stayed firmly in the late nineties, early two-thousands. Boy bands are the best thing to ever happen to my eardrums…and the worst to Landon’s.
After the final guitar strum I switch over to some *NSYNC while Landon continues to shake his head at me.
“Are we almost there?”
Landon answers with a grin, nodding out my side of the car. He pulls up to a club I’ve never set foot in, and from the line outside, it looks like I’m not going to tonight either.
“Um…” I raise an eyebrow while he throws the car in park. We’re the only ones in full white, so my brain is short on guesses about what we’re doing. “I think you should’ve used the GPS.”
“Ha. Ha.” He taps my nose with the car key. “Trust me.”
We get out, and I’m instantly grateful I put on flats. The asphalt is covered with gravel and early-autumn leaves crunching under our feet as Landon leads me straight to the bouncers.
I grab onto Landon’s biceps, tucking in close. I’m not sure what he has in mind since he knows I’m not the best clubber. I already feel out of place. And we’re only outside.
The bouncer looks as if he’s going to kill the next person who says something to him until he catches Landon’s eye and turns a one-eighty, grinning wide and fist-bumping my hubby-to-be.
“Congratulations, man,” he says. My cheeks feel hot under the lights in the entryway. My grip tightens on his arm. What is happening?
Landon says, “Thanks,” wiggles from my hold, and places a hand on the small of my back. “Ladies first.”
“I don’t think I want to,” I say with a laugh. Landon’s hand slides around my waist and pulls me close.
“I won’t leave your side, scaredy-cat.”
“Promise?”
“Promise.”
He nudges me past the bouncer. I can hear the people in the line throw out some choice words when Landon opens the door.
A steady drumbeat thumps through my chest, my eyes adjust to the contrast of dark mixed with bright neon, and my nervous butterflies fly out behind me as I take in all our friends covered head-to-toe in bright paint. Cheers vibrate the walls and scare me back into Landon with a laugh.
He catches me and leans down to my ear. “You have Theresa to thank for this.”
I turn, my nose grazing the scruff on his cheek. “What exactly is ‘this’?”
“Engagement party.” He taps a kiss to my lips. I want to kiss him longer, but a hand curls around my wrist and yanks me away from my sexy-ass fiancé.
Sexy-ass. He does have a sexy ass. If only I could grab a handful while he’s pressing me against a wall.
“Freaking gorgeous!” Penny, Landon’s old roommate’s girlfriend, yells. I push away my naughty ass-grabbing fantasy and she pulls the diamond on my hand up to her face. She’s covered in bright yellow paint spatters, dotting her cheeks and down her neck. I sneak my hand away as politely as possible so she doesn’t get paint on my ring. But Theresa snags it next, and she’s painted in blue and pink. Suddenly I’m surrounded by all my girlfriends, laughing and showing off the rock.
“Oh!” Theresa says over the music and the high-pitche
d squealing. “You need to get painted.” She grabs my arm, and I wave bye to everyone. My white dress glows as bright as all the neon paint under the black lights, and even though there are about 150-plus people in here, I can spot Landon across the room, glowing like the Bat-Signal. So much for staying next to him all night.
“You are crazy, you know?” I tell her as she drags me through the crowd. “How did you get everyone here in one day?”
She tosses her brown curls over her shoulder. “We’ve been waiting for Landon to ask you for months. He finally got the balls to do it.”
Damn, I love my friends. Most people would tell me I’m crazy or we’re crazy or whatnot because of my age, but my friends go and throw a black-light paint party.
Probably going to get a different reaction from my parents.
Wait…
“Theresa?” I ask, stopping on the steps to the paint drums. “You didn’t post this on Facebook, did you?”
Her head tilts to the side, and she blinks but doesn’t answer.
“Because I haven’t told my mom yet,” I continue, “and she cannot find out from Facebook.”
She blinks again, eyes growing wider and wider, making my stomach more and more uneasy.
“O-of course not.” She fake smiles. “That would be a horrible thing.”
