Текст книги "Doing It for Love"

Автор книги: Cassie Mae

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Текущая страница: 10 (всего у книги 19 страниц)

Chapter 19

“Um, Elizabeth? Try to smile in this one, okay?” Helen, our engagement photographer, says. She’s laughing, but it’s one of those really awkward laughs people use when they just want to get out of the damn place as soon as they can.

I tighten my grip on Landon’s belt loop, my whole body soaked in sweat from my thick wardrobe. Seriously regretting the winter theme as the unusually bright November sun beats down on us in our beanies.

Normally I’d be celebrating this weather, but the frostiness between me and my fiancé trumps it. Landon and I have been practically forced to touch each other. I bet Helen wonders if one of us needs a green card.

“Okay, Landon, relax your hand. Squeeze in together. Elizabeth, smile. Landon, rest your forehead on hers. You have to smile, too. Look each other in the eyes. Elizabeth, keep your finger in his belt loop, but rotate your wrist so we get the ring. Okay…Stay still…one, two, three. And another, one, two, three. One more, smile, don’t drop that smile, Landon, you need to smile.”

Landon’s jaw is so clenched I think if Helen were a man he’d have decked her by now. And as upset as I am at him for being just as pissy as I have been, we need to get through this. So while I’m trying to “gaze fondly” into his eyes, I drop the façade, pull major duck lips, and cross my eyes.

His jaw unlocks as the first smile I’ve seen today breaks out on his face. Helen snaps a few pictures, so I give Landon a few kissy faces, too. He closes the tiny space between our lips and the small peck sends electric static down the back of my neck.

“That’s great,” Helen says, breaking what was barely a moment. “Playful works for you guys really well. Let’s move over to the gazebo for a couple shots.”

I increase the distance between our faces, and Landon’s jaw tightens right back up. I stuff a Mr. Goodbar from my pocket into my mouth when he’s not looking.

Helen takes more shots of us by the gazebo, by a tree, in a pile of snow, of us throwing snowballs at each other—that was actually pretty stress relieving, and we got supercompetitive and she said there were a ton of shots that were useful. But even after she drives off with a positive smile, I doubt the shoot is full of romantic, Save the Date–worthy pictures. Just another Hurdle I’m basically stumbling over.

“How long will you be this afternoon?” Landon asks when we get in the car and strip out of our coats and beanies. I’m already pulling out my phone to tell Theresa the pictures are done and now we can get my dress! The winter sale started today. Time to take that baby home.

“Shouldn’t be long,” I tell him, pushing my phone back into my pocket. “You editing tonight?”

He shrugs. “Probably. I need to use Jace’s computer at the studio though. It’s easier to edit from a desktop.”

“Call him.”

“You’re okay if I’m a bit late?”

“Sure. Theresa will keep me company.” And I can wear my dress around the apartment in an attempt to untwist my panties.

He presses his lips together and starts the car. The speedometer reads “something’s bugging your fiancé” as we head home, but I don’t say anything, worried that if I do we’re just going to fight again.

So I just take his hand and squeeze it twice, keeping my gaze out the passenger window. After seven Mississippis, he squeezes back.

–

Theresa pulls and pulls on the zipper, but it won’t budge. I’m sucking in so hard I feel like my belly button could pop out my butt crack.

“I’m sorry, Liz,” she says after a gusty sigh. “It’s not going to fit.”

No, no, no. It has to fit. This is THE dress. “Give me two seconds to breathe and we’ll try again,” I say, determined not to let my chocolate indulgence over the past two months be the cause of my dream dress demise. I prop myself up against the wall of the dressing room and relax my stomach before she starts pulling at me again.

“I…I think you’re SOL. Look at my fingers. I’m going to be drawing blood if I tug on that zipper one more time.”

“But…this is…this is my dress.”

She puts a hand on my upper back, and I refuse to see the complete surrender in her eyes.

“It fit last time you put it on, didn’t it?”

I lift a shoulder. “I thought so. But I couldn’t zip it myself, so I zipped as much as I could.” My eyes drift to hers and I straighten my back. “What am I going to do? I can’t lose an entire dress size between now and the wedding.”

“You could…if you give up the chocolate.”

I think about the day I’ve had, and the only good thing so far has been that Mr. Goodbar. “It’s the only thing keeping me sane.”

“Then have sex.”

