Page 27 of Doing It for Love

“Philly.”

My eyes flutter open. I gaze up at him in the dark, the hard lines of his mouth, the worry wrinkles in his forehead. I smooth them out with my fingers and press a kiss to the corner of his lips.

“I don’t know if we can afford the drive.”

“I know. But I’ll work extra. And I won’t spend money.” He pushes my hair back. “Please? It’s…important.”

My heart’s thumping hard now. I know it’s important. I know it has to happen. Alec’s even warned me about who I’ll be meeting.

So I snake my arm around his torso and squeeze.

“Okay.”

Chapter 9

SEPTEMBER

Something is dying in my stomach. I get major butterflies when I’m nervous, but these butterflies are possessed. Devil butterflies. And they’re beating their iron wings against my innards so hard I have to clutch my gut and beg Landon to pull overagain.

“What did you eat?” he jokes as I bolt out of the car. I haven’t eaten anything—can’t imagine what my stomach would feel like if I had.

Breathe in, breathe out.Oh, sweet cherry pie, I may hurl. Cars whiz past behind me as I latch onto my knees and prepare to throw ladylike out the window.

This is just like that time on the Rock-O-Plane at thirteen with Justin Prescott, the only preteen who didn’t have an awkward phase. His pinky touched mine and we rocked, and from then on I was known as “Blue Slurpee” as it went flying from my stomach.

Somewhere behind me I hear the car door. Landon’s gonna touch me, and I don’t want him to. Blue Slurpee needs to puke in peace. But his hand hits my upper back even after I wave at him not to step another foot closer.

“Do you want some water?”

I shake my head, continuing to breathe out like I’m in labor. Landon tucks my ponytail into the back of my T-shirt, and I manage to say, “Thanks” between breaths.

What is this nonsense? Stupid stomach. Stupid nerves. They need to back the hell off and let me be a strong, confident woman. Or at least let me fake it for the weekend.

“You okay, Tumbles? You’re all sweaty.”

Eww, he’s right. Maybe I do need that water.

“Hang tight,” Landon says, and clearly my thoughts have run out of my mouth again. I wipe my brow with a shaky hand and curse at the ground like it’s at fault for my inability to handle pressure.

Landon hands me a Dasani and I take small sips. The September wind picks up and that helps the sweats. After a minute I think the devil butterflies have been exorcised.

“Do we need to head back?” he asks, adjusting his faded blueMillercap. “If you’re sick we can reschedule, no problem.”

“I’m fine.” I take another swig of water. “Not sick, just…”

A cocky smile pops up on his mouth. “Aww, Lizzie. You’re nervous.”

“I am not.”

“There go your pants again.” He pulls me into a hug, which I don’t return. “Will it help if I say I know they’ll love you?”

“Of course they will. I’m awesome,” I grumble into his T-shirt, but really, what if they don’t? What if this weekend is a living hell? What if they think it’s all a big joke that Landon brought home this twenty-two-year-old posing as a fiancée just to piss them off, and damn it those iron-winged butterflies just reincarnated and want to explode out my belly button.

Landon rubs a soothing hand up and down my back. “You know what helps with nerves?”

“Alcohol.”

“Sex.”

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