Текст книги "Doing It for Love"

Автор книги: Cassie Mae

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Текущая страница: 6 (всего у книги 19 страниц)

Chapter 10

The Wangfords’ dinner table is small. We’re all squished in, Landon’s shoulder smashed with mine, his giant of a father on one end, elbowing the wall every time he picks up his wineglass. Mrs. Wangford is at the other end, tiny and looking comfortable physically, but emotionally she keeps looking at my left hand like I’m about to pull a gun on her. The only one—besides Buster—that looks completely at ease is Elle, Landon’s sister, who is on her second helping of Pad Thai.

“Did he ever tell you about his last night here before he moved?” Elle says through a mouthful, gesturing at Landon. “He blew up the garbage can, and we found him naked in Dad’s garden the next morning.”

I laugh around my glass, and Landon points his fork at his sister. “That’s an exaggeration. I was in my boxers.”

“You were so commando.”

Landon huffs, shakes his head, then makes his mouth very busy. I take another sip of wine. It stings my throat a little, but it’s something to do. I don’t want to scarf down my food before anyone else.

“So,” his mom says, eyes burning into my hand. “Are you pregnant?”

Mr. Wangford chokes on his food and Elle gives him one hard smack on the back.

“Julie—”

“What? We’re all thinking it.” Mrs. Wangford looks back at me. “Is that what this is all about?” She points directly at my hand, and I feel like I should hide it, but I keep it firmly planted in sight.

“Liz isn’t pregnant, Mom.” Landon calls her Mom this time. “But we are getting married.”

“Well, no shit.” Elle laughs around her food. “But I’m calling malarkey on the pregnant thing.”

“I’m not,” I say, probably surprising the whole table that I’ve finally said something.

“But you’re, like, twelve.” Elle laughs again, picking up her wine. I do the same, swishing it around like I know what I’m doing, even if I don’t.

“Twenty-two actually. But thanks, I guess.”

“Are you crazy?” Mrs. Wangford says, and Landon gives me a look like, “I told you so.” I drain my wineglass.

“We’re…crazy in love,” Landon says, and I have to fight laughing at him. “We’ve set the wedding for Jan—”

“The baby is due in January?” Mr. Wangford says, eyes wide as he leans over to look at my stomach.

“No, I’m not pregnant.” I hold up my empty wineglass for proof. But Mr. Wangford doesn’t look like he’s heard anything I’ve said, still looking at my stomach like it’s impossible for me to be so far along.

“So, you’re just…getting married. At twenty-two years old,” Mrs. Wangford says, voice lighter and less accusing, but the way she looks at me has me reaching for more wine.

“Yes,” Landon says, filling my glass for me. “And the wedding is in January. We want you guys to be there.”

“And Elle to be a bridesmaid,” I add, looking at my new sister-in-law, who is enjoying herself way too much. She tips her glass at me as if to say, “If this wedding happens, sure.”

The wine still burns as I down some more. Mrs. Wangford looks to my ring again, then up and down my body, and I’m wondering what I’ve done now when she asks, “Do you like the diamond? Is it big enough for you?”

“Mom…”

“What? I’m allowed to ask.”

My eyes widen, and I let my hand fall to Landon’s lap and squeeze his thigh twice. He finds my leg and squeezes back once.

“It’s beautiful,” I tell her. “I have a hard time not staring at it 24/7.”

Landon’s dad lets out a nervous chuckle, but his mom just gives me one of those fake half-smiles. I find the bottom of my wineglass again. Landon fills it up without my having to ask.

“Oh, you know who has a giant ring?” Elle says after finishing her own glass. “Freddie Clawson.”

“She’s engaged?” Mrs. Wangford says. “That’s too bad.” She turns to Landon and me. “Her and Landon were so close. We really thought they’d be the ones to tie the knot. But you know…” She waves her hand at me as an afterthought, then takes a bite of her Thai.

Ugh, I need a Tums. My chest is burning and I feel like I’m about to burp fire. Landon’s eyes meet mine for a brief second. I tell him with mine to keep quiet. We’ve had enough arguing for one night, I think. And they clearly want to move on from the marriage thing.

