It’s silent for a long time, with both of us gazing above and ignoring any kind of intimate eye contact.
And then suddenly, as if he’s had enough of sitting around, Landon sits up.
“Good!” he announces happily. “Back to normal, then. Which meansyouneed to get up and make me some fucking breakfast.”
Little brat. Such a devious, self-centered asshole.
It’s perfect—it’s normal.
“Me?I’m pretty sure the guy who shows up unannounced should have to provide the food,” I counter.
Landon scoffs. “Ididtry announcing myself, old man. You’re the one who ignored me.”
The slight hint of annoyance, of disappointment, that coats his words makes me flinch. But I rectify it quickly, my brain forever calculating and planning.
“How about we go out then? If neither of us wants to cook?” I ask.
Landon’s eyes finally land back on mine, his brows raising. “You asking me on a date? Becausethatdoes not fall in line with ourback-to-normalplan.”
I can’t help but laugh, shoving his shoulder until I have him pinned under the length of my body. “Not adate, brat. It’sbreakfast. We can go eat at the park in town or something. I need to get out of this house.”
And it’s true. I feel like I’m about ten seconds away from suffocating under the smell of him, under the memories of how he nearly crumbled last night.
“Like a picnic?” he questions gently, and I can tell from those words alone that he likes the idea, even if itisn’ta date.
Wait,becauseit’s not a date.
“Sure. We can get the stuff to make sandwiches and buy a Frisbee or something,” I offer, shrugging my shoulders as I stare down at him.
“Sounds fun! My plane leaves around eight, so I have plenty of time.”
“Let’s go then.” I pull myself from his warmth, standing next to the bed as he scrambles up.
Things do feel more normal now, though still slightly weird considering we’re about to do anactivitytogether. But I’mhappy to pretend nothing is amiss, especially now that his anxious, hesitant expression has faded into something teasing and relaxed.
Landon makes quick work of readying himself; he fixes his wild bedhead and slips on a new pair of jeans and a black t-shirt. By the time I have my wallet, phone, and keys settled firmly into my pocket, Landon is waiting by the front door with minty breath and an impatient glare.
“You’re so fucking slow,” he jeers.
“Keep talking shit, and I’ll throw you right off the back of my bike,” I threaten, dipping into the closet for my spare helmet.
“Your bike?” Landon chuckles. “What makes you think I’ll get onthat?I have a perfectly suitable car in the driveway.”
“The fact that I know where everything is and am buying all the food—that’s what makes me thinkthat.” I shove him out of the way, pulling the front door open before heading straight for my bike as I snatch up my own helmet.
It’s no longer raining, so my leather jacket has more than enough coverage. Landon, on the other hand, is bound to freeze in his fleece zip-up. Not that I’ll be trading him—he’s made his own choice.
I swing a leg over my bike, straddling it as I hold the spare helmet in Landon’s direction. He approaches slowly, eyeing me.
“How do I know you won’t try to shove me off anyway?” he asks, but before I can speak, he’s slipping the helmet over his brown hair, snapping the clasp shut.
“You don’t. Isn’t that exhilarating?” I tease, and he startles as I yank on the strap under his chin, tightening it.
Then, Landon grins, swinging his leg over the same way I did a few seconds ago and gripping my shoulder as he pulls himself up, settling on the bitch seat behind me.
“Alright, old man,” he says. “Take me for a ride.”
Having Landon’s ass settled firmly onto my bike, his back searing into the leather of my jacket, has been a bit distracting as we drive through town.
