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I’m walking up to Landon’s house with a bottle of wine, in a sweater dress over a pair of leggings and ballet flats. I thought about baking him something, but given that I spent most of the evening trying to find what to wear and removing every stray hair from my body, I figured wine would suffice. I’m halfway up the path when his door flies open and he’s walking towards me. His hair is slightly wet, like he’s recently showered, and he’s wearing a pair of gray sweatpants and a white t-shirt that shows off his glorious muscles. I’m used to seeing him in a suit, so seeing him severely dressed down is making my mouth water.
I lick my lips, as my eyes skate over his crotch and on cue, I see something rise underneath the gray pants. “Hi.” I smile as I hand him a bottle of wine. “I brought wine.”
“You didn’t have to bring anything.” He leans down and presses a kiss to the corner of my mouth and the smell of soap, clean laundry, and man floods my senses, and I’ve instantly learned what my favorite smell in the world is. “Come in, I have something in the oven that needs to come out.”
I stop in my tracks and my eyes widen. “You cooked?”
He stops walking and turns to looks at me and then at his watch. “It’s eight. Of course, I cooked. We weren’t going out, and this is a date, is it not?”
A date! “Well, we hadn’t…I mean, I just…” I thought I was only coming over for sex…not food. “Right, yes.”
He grabs my hand interlacing our fingers and runs his lips over them. I almost combust, dying for another taste of his lips on mine as he leads me into his townhouse.
Although this space is supposedly only temporary, it is well furnished and appears to be well lived in. Pictures of him and his son line the walls of the foyer and the kitchen and living areas are fully furnished. A fire roars in the fireplace in the corner of the living room and I hear the sounds of what I believe to be Frank Sinatra playing quietly. This man is good.
“Wine?” he asks. I take a seat at the kitchen table, feeling so out of my element I’m sure that the ability to sit upright will leave me at any moment.
“Okay. Do you need any help?” I ask. Cooking I can do. Cooking is easy. It is this that is hard.
“Nope, all done.”
“You did this by yourself?” I crane my neck to see what he pulls out of the oven and I’m shocked to see a baked ziti. “You made something Italian?”
“Don’t look so surprised, Bambi. I’m a man of many talents.” He winks. “Your mom gave Jana the recipe a few years back…” He shrugs. “I like it.” Hearing his ex’s name fall from his lips sends a surge of jealousy through me that I don’t expect. Calm down, Serena.
I raise an eyebrow at him. “You think I’ll like it?”
“I’m sure of it.” He sits next to me as he lets the food cool and pours us both a glass of wine. “I’m glad you’re here.”
“Me too.” I fiddle with my glasses nervously as I wait for him to make a move. A move I know is coming. He strokes my cheek gently and leans in. I expect him to plant his lips on mine, but he just rubs his nose against mine and presses a kiss to my cheek. I let out a sigh when he gets up again.
“Your dad had quite a lot to say earlier.”
“What did he say to you?” I ask, the sweet moment forgotten as my curiosity gets the best of me.
“He asked me to stay away from you. Says I’m a bad influence.”
“Whatever could make him say that?” I roll my eyes and giggle, and he shoots me a pointed glare.
“What does that mean?”
I gulp and stare at the glass of red wine that I’d only had a few sips of. Shit, I’m already feeling it? “I…I don’t know.”
“Sure, you do.” He raises an eyebrow at me and I raise one back.
“Landon, just because I don’t believe the rumors necessarily doesn’t mean they don’t exist.”
“And if I said the rumors were true?”
I shrug. “It’s your business.” I look up at him and give him a small smile. “I don’t think any less of you.”
He prepare our plates and sets one in front of me before taking a seat to my right. “You’re not like most girls.”
“I know.” I look down at my food, unsure of what his exact intentions are behind that comment.
“Serena look at me.” I do as he says and meet his eyes. “Baby, that’s a good thing.”
We fall into a comfortable conversation, talking about everything and nothing while we eat my mother’s baked ziti. I help him clean the kitchen before he pulls me into the living room and we settle in front of the fireplace. Okay, this is it, Serena. Be calm. You can do this. You remember how good he felt. Our backs are against the couch, our legs intertwined and that familiar feeling takes over my body. Because I’m on my second glass of wine and feeling bold, I broach the subject I probably shouldn’t.