Not even a congratulations. What a bust family.

I reach for more alcohol.

Mrs. Wangford swishes her red wine and eyes me thoughtfully. I stay straight-backed and calm, smiling like, yep, I’m so going to marry your son and I can handle all the looks you throw my way, even though my innards are crumpling in a heap of dried massaman curry.

“Ha! Mom’s giving Liz ‘the look,’ ” Elle says around a giant mouthful of Thai. She leans across the table. “Sorry, the last time Landon brought a girl home was, like, six years ago. So a few of us”—she blatantly points at her mom with her fork—“are a bit rusty.”

“Oh, that’s right,” Mrs. Wangford says as if her daughter didn’t just call her out. She points her wineglass at Landon. “Sophie. I loved her. What’s she up to nowadays?”

“I don’t know, Mom.” Landon squeezes my thigh, and I find the bottom of my wineglass for the billionth time. Things are starting to blur.

“So, what do you do?” Elle asks with a wide grin, probably assuming I work at the mall. Well…I sort of do.

I gulp down more wine, the burn in my throat not nearly as potent as it was during glass one.

“I work at Bed Bath & Beyond,” I announce proudly. “Employee of the Month this past June and July.” Damn straight. August was a bust, though, because of my mid-month proposal and baby scare. I snort into my glass, and I’m not sure why.

“She works with Alec,” Landon says, interrupting whatever his mom was about to say. She’s stuck with her mouth open, and when she realizes how ridiculous she looks, she sticks a shrimp in there. Buster makes me jump as he settles his head in my lap. I decide to scratch behind his ears while I have a stare-off with my future mother-in-law.

“That’s right. And I know you like Alec, so you can stop looking at me like that.”

Landon snorts into his food, and I give him a funny look. Why is he laughing?

“Excuse me?” Mrs. Wangford looks right at me, and I blink. I didn’t say anything, did I?

She puts her fork down, leaning in her chair, and crosses her arms. “In what way am I looking at you?”

I cross my arms to mimic her, pretty sure I’m hallucinating this entire thing while we all sit in silence and eat. So I’m going to let my mouth run like I wish I had the guts to do in real life.

“You’ve passed judgment since the second I walked through that door. You don’t know me well enough to do that.”

“Okay, then enlighten me.”

“I’m Elizabeth Fanning, grew up in Covington, Georgia, then moved to New York. I am much more than someone who sweeps floors at Bed Bath & Beyond.”

“Oh?”

“Yes.” The room is spinning. “I’m a cashier, too.”

Elle laughs behind her hand. I think I like her, but I can’t tell if she’s laughing at me or with me, and it doesn’t matter anyway because I’m pretty sure I’m dreaming.

“And I’m marrying your son because I love him. We’re also really good at living together. But he keeps those damn socks on the floor. What is with that? So you should stop looking at me like I have some kind of ulterior motive. It’s insulting, and I don’t like it.”

Check and mate. I lean back in my seat, but the back of the chair is nonexistent and I topple into Landon’s side. He’s grinning at me. Laughing.

Mrs. Wangford pushes her chair out and stands. “That reminds me. I have laundry to do for our day out tomorrow.”

“Day out?” Huh, who, what? Why does my head feel puffy?

“Mom and Dad were going to show you and Landon around town.” Elle hands me a napkin, and I look at it weird before she gestures to my chin and I wipe away whatever goo is there.

“So it was nice meeting you,” Mrs. Wangford says. It’s so not nice meeting me. She gestures to the dishes, and Mr. Wangford nods. Then she leaves the room.

“Did I do something?” I ask Landon. He’s wearing his I-absolutely-love-you smile.

“I think we should go lie down.”

“I concur.” I wobble on my feet and wipe the drool stain Buster left on my pant leg.

“It was nice meeting you, Elizabeth,” Mr. Wangford says, getting up from the table. Aww, I like that. Elizabeth. My dad calls me that, too.

He chuckles, and I wonder if I said that out loud, but the ground starts moving and I realize Landon’s pulling me away from his family and into the hallway. Buster follows, sniffing at my sandal the whole way.