I go to smack her, but she dodges my swing and hops down the steps to the larger crowds, pulling her phone from her pocket.
“Be right back!” she shouts with a wave. I crumple a napkin at a nearby table and chuck it in her direction. The feeble thing lands about two feet in front of me.
“Nice throw, Beth Ann,” I hear over my shoulder. I turn around with a gut punch, knowing who it is because he’s the only one who calls me by my middle name. But Jace totally expects it, catching my wrist before it connects with his stomach. A wide grin splits on his bright-red painted face, his teeth glowing white like my dress, and globs of green in his brown hair. He pulls me in for a bear hug, lifting me off my feet and making me squeal over his shoulder.
“Don’t squeeze too tight,” I croak. “I’ll break in half.”
He sets me down. “I’d say congratulations, but you’re so stupid,” he says, and this time I get a good hook to his shoulder. He rocks back on his heels and chuckles. “Just saying, you could’ve had this…” He gestures to himself. “But you chose that.” His hand waves out behind me. Warm arms find my waist, jolting me on the spot.
“I’m funnier than you, bro,” Landon says to Jace, tucking his chin in the crook of my neck. Jace gasps as if that’s the worst insult ever. I laugh and kiss my fiancé’s cheek.
Fiancé. I love that word.
“You guys are doing that cute shit, so I’m gonna get a drink.” Jace slaps his hand across Landon’s. “Congrats.”
“Sure, you say it to him,” I call out to his retreating figure. Jace turns around with a grin.
“He’s not the stupid one!”
I go to flip him off, but Landon catches my hand and twines our fingers together.
“He’ll only take it as an invitation,” he says. I roll my eyes, but nod. Jace not-so-subtly hits on everyone. I don’t know how Landon lived with him for so long.
When I first met Jace, he’d just broken up with his girlfriend—Penny, girl who almost painted up my ring—and was so out of it he passed out on my shoulder watching Bridget Jones’s Diary on Netflix. The next morning he didn’t remember a thing, not even meeting me. It didn’t take him long to call me gorgeous and ask for my number. Landon did his very manly territorial display with a giant kiss and taking me to his room to complete the territory marking. Jace still hits on me just to see Landon go caveman. I’m not complaining.
Landon rocks me slowly to the drums, trailing kisses down my neck and making my eyes roll back in my head.
“You want to dance, Tumbles?”
“Yes. But keep it Bible distance, remember?”
“Like, the e-book version?”
I elbow him in the gut, and he leads me to the dance floor. Alec gives me and Landon a wave before getting pulled into a dance by Jaycee, one of the girls in Landon’s movie. Theresa and Penny are dancing with each other and a guy I don’t know, but he tells us congrats as we pass. Landon spins me under his arm and then pulls me against him. My waist knocks with his, jolting the naughty tingles. As he moves with me, I push on his chest slightly to keep our agreed-upon distance.
“How do you know the bouncer?” I ask, mainly so I’m not tempted to just make out and dry hump. Landon’s hands smooth over my waist.
“We were filming here today.” He gulps. I bite back my smile, feeling something I haven’t in a long time—empowered and sexy. I maneuver against his leg, pressing our belly buttons together. He sucks in a deep breath and spins me around to dance with my butt instead. “The backdrop was awesome,” he says after a minute. “I can’t wait to see the playback.”
His warm body feels so good against mine. He’s never danced like this before. Hands exploring but not overstepping, breath hot and heavy in my ear, keeping my ass close enough to feel the explosions between us, but far enough away to not actually touch.
What were we talking about?
Asses.
No.
Backdrop. Playback. Oh! His movie…
“Did you use the special neon paint for your zombies?” Yes, zombies. Let’s talk about gross makeup and dead people coming back to life.
“Of course,” he teases. “That’s what makes them scary.”
The music tempo changes a bit, or maybe it’s not the music at all, just Landon dancing behind me. One of his hands grips my hip while the other strokes my ribs. I tangle my fingers into his hair, enjoy the scruff of his chin against my cheek, and rub against him as much as I can without breaking any rules. But damn, this is harder than I thought it’d be.
