Page 856 of Deep Pockets


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Still…it made my chest ache to think about that one kiss. And, even though he’d been drunk the night before, my blood had heated when he asked me if I liked to be on top. It had taken all the willpower in my body not to give in and forget about being a responsible adult for once.

Yet here I was, driving out to see him.

As if I honestly believed we could go back to being friends after that kiss.

He’d cut off all contact with me because our conversations had gone from him finally having someone he could talk to in his life to deep, emotional conversations. To talking late into the night. To wanting to wake up and call him. To wanting to talk to him every day just to tell him about my day. To wanting to fly out there and see his smile to match the laugh I could draw out of him.

And then New Year’s. When our conversations had gone from everything but admitted feelings to almost crossing a line we would never have been able to come back from.

He’d ended it for a reason.

We probably should have been smarter and stuck to that.

Too late now.

He’d had his tongue down my throat, and I certainly wasn’t about to forget it. Even though the sane side of my brain told me I should want to forget.

I pulled into the Café J and killed the engine. It was busy, and the parking lot was full. I hurried inside, and after looking around and seeing Landon wasn’t there, I put my name down for a table for two.

“Should be about fifteen minutes,” the hostess said.

“Thanks.”

I took a seat on the bench to wait for Landon and pulled out my phone. I had two missed calls from him but no voice mail or text messages. Odd.

I dialed Landon’s number and waited. He wasn’t like me. He didn’t avoid phone calls like the plague. He almost always answered immediately. But, this time, his voice mail actually picked up.

“Hey. This is Landon Wright, and you’ve reached my voice mail. I’m not here right now, but if you leave a message, I’ll get back to you.”

Beep.

I ended the call. If I hated voice mails, I wasn’t about to leave one for him. Still, it was strange.

“Martin,” the hostess called.

“That’s me!” I waved my hand and stood.

I let the woman escort me to our table in the back of the room and ordered a glass of water for each of us. I assured the waiter that Landon was on his way and would be here any minute.

After about ten minutes of radio silence, I craned my neck back up to the front to see if maybe he was waiting and didn’t realize that I’d gotten a table already. But he wasn’t up there, and my phone hadn’t rung.

Landon was late.

Seriously, this was annoying. Why insist on seeing me if he was going to show up late? He was probably just working off that hangover or something, but it was crappy not to at least text.

I tried calling one more time, but he didn’t answer. Huh. I chewed on my lip. This wasn’t like Landon. Maybe something had happened. What if he’d been in a car accident or something? What if something had happened to him or Austin, and he couldn’t get to his phone? A slew of other worst-possible scenarios ran through my head.

With fear driving me, I sent Landon a text.

Hey, is everything okay? I’m worried about you. Call me back.

I bit my nail down to the quick as I waited for what felt like an endless amount of time. I shooed away the waiter more than once as he came by to check on me. Ten minutes turned into twenty, and twenty was quickly approaching thirty. I hadn’t eaten anything, and I had gone from worried to pissed.

Landon Wright had made me come here, only to abandon me.

He’d stood me up.

My heart beat rapidly in my chest, and I could hear whooshing in my ears, as if I were going through a tunnel. A flush of embarrassment coated my cheeks, and anger suffused my system.

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