We get to the landing, where we’re alone. Ah, it’s about time. No pressure, just me and my Landy boy. Ha! Never called him that before. I don’t think I like it. Yeah, that is so not his nickname.

Do I have a nickname for him?

Landon crooks a finger at me. I swallow a burp and lean in to him.

“I want to show you something.”

“Landon, keep it in your pants.”

He shakes his head. “Remind me to cut you off after one glass next time.” His hand finds mine and he starts leading me up two flights of stairs. I trip and giggle behind him, following with a few hiccups that are beyond my control. Buster barrels up the steps with us, his tail whacking me in the legs. Silly canine. What a funny word…canine.

“Easy there, Tumbles,” Landon says. His smile is so adorable. And even though he needs to trim it, his beard looks pretty good, too. Sexy papa right here. I’m so lucky I don’t have to wonder what he looks like naked. I’ve seen all the goods and they are gooooood. Yummy, yummy, yummy, I got love in my tummy.

Landon laughs and I assume my mouth is running with my brain again, but I don’t ask. I just want to kiss him. Kiss him so hard he’ll give in and I’ll get the Bahamas. We get to the second-floor landing and I toss myself at him.

“Kiss me!” I say through a giggle. Then my lips miss his by a lot, landing on his eye. He hits his head on the wall, and Buster woofs so loud it makes me scream.

Landon rubs the back of his head, and I can’t tell his exact expression because I get hit with a major dizzy spell. My feet leave the floor, and my body goes on a bumpy ride. But I’m not falling. Don’t know what’s happening, but I’m super close to my sexy fiancé’s face, so it’s all right.

Fiancé. Another funny word. Feee-on-saaaaay. Snort.

“Time for bed, my fiancée,” he says, and I grapple at the bottom of my shirt. Bed indeed. But firm hands stop me from stripping, and I blink up to Landon’s eyes. “Not tonight. I doubt you’ll remember losing the bet in the morning.”

“Buuhtaacnotsfar.”

“Gesundheit.” He straps me in with the sheets and taps a pointer finger to my nose. “Go. To. Sleep.”

I blow a wet raspberry in his direction, but the light goes out and my eyes fall closed.

Raspberry. That’s a funny word.

Chapter 11

My burps taste like smoked plums. And morning breath. Where are my Ice Breakers?

I feel around, hitting some foreign object on my nightstand. Something crashes, rattling my skull. Holy mother of all pain.

Someone inhales deep and long next to me, strong and lean body stretching against mine. An enormous hard something pushes against my butt cheek, and if it didn’t hurt so bad I’d laugh and accuse Landon of trying to cheat.

I groan at the time on the clock, cringe at the taste in my mouth, and croak out, “Water.”

Landon lazily points at the nightstand, and I just now realize I’m not at home. We’re not in our bed. And last night slowly filters in and out, making my headache ten times worse.

“Oh, balls,” I say to the unfamiliar sheets. A sleepy smile grows on Landon’s lips.

“You weren’t that bad,” he mumbles. “Pretty cute, actually.”

I sit up and push my face into my knees. “Does your family hate me?”

“You won over the most important members.” He shifts on the bed and pats at something at our feet. I peek up at Buster, who has sprawled himself across the sheets, head resting on my side. His pillow girlfriend is tucked under his front paws. I try to laugh, but it rattles my brain. So I just reach down and scratch the cute pup’s ears.

Landon tugs on my arm, coaxing me back to the pillows. He looks way too happy for this early.

“What?” I ask, wiping at my face. He traces a line over my cheek.

“You have pillow marks.”

“Sexy.”

“Actually…it is.”

I wrinkle my nose and then stretch out all the tense sleep-muscles. My boobs squish against his chest, and a low groan rolls through Landon’s throat. His arm wraps around my waist while I let mine fall around his neck.

“You were unbelievable last night,” he says, warm breath waving over my skin.

“Please tell me I didn’t dance on the table.”

“Better. You put my mom in her place.”

“Shit.”

“Not shit.” His lips press into the hollow of my throat. “Hilarious. My girl has a backbone.”

“I was drunk.”