“I’m not flaking out!”

She crosses her arms as if to say I’m being a complete bridezilla and it’s my fault I can’t squeeze into the thing.

It’s Hershey’s fault.

I slap my hands over my face and try to form a plan to make this dress fit, but Theresa pulls on my arms.

“Don’t panic. Dress shops like these do alterations all the time, I’m sure. Let me go get someone, okay?”

“This is why you’re my best friend.”

“Don’t get blubbery on me.”

She steps from the dressing room, leaving me alone to look at the bulging areas of my body that I’ve never been overly self-conscious about before, but now…ugh.

A tap comes at the door. That was fast.

“Come in.”

A clean-cut woman in a pantsuit shuffles in with a broad smile, Theresa close behind. She has a wristband of pins and a fabric pencil.

“You mind if I take a look, dear?” she asks, and I nod, but I really think by “take a look” she means “feel you up,” since the first place her hands go are directly to the ladies. It’s the only action they’ve had in months.

“It’s a little tight along here,” she mumbles to herself, drawing lines across the undercurves of my breasts. “And here. Super tight here. We’ll need to take it out here. And probably a few inches here.”

Her hand has made it to my ass, and I feel like a lard-filled balloon by the time she’s done. She pulls up a calculator on her phone and clucks her tongue. I look at Theresa and wonder if I look as bloated as I feel.

“Okay, with all the alterations, it’ll be an extra $525.”

I drop to my butt.

And hear a loud riiiiip.

Pantsuit woman cringes and says, “Make that $565.”

I’m going to have a meltdown right here in the ripped dress that is no longer in my budget. I never thought I’d be one of those brides. I wanted to be completely chill. Yeah, this dress doesn’t fit, but that’s okay! But it’s not okay. I’m so exhausted and I want things to go right, and just when I think they are they don’t…like Landon losing his hours and my fat ass not fitting into this dress and Landon’s mom hating me and Landon taking seven Mississippis to squeeze my hand and who even knows if I’ll get a honeymoon and why the hell can’t I function without sex, or is it the sex at all or is it just me and I’m too immature to deal with this shit and all I want right now is a slice of strawberry rhubarb pie and a million dollars to rain down on Landon and me in the middle of hot, sweaty orgasm city.

Theresa sits next to me on the floor, and I don’t know where the woman went, but she’s not in here.

“There are a lot more dresses out there,” she says. I don’t reply. I’m too busy gazing down at THE dress.

“Okay, we’re going to try one more thing.” She gets up and walks from the dressing room. I look up into the mirror and see that I’ve morphed into Blubbery Boob Bride, dress ripped open at the seam, love handles forcing the zipper open, but my ass still looks good. Good on you, ass. You keep that up.

Theresa comes back in, tearing into a bright pink package that looks like she bought it from an infomercial.

“What’s that?”

“Spanx. Supposedly it sucks you in a few inches.”

THE dress is off me as fast as I can wriggle myself out of it. It’s a whole different ball game squeezing myself into the tummy-tucker material, jumping up and down, spreading my legs, dancing and jiggling, and accidentally elbowing Theresa in the nose when I lose my grip.

“Sorry!” I say breathlessly. Her eyes water as she helps me into the last little bit of the material.

“Can you bend over?” she asks, laughing at my boobs that are now so perky they almost touch my chin. I lean down and touch my toes, and while it feels like the Jaws of Life are squeezing me from the inside out, I’m able to move around.

“Miracle material,” I say, trying to pinch and snap the Spanx, but that’s not happening. Theresa grabs THE dress and helps me in, and the tear is still there, but we can get the zipper to almost the right place. Feelsy lady comes in and does alteration measurements once more, but even with the skintight suctioning underpants, it’s going to cost a fortune.

After the news, I say goodbye to THE dress, pay for the injury I gave it, and Theresa comes in with six other choices, all my size, all in my budget. It takes me ten minutes to get out of the Spanx, and it feels a bit like when you pop open cookie dough from the can.

I could really go for some peanut butter chocolate chip.

I text Mom the amount for the deposit on the dress—because I don’t feel like committing just yet to dress number 2, but I also don’t want to miss out on the sale—and check out of there before I’m forced to look at myself in any more mirrors.

Theresa does me a huge favor and doesn’t talk about the wedding pictures, THE dress, my parents, in-laws, or the lack of sex, and lets me listen to S Club 7 on volume 10 as she drives us back to our apartments.

