Page 8 of Doing It for Love

I want to defend my sex life, but my mind is on the track she painted. My heart warms and thumps as a grin spreads across my face. Foreplay without sex could amp us both up so much our wedding night will be one I can guarantee we won’t forget. I have to clench my legs together just thinking about it.

It will be like new relationship sex all over again.

“Landon probably won’t go for it.”

She yawns again, and I look at the Beetlejuice clock on the bathroom counter. It’s 2:39 in the morning, and she hasn’t said a single word about waking her up in the middle of the night. I love my best friend.

“No harm in asking, right?”

“I guess.”

“Then just ask.”

I set my jaw. “I will tomorrow. He’s totally crashed out.”

“Of course he is.” She makes a noise like she’s stretching, and I automatically stretch too. “And you have to show me the ring tomorrow.”

“As soon as I get it.”

“It’s not on your finger?”

I stare at my bare hand. “Not yet. He said it’s somewhere in the apartment, but, well, we got distracted.”

She lets out a tired laugh. “Clearly.”

“Okay, you can sleep.”

“I’m good, I promise. I can still talk if you want.”

I shake my head, smiling at the floor. “I’ll talk to you tomorrow.”

“Love you. Congratulations!”

“Love you, too.”

I press the end button and let my head fall back to the wall. If someone had asked me this morning if I thought I’d feel like this right now, I would’ve laughed in their face. As weighted as I felt when I woke up on day fourteen of the missing Flo, I didn’t think it was possible to float ever again. But I hug my phone and the towel to my chest, smiling like a fool at the bathroom ceiling, wondering why I’m not up there bouncing.

I’m engaged.

Engaged.

Best. Day. Ever.

Chapter 3

I stand in the kitchen, hands firm on my hips while I cluck my tongue. “Where in the hell?” I whisper, eyes skating over every surface in my apartment. The junk drawer is empty, contents strewn over the counter. Our card table is piled with Landon’s jeans, each one with the pockets outturned. The living room looks like it barfed Rubbermaid bins.

And still no sign of a ring!

The first ray of sunlight streams through the balcony blinds, and a leap goes through my tummy. “The balcony storage!” I all but holler, my stride dead set on that sliding glass door even though I’m only in my ugly (but totally comfortable and warm) orange pajama shorts and clashing green tank top with no bra. The chill in the September air makes my nipples instantly perk as I step outside.

We seriously need to put up a wind chime or maybe a chair or something out here. It’s so plain, just the wood that needs a coat of varnish and a door on the right that leads to storage. We only keep our bikes in there, but Landon could’ve put the ring on a hook or in his helmet, or something. Because if it’s inside, either it’s up his ass or imaginary.

The door slightly creaks as I pull it open, and I flick on the dusty light, careful about where I step in case there’s a giant spider in here. I check the helmets, the hooks along the wall, even inside the cobwebby water bottles attached to our bikes. Seriously…where did he hide—

“I’d put on a jacket if you’re going for a ride.”

My stomach leaps into my throat and my feet leave the ground. “Shit! Don’t do that!”

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