“You were adorable.”

I silently chuckle as his kisses skate over my collarbone. “Really, drunk and lippy does it for you?”

“Drunk and lippy Lizzie does it for me.” His nose trails up my cheek, his lips hovering over mine. I want to clamp my mouth shut so he doesn’t smell my hangover breath, but the way he looks at me, no longer playful but intense and deep, has me breathing hot and heavy.

“To be honest, Liz, you do it for me.”

I’m about to make a joke. Tell him I know he’s going down on the bet. I have this in the bag. But I can’t. Gone are my quips. Gone are my thoughts. Gone is any and all control as his mouth finds mine. He’s soft as cotton candy at first, feathering and sweet, and has my heart pounding in my skull. His tongue slowly sweeps over the crease of my lips, and I open up for the soft caresses, so familiar but foreign all at once because he hasn’t kissed me like this in so long. Angel butterflies flutter in wave after wave, steadily making their way to my lower abdomen.

My back slides along the sheets, pulling me into a more comfortable position with Landon on top. Buster growls, and I feel Landon push at him with his feet. But the silly dog won’t budge.

“Buster,” Landon grunts. I press my lips together to hold back my laughter as I watch him struggle. “Buster, move.”

The pit bull shakes his head, making his ears flop and his collar jangle. He does this large yawn/growl/grunt thing and lies back down. Landon’s the one growling now.

“Stupid…hundred pound…cock-blocker…” he pants as he continues to push the pudgy pup toward the edge of the bed. I struggle to breathe as Landon’s weight shifts and thumps and bumps on top of me. Buster groans and slumps to the floor, and Landon brings his gaze back to me, letting his eyes drift up and down my body clad in his oversized shirt and a pair of boy shorts that I don’t remember getting into. He’s not a bit fazed by the clear mood-killer. And good. That bodes well for me.

His lips return to mine as if he didn’t just spend two minutes fighting the dog, still soft as a feather, teasing those butterflies out of hiding. His hairy legs rub against the smoothness of mine, tingling and tickling and causing my heart to explode right out of my chest. I love the contrast between us. Hard and soft, scruffy and smooth, tentative and impatient. I lock my hands in the sleeves of his shirt, forcing my fingers to behave themselves.

His hands have other ideas, though. Fingers dig into my hips, causing sharp gasps and moans to fly from my mouth into his. He presses his kiss harder, stronger, a long growl rolling off his tongue. I swallow it up, match it, press back, wanting so much to move my hands, feel what this is doing to him. My legs clench around his, hips needing to move but brain telling them to stop.

Think Bahamas. Sunshine and piña coladas. Warm sand and cool ocean. Fluffy towels and tanning oil.

Oil on Landon’s hands.

Down my back.

Over my legs.

Up my legs.

My stomach.

My breasts.

Oh, good golly almighty.

Landon’s fingers slide up my shirt, and out of instinct or habit, I sit up with him as he pulls me free of the fabric. I’m still wearing a bra, nothing special or sexy or lacy, just a generic white one I wear because of the supportive underwire. But he looks at it as if it’s the best one he’s seen on me. His mouth is slightly open as he breathes hard, gaze locked on my chest. Damn, he makes me feel so hot when he does that. I’m one sexy-ass beast.

His hands reach for my breasts, then pull back, then do it over and over again. He finally braces himself against the headboard, forcing me back to the pillows. He shuts his eyes tight and audibly counts breaths. I bite my smile and trace a nail around the waistband of his boxers. Lord Landon twitches, but I avoid contact with the fella.

“I like this,” I say, stroking the upper part of his V. I meant to get him to give in—ravish me, damn it—but I’m finding the fault in my plan as my hand starts to travel south. No, no, no naughty hand. You tuck yourself against the sheets and don’t move.

Landon counts breath number fifteen and then opens his eyes. I smile at his lust-filled gaze, not-so-subtly inhale to force my breasts to a more prominent position, and then wait. He’s going to give in, I know it. The angel butterflies celebrate in my nethers.

He pushes off the headboard with a grunt, and his shirt flies from his body in the next second. A grin teases the corners of his lips and he makes his pecs dance. I laugh and smack his chest.