“Do you want company?” she asks when we step onto our floor. “I can cancel on Greg tonight.”

“Cheesecake Factory guy?”

She nods, and I shake my head. I want to veg in my pjs and watch something funny.

“I’m good.”

We hug and I drag my butt down the hall, wishing I could eat the pack of M&M’s in my purse without feeling like a whale.

I open the door and pause…because Landon is doing a pull-up right in my face. He’s not wearing a shirt. Of course.

“You’re home,” I say. I could’ve sworn he said he was going to work on his movie tonight.

Landon nods, dropping from the bar. Sweat drips from his overgrown, dark hair. He needs a cut, but I know he hasn’t asked because of how anal I’ve been about the bank account.

“Jace said a girl was heading over.” He nods to my empty hands. “Where’s Theresa? Does she have your dress?”

I shake my head. “She has a date tonight.” I don’t say anything about the dress, completely tempted to cover my poochy stomach. I wonder if the no-sex thing is hard for him at all now that I’m spilling over my jeans.

“You mind if I watch a movie?” My eyes flick to the TV. I need a distraction. I need Family Guy or Big Bang or something with Jim Carrey. Anything to take my mind off of today.

“All yours,” Landon says. He dips down to grab his water bottle, his shorts loose on his waist enough to see his back dimples. Once he’s locked himself in the bathroom, I hurry to my dresser and swap my too-small jeans for stretchy yoga pants, and the shirt that doesn’t cover my love handles for one of his. I feel full of some type of thick liquid as I settle into the couch cushions in the living room, chocolate-free. But damn, do I feel like I need some as my eyes linger over the weight set, the pull-up bar, and the sweat towel Landon left on the exercise bike.

I shake my head, push back every ounce of frustration rolling behind my eyes, and snap the TV on.

Counting Crows plays softly out of the speakers. Of course I have to turn the TV on Cruel Intentions. And there’s Reese Witherspoon and Ryan Phillippe kissing deep in the airport, about to scene-switch to the bedroom.

My legs twitch, and I know I have to change the channel before I see it or I might just start humping the coffee table. My fingers fumble on the remote, which ends up falling to the floor. The tempo in the song increases while the scene changes, actor on top of actress, character on character, sweaty bodies and moist lips and—

“Liz, are there any towels in the dr—” Landon stops dead in the hallway, eyes locked on the screen. My mouth runs dry. Landon remains frozen, all but the one bead of sweat that inches its way down his temple. It’s crawling across the skin by his ear. It hits his jawline…that sharp, clenched jawline, and I blink. The clock ticks. Moans ripple from the sound on the TV, and that bead falls off his face…

“I’m going for a walk,” I all but shout as I push to my feet. Landon gives me one short nod before I head out the door without a jacket and let the brisk November air wash over me.

Chapter 20

“Eight more weeks. You made it eighteen years, Liz. You can handle eight weeks.”

I was ignorant those eighteen years. I didn’t know how amazing sex is.

“You can’t flake out. You never stick to anything. You can do this. He should be the one giving in. He’s a guy! He said it himself.”

It’s driving us both crazy. Maybe we should just do it and things’ll look up. Or at least I won’t be as stressed about it.

“Weddings are always hard. Sex won’t change the fact you can’t fit in your dress. It won’t change Landon’s hours. It won’t convince everyone that you’re ready for marriage.”

Honk!

I jolt back to the sidewalk, not even aware I’d left it. The guy in the blue Subaru that almost hit me flips me off as he passes. A girl hanging outside the coffeehouse to my right laughs and offers me a puff of her cigarette. I politely wave her a “no,” not only because I don’t smoke but because I won’t even share ChapStick because of my fear of herpes.

Though smoking, I’ve heard, helps with stress. And will help me lose weight. In a moment of complete confusion I make my way to the convenience store with a pack on my mind, but then I remember that not only will Landon be incredibly pissed if he smells smoke on me, it’s also a ridiculously expensive habit. And I have about two bucks till payday.

“Ugh!” I growl to myself as my feet switch direction and head back home. “Can you seriously not function without sex, Liz? It’s like you’re a chimp!”

“I’m sorry?” a lady on a bus bench asks, pulling her earbuds from her ears. “Are you talking to me?”

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.