“Enjoying the view?”
My shoulders jump and I spin around to face Bernard. “Don’t you have something else to do today?”
“Nope.” He grins, rocking back in his chair. “This is the most excitement I’ll get all month.”
“You should find a hobby, you perv.”
His raspy laugh has the corners of my mouth curving along with it.
I step inside my house and yank down my joggers in the entryway, shimming them down my legs. Then I grip the neck of my T-shirt and stretch it wide over my head to avoid getting more mud in my hair. In my black sports bra and matching boy-shorts, I carry my clothes into the laundry room, careful not to drip mud through my house.
After starting a quick load in the washing machine, I step back into the living room to find Landon standing in the doorway.
In a pair of gray sweatpants and a plain black T-shirt.
Dear Lord, the sweatpants are almost worse than the boxer-briefs.
But I don’t need to worry about him giving me shit for ogling him, because this time his eyes are on me.
Landon and I used to spend summers together at the beach with our friends. We’ve seen each other in our bathing suits countless times. This isn’t anything he hasn’t seen before.
Still, his eyes blaze a fiery trail down my body, an agonizingly deliberate perusal, like he’s memorizing every dip and curve. It burns through my skin, scorching my insides.
For some reason, I want to revel in it.
Stand here and soak up the desire emanating from his stare.
His Adam’s apple bobs as he swallows. “Might want to change before Gus gets here. Don’t need him seeing all of that.”
I arch a brow. “You checking me out, Fletcher?”
“Absolutely.”
My stomach dips. He’s honest, I’ll give him that.
I make a beeline to my staircase and take the steps two at a time.
Closing my bedroom door behind me, I lean against the wood and squeeze my eyes shut, willing my body to cool down.
What the hell is happening right now?
It’s Landon.
No reason to get all hot and bothered.
I’m probably ovulating. That has to be it.
I throw on a t-shirt and sweats, and twist my muddy hair into a bun. I’ll worry about it later.
Landon is in the living room when I hit the bottom step, standing with his broad back to me as he looks at a picture hanging on the wall.
Unease settles into my gut as I get closer, realizing which picture he’s looking at.
“You look so much like her.” His voice is low.
“My dad always said that.” I stare up at his profile, wondering if he’s imagining what it’ll be like when his own mother is nothing more than a picture on a wall. “You look a lot like your mom too.”
“Not as much as my dad.”