“You’re such a cheater!” He knows getting me in a playful mood will break me faster. Nothing is sexier than a funny Landon. I cover my eyes with the bedsheet, trying to talk myself into thinking I’m completely satisfied. Landon flops onto the mattress next to me, my body suddenly chilled with the space between us.

I drop my hands but keep my eyes on the ceiling. Think unsexy thoughts.

Dirty socks.

Landon’s dirty socks.

Landon’s dirty socks always on the floor.

In the living room.

Every day.

Bam. Take that, libido.

I turn to him, and he’s concentrating on the ceiling as well. My eyes skate down his body and I watch his hard drive morph into a floppy disk.

“Didn’t you say this was supposed to be fun?” he says after a minute.

“It’s not fun simply kissing me?” I tease, still trying to keep my breathing even. Oh, my plan is working. Our wedding night is going to be so hot and sweaty and double-fudge raspberry cheesecake that’s the size of the moon.

He growls, fists a pillow, and pushes it over his face. I lean up to tickle him, but when I look over Landon’s shoulder all I see is a big, wet puppy nose, and when Buster catches my gaze he barks and I fall off the bed.

I hear Landon’s muffled laughter from beneath the pillow over his head, and Buster’s collar jangles like crazy as he makes his way to me and tries to pick up where Landon left off. I hold on to my gag reflex as a giant, slobbery tongue heads right for my entire face.

“Buster, no,” I scold, but it’s no use. That tongue finds my skin, and I smash my lips together and close my eyes in a futile attempt to keep the disgusting level down.

“Hey,” I hear Landon from over my head. I want to yell at him for not helping me out here, but there’s no way I’m opening my mouth when I’m being tongued by a hundred-pound pit bull.

“When you’re done making out with the dog, I want to show you something,” he says, and I can damn near hear the laughter in his voice. I push my hand into Buster’s collar and yank him away before he starts getting a little too friendly with me.

“Shower first,” I tell him through squished lips, and I crawl to my feet.

“Down the hall. It’s the room with the toilet in it.”

“Thanks. I never would’ve figured that out.”

He stretches on the bed, and I take the opportunity to grab a pillow and toss it at his crotch. Then I bolt from the room before he tosses it back.

After my cold shower, I put on the least sexy thing I packed and keep Buster close. I need a cock-blocker if Landon can get me revved up while I’m completely hungover.

I was hoping to smell some sort of food as I make my way down to the kitchen, but it’s just the soap from the shower. I smooth my braid over my shoulder when I reach the landing and subtly fix my bra straps to make sure they aren’t showing. Last Night Lizzie didn’t make a very good impression. But by golly, Breakfast Lizzie will win over the in-laws. Hurdle number three, I will clear you.

Honk!

“The whole point to this weekend was to talk about the wedding. We haven’t even gone over anything.”

Landon’s voice filters through the living room, and I follow it to the front door.

“Your mother forgot about her doctor’s appointment,” Mr. Wangford says.

“On a Saturday?”

“It’s a weekend clinic.”

Honk!

I tentatively turn the corner to where Landon and his dad are. Mr. Wangford has his keys in his hand, hanging out on the porch while Landon hovers in the open doorway. All I can see of Landon is the back of his beet red neck, so I sidle up and lightly tug on his arms. He uncrosses them and takes my hand.

“Why would she schedule a doctor’s appointment this weekend? Meeting Liz was her idea.”

“I know…she just wasn’t expecting an engagement—”

HonkHonk!

My eyes swivel to Mrs. Wangford in the driveway, throwing her hands in the air at her husband. A guilty weight burrows deep into the pit of my stomach.

Mr. Wangford sighs, gaze drifting to me, then back to Landon. “You had to leave early anyway, right? Head back to work. And long trips probably aren’t good for the baby.”

Landon stiffens. “She’s not pregnant, Dad.” His hand shakes in mine, and I lean in to him, hoping that my proximity alone will help comfort him, because no way am I opening my mouth. That’s probably what made Mrs. Wangford slam her butt in the car in the first place.