Lots of things are hard.
I’m sure it’s hard.
But I’m not going to feel it.
Nope.
“I want paint on me,” I blurt. Hips are knocking and the waves are reverberating in the Land of Liz, and I am not proving Landon right on “Flakey Lizzie.”
“Well,” he says, moving my body toward the drums. A worker is placing new paint on top while a few clubbers start pounding the instruments, spattering everyone within range. Landon’s scruff tickles my neck as he says, “There are the drums.” He moves me a few more inches. “Or the paint balloons.”
Paint balloons.
Paint balls.
Balls.
Landon’s—
“Or we could paint each other,” Landon suggests. He nods up the stairs to several curtained-off areas. Friends and couples go in paint free and come out with designs, handprints, and other various art over their skin and clothing. I turn to Landon with a big grin, resting my chin on my shoulder. He laughs at my smile and wraps his hand around mine.
“Come on.” He leads me up a few sets of stairs, above the main dance floor, and over the paint drums. The beats continue to thump through my chest, making me want to grab Landon and dance some more. A couple passes us as they leave one of the curtained areas, freshly painted and holding hands. I squeeze Landon’s fingers twice. He squeezes back once.
One of the club workers pulls back a curtain. Landon ducks in first, pulling me behind him. The club worker says, “If we’re out of any color, let us know.”
Landon nods and brings me in front of him. I lean against his warm chest and look around the room.
There’s a table with all the neon colors of the rainbow in big cereal bowls. Sponges and brushes sit next to each color, and two chairs are placed across from each other next to the table. Landon pulls the curtains closed behind us, encasing us in darkness, minus the paint and our clothing.
“You want to go first?” he asks.
“Don’t get any paint on this.” I hold up my hand, twirling the ring with my thumb.
“Here,” he says, leaning up and grabbing his wallet from his back pocket. “I’ll ho
ld on to it.”
I hesitate, but only because I love the new weight on my hand. After eyeing the paint one more time I slide the ring off and let him settle it into one of the wallet pouches. My hand already feels way empty. Weird. I’ve only had it for a day.
We sit and Landon scoots his chair forward so his knees hit mine. “Pick a color.”
“All of them.”
He squeezes my knee, and then taps his chin as if debating what to use first. I settle my hand on his leg.
“So, Fiancé”—yep, love that word—“why are we wearing white?” I ask as he dips a sponge into the orange. He swipes the excess paint on the side of the bowl and leans in close.
“Blank canvas.” He grins. The first cool stroke hits my neck. He curls it down over my chest in a swoop. I like this. Really like this. My skin feels electric and my jitters won’t settle and my smile won’t go away. My heart pounds beneath his fingers, and my grip tightens on his knee. I start inching my hand up, and right when I reach his upper thigh I remember I’m not supposed to go any farther. Bad hand. Knock that shit off.
His eyebrow rises, and he dips another sponge, this one blue, and he sweeps it over my cheek. A low moan erupts in the back of my throat. What is wrong with me? It’s been one day since we had the metaphorical beast with two backs. I’ve gone much longer, and suddenly cold paint and Landon and dancing and drumbeats are already changing my mind on the Bahamas thing.
No. Not thing. It’s my honeymoon! And I’m not losing a day in. I’m not losing the warm vacation over one night of paint sex. Granted, while that visual has me moaning out loud already, I want to wait long enough that our sex will be toe-curlingly amazing night after night for the rest of our lives.
And then Landon grins, leans down, and kisses the spot right under my earlobe.
Seductive devil.
I move my hand—mistake—because now I visualize a vat of paint and passion and his tongue on my neck, his teeth on my bottom lip, his groans echoing mine, and hopping on every ride there is in Chocolateville until I’m completely satiated.
His hands are on my waist now, pulling me into his lap, sponge forgotten while he moves his mouth to mine. Blue paint from my cheek transfers to his skin, glints of orange from my neck stain his hands as he moves them across my body, expertly avoiding the off-limit areas.