Page 117 of Best Year Ever
Rori
Landon’s clear-eyed expression after we stop kissing settles something inside me. All the anxiety that I couldn’t fix this, that I would mess up the apology, is fading rapidly now.
Just hope and happiness left behind.
Landon moves his hand over mine, which is resting on the table, like I had been bracing myself. The contact sends tingles up my arm.
“Let’s walk Grover before it gets too dark?” he asks. And as he stands up, grabbing the leash and Grover, I follow him.
It’s a beautiful night, steamy like August always is in Florida, but with no clouds and a kaleidoscope of beautiful pinks, oranges, and blues across the sky.
Grover moves at a steady pace but isn’t rushing. After a few steps, Landon takes my hand with his free one.
We walk in comfortable silence, his fingers squeezing mine from time to time.
It’s like the quiet walk is a moment of reset. Recovering our normal.
When we go back inside, Landon chuckles to himself.
“What’s so funny?” I ask.
“I was going to see if you wanted to watch a show,” he explains. “But then I realized I knew the answer already.”
“Ha,” I say. “We do have a lot of catching up to do on Camp Puppy Love. I also found a new dating show I need to introduce to you.”
“Well, let’s go then,” he says, chuckling again, and gesturing to his living room. We walk in and take our usual positions on his couch, with maybe an extra inch between us than normal.
As we watch the first episode though, nothing else feels different from all the other nights we’ve done this. After about ten minutes, his arm shifts over to my legs, and he rests his hand on one of them. Like a test.
A test it feels like we pass. We’re connected again, and the fact that it extends to the physical feels completely right.
Within another few minutes, I scoot slightly closer to him, closing all the space between us, and lean my body on his, my head on his shoulder.
This is the best I’ve felt in weeks.
It’s where you’re meant to be,a voice in my head says.
After the episode ends, Landon turns his head down, kissing the top of my head.
“You want to keep watching TV?” he asks.
I sit up slightly so I can make eye contact with him.
God, he’s looking so hot now that I can really admire him without being worried about all our other issues. The masculine, strong lines of his bone structure, his glowing hazel eyes, the curls that I want to run my hands through. I finally can stare again at this beautiful man.
Then I see his eyes dip to my lips before they jump back to my eyes. I smile.
“Not really,” I say. “How about you?”
“Not really,” he repeats. “How about this instead?”
He tilts his head so our lips meet. Unlike our previous kisses over the last twenty-four hours, this one gets hot and heavyquickly. I turn my body and move over him, straddling him on the couch, while his hands land on my hips as I settle.
“Fuck, this feels good to do again,” he says as he squeezes my hips, his long, thick fingers reaching the curves of my ass.
Our mouths crash together over and over, and each time our tongues connect, I feel heat rise in my body. If our kiss earlier was a promise to each other, this one is an explosion of need.
I can’t help it. I start to press my core into him, rolling on top of his lap.