“You can stay for a bit if you want.” Mr. Wangford forces a smile. “Show Elizabeth the house.”

“Right.”

Landon’s arm wraps around my waist, still keeping my hand tucked in his. I squeeze it twice and he squeezes back…but it takes him a minute.

HonkHonkHonk!

Mr. Wangford doesn’t turn. “We’ll see you at Christmas, ’kay, kid?”

Landon’s jaw flexes. “Got it.”

Mr. Wangford’s gaze goes to me, and his smile doesn’t look as forced. “Nice to meet you, Elizabeth Ann.”

Mustering up every ounce of courage I have, I reach out and hug my future father-in-law. “You too,” I say, hoping my voice sounds light and happy and also sorry for my drunken behavior. Mr. Wangford jerks a tiny bit with surprise, but gives me an awkward pat on the back. Then he gets in the driver’s seat and they take off to Mrs. Wangford’s “appointment.”

Landon drops my hand and slams the front door shut, knocking down an extra set of keys on the wall hook. He starts toward the stairs while I pick up the keys and put them back in place.

He’s not saying anything, but I’m assuming we’re going to pack our stuff and go. The house feels empty. Just us and Buster. Who knows where Elle is. I try to keep up, my guilt increasing with every step.

Why oh why did I drink last night? I could’ve sucked it up and dealt with the ex-girlfriend talk. Or maybe I overreacted. I mean, it’s natural for moms to talk about uncomfortable things, right? Oh hell, I don’t know. It doesn’t matter, because I completely botched this meet and greet. I wonder if Landon will even talk to me on the way back.

Shit, this was my chance to prove I’m old enough to get married, that I’m excited about being a member of their family, that I’m cute and perfect for their son and not this lippy, bossy ditz who can’t hold her liquor.

I slam my butt down on the middle step of the second staircase. “Landon, I’m so sorry. I should’ve shoved that wine away. Or drank water. Or duct-taped my mouth shut. Or—”

“Wait, you think I’m mad at you?” Landon stops, turns around, and grins. “That’s damn cute.”

“You’re not?”

He sits on the step above me. “I’m mad at them.”

“But I—”

“You’re here.” He kisses my cheek. “Even though they’ve treated you like hell, you’re still here.”

“I want them to like me.”

“I do, too.”

“I want to like them.”

“I don’t give a shit if you like them.”

“They’re your family.”

“Don’t remind me.” He sighs and rests his head on the railing. “It’s days like this I wish I could choose my family.”

“You chose me.” I offer up a cheesy grin. He laughs and kisses it away.

“I still want to show you something before we go.”

“Okay.”

He takes my hand, and I trip up a couple of stairs before I get my bearings. He’s laughing, and I’m scolding him for making fun of me, but at least he seems in a better mood.

Buster must’ve heard my very graceful promenade, because he barrels from the guest room and whacks us both with his bulky tail as Landon pulls me into a bedroom at the end of the hall. He better keep his distance, because I am not going to be his new hump pillow.

“My old room,” he says. It’s now the makings of an office…I think. There’s a desk, a computer, and a bookshelf, not much else.

He opens the closet and ducks inside. I hear him slump on the floor.

“There’s room for two!” he shouts, and I nudge the door wider. The closet is barely a walk-in, but I slip inside and sit on the floor across from Landon. Buster’s tail smacks the side of my head, and I shove his large puppy butt away as he settles between us. Landon slides a box out from behind him with one hand and rubs Buster’s belly with the other.

“This stuff used to cover my walls,” he says, handing me a large poster. I bat Buster’s paw off my arm and unroll the long sheath of glossy paper.

“The Nightmare Before Christmas…I’m not surprised.” I smile and peek over the poster to the box. There are about six or seven more, along with a bundle of Sundance tickets, article printouts, and lots of Tim Burton knickknacks. I let out a chuckle and set the poster down. “I have a boy band collection. You should see my signed One Direction poster.”

“Aren’t they a little modern for you?”

“When was the last time you saw a BBMak concert?”

“Never.”

I give him a look and reach for the box, but Buster whines and kicks at me to get a belly rubbing. I oblige only because I imagine him sitting on my lap and crushing my legs if I don’t.

Landon sweeps a hand across a Big Fish poster, staring at it with a sort of nostalgic glimmer, and I suddenly see someone ten years younger, chasing after a dream that seems unimaginable, before he became the man whose dreams are within arms’ reach.

“Tim Burton always painted what was different. He celebrated it, embraced it, made not only a story, but art. When I saw this movie”—he nods at the poster in his hands—“I saw myself. I felt like a big fish. I looked around and saw elaborate stories, people’s lives, and I wanted to create them, too.” The corner of his mouth picks up and his eyes flick to mine. “I wrote a book, thinking it meant I wanted to tell stories.”

“You wrote a book?”

He rolls the poster up and fishes around in the box. I scoot closer, Buster’s warm belly mashing against my leg.

“Weeds,” Landon says, jostling a thick binder in his hands. “Took me a year.”

“How old were you?”

“Sixteen.”

I hold my arms out and he sets the heavy binder in my hands. “Instead of making out in your secluded tree house, you were playing the part of tortured writer, huh?” I go to flip it open, but he stops me.

“It’s awful.”

“You won’t let me peek?”

He shakes his head, and I bat at the bill of his cap. Buster whines and presses a wet nose to my knee. I sigh and shift the book so I can continue to rub his tummy. Landon’s fingers occasionally knock with mine and we scratch the pudgy pup.

“I was going to say…after writing it, I never had that spark again. I didn’t want to write stories. But I did want to tell them.”

“Is that when you got your grant?”

“I made the movie first. I signed up for film studies and shot Weeds in movie form. It’s still so rough, I don’t know how or why Mr. Nickerson saw something in it. But he did, and yeah, after it won state in film, I got a grant to make the next one.”

My chest swells, making my lips turn up and my toes tingle. I love hearing about his dreams coming true. Most of my adolescence consisted of Spin-the-Bottle, what to wear to my next date, if I’d get a date, if Mom and Dad would ever extend my curfew, what Jessie Hopkins was going to say about my new haircut, and if I’d botch my play auditions.

Now Landon, he found out what he wanted to do, and he did it. Gah…sex under a baseball cap that man is.

“It still feels unreal,” he says, eyes moving back to the Big Fish poster. “I’ve done so much, gotten so far, yet it seems unreachable at the same time.”

“It’s not. Your zombie movie will kick film festival ass.”

A wide smile sets on his lips, and he pushes the posters out of the way, tries to nudge Buster—who doesn’t move, and takes my left hand.

“Telling stories, directing, being someone who could make a difference is what I wanted. I still do, but it just…falls flat now.”

“What do you mean?”

“The way I felt when I got my first film award was phenomenal. I was above the moon. Then things kept coming, kept happening. I feel like I’m slowly moving up this steep mountain and I’m nearly at the top. It feels great. Exhilarating. Freeing. I feel proud of myself, and in love with what I’m doing. I feel happy.”

His eyes drop to my hand, to my ring. A thumb strokes over my knuckle. “None of that compares to when I put this on your finger.” He looks up at me, and my heart has completely ballooned from my chest. “It’s like comparing no-name to Heinz. A puddle to the ocean. Slight breeze to a raging tornado. Regular TV to HD. Dinner to dessert. And I thought, this…this is how it feels to finally get what your heart wants.”

A steady beat fills my ears, low and happy and thrilling. “Aww!” My smile makes my cheeks sore. My stomach feels all tingly. And I squeeze his hand twice before he squeezes back once. “That was really romantic.” Where has this man been?

“I know,” he says like he can’t believe it either. “You should kiss me for it.”

“I would…” I pucker my lips. “But I can’t reach.”

He puckers, too. Then we air kiss while Buster continues to bat at our hands with his paws so we keep rubbing his tummy.

“We should hit the road,” he says after a minute, pushing the box back. I give Buster another good rub and nod.

“I think my iPod is charged now, so perfect timing.”

He groans and I evil laugh. But I think I’ll let him listen to his music. After what he just said, if I can’t give him sex, I’ll at least give him power over the radio.