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  She says my name.

  She says how sweet I am.

  You’re so good, Landon. So, so good.

  I taste her as she climaxes, and I hold her legs still as she recovers. She’s completely naked, sitting on the chair, breathing hard, and I don’t want to stop. I can feel her throbbing through my tongue, pulsing from the orgasm she just had.

  I’m not done. She told me to do what I wanted, be who I want to be. This is who I want to be. Someone who worships her body and finds pleasure in her pleasure.

  By the third time she comes, her body has turned to jelly. When she falls back, done and finished and sated, I pull her down to the floor and into my arms. She melts into me and I stroke her back with soft touches, and after a few minutes I think she may have fallen asleep.

  “I tell you to do what you want with me, and you make me come three times,” she whispers, burying her head farther into my chest. Her arms tighten around me, and I find an immense satisfaction in cradling her on my kitchen floor.

  I touch her cheek and brush her hair off her face. “That’s what I wanted to do.”

  Nora sits up just enough to look at me and repositions her body so her thighs are on either side of my hips and her breasts are in my face. Bare breasts, I might add. It takes every ounce of self-control not to lick them.

  “Can I keep you?” She smiles playfully.

  I decide to lick her breasts, and when I do, she wraps her hand around my neck and pushes my face into them. I could live in here, buried in her beauty, I lamely think to myself. I could definitely just sit here all day and night with my face buried in her bosom. Do people still use the word bosom? Probably not.

  She giggles when I bite at her. “Is that a yes?”

  I nod, rubbing my face in her chest.

  After humoring me for a few minutes, she drags me off the floor, and I finish washing the dishes while she makes the cookie dough that I earned for eating the cabbage. If Nora promised to feed me my vegetables each day, I would become a herbivore in no time. We could eat kale smoothies and grainy cereal things all day if she made them.

  When I finish drying the dishes, I join her at the counter and watch her roll the dough into balls. White chips are in them and something that looks like a berry.

  “What kind of cookies are those?”

  “White-chocolate raspberry.”

  While the cookies bake, my small apartment fills with that familiar sweet smell, and I decide that Nora should come over every day. I would be very, very happy with that.

  Where does she live now? I had nearly forgotten that she came to my house with her hands full of her belongings.

  “Are you back in your apartment?” I ask when she sits up on the counter and I stand between her legs.

  “No.”

  And that’s it. Just a “No.”

  “Where are you staying? Do you need to stay here?”

  “No.” She smiles this time, and I brush my nose over hers. “My sister is coming tomorrow, and she’s going to let me stay in her condo across the bridge.”

  “In Manhattan? That’s far from your work.”

  “It’s not too far.”

  “You can stay here.”

  She wraps her arms behind my neck and pulls me closer. “No, I can’t.”

  “Why?”

  But Nora shakes her head.

  “So if your sister is coming tomorrow, does that mean I won’t see you?”

  She nods.

  “I would like to meet her.”

  Nora’s back stiffens slightly, and she shakes her head. “Meet my sister? Oh, that’s a horrible idea.” She smiles at me, but I’m not smiling. She’s using that beautiful face as a shield against my intrusions again.

  A horrible idea? Why would that be a horrible idea? If we are trying to get to know each other better, why would I not meet her sister? It’s not like I asked her to marry me; I just want to meet some of her family.

  “And why is that?” I hope she can’t hear the uncertainty in my voice.

  Nora pulls away from me and leans back against the cabinets. “My sister . . . My sister is not someone you just meet—it’s a whole production. We would have to plan this much, much better. I don’t think it’s a good idea. I mean, she and Ameen are not people who just meet people.”

  As Nora spoke, her voice became increasingly frantic, so very different from what it was moments ago. What is she so afraid of? Why would it be such a big deal for me to meet her sister?

  I look around my small kitchen, down my narrow hallway. I recall the size of my bank account and take note of my sweatpants. I remember how well her sister was dressed in all those Facebook pictures. Sleek hair and heavy makeup, perfect white teeth and a pristine white dress. In one pic, her wrists were covered in diamonds as sparkly as her teeth as she held one side of her husband’s award. Well, awards. As in award after award after award . . .

  This time it’s me who pulls away. “Okay, so I won’t meet them.”

  I don’t explain my sudden change of thought, and Nora doesn’t ask me to.

  chapter

  Twenty-one

  IT’S A HAPPY DISCOVERY that my bed is the perfect size for two bodies. It’s the exact size for Nora to have to cuddle up next to me. Her body is warm, as it always is, and she’s lying in the crook of my arm, staring up at me with those seductive eyes of hers. The shine in them is downright provocative, and happiness looks so damn good on her.

  The loud knocking of something against the wall is just too intrusive to ignore. Muffled sounds come from Tessa’s bedroom, and we try to ignore them, but they are just so extreme.

  Suddenly I’m back in my mom’s house in Washington, hearing Hardin and Tessa having sex in the room down the hall. I don’t even think those two try to be quiet.

  “They’re awfully loud,” Nora laughs.

  I do, too. “Oh, this is nothing. Wait until you hear them fight. The people in Jersey will hear them.” I’ve experienced this plenty of times. They don’t make walls thick enough to block out those two.

  “Are they always this loud?” she whispers.

  “Yes. But still not anything close to when they fight.”

  “He’s met his match, though. Tessa isn’t someone to trample on.” Nora’s voice drips in admiration.

  “Yeah, he has.” I don’t say how many tears it took to get to that point. I thought I would have to kill them both on a few occasions. They are both stubborn as all get out.

  My phone rings from the nightstand, and I reach for it. Dakota’s number pops up, flashing and practically screaming in my dark bedroom.

  Nora leans over me and reads the screen. “Dakota.”

  My chest aches. I hate this part of dating, or whatever this is that I’m doing.

  “Answer it.”

  I shake my head and ignore the call.

  Nora leans up on her elbow. “Why didn’t you answer it?”

  Why? Uh, perhaps because it would be incredibly awkward to talk to her in front of you? Because she’s my ex and it’s weird between us, and even weirder between you two?

  “Wouldn’t that bother you?” I ask, unsure how to handle this.

  Nora scoots up into a sitting position. “If there’s something going on between you still, then yes. But if you don’t have a reason for me not to hear what you’re talking about, then, no, it wouldn’t bother me. Lies bother me. Not truths.”

  Funny coming from you, I want to say. She doesn’t lie, but she’s the queen of omission and keeping truths to herself.

  “I don’t think I have anything to hide, really. I just don’t want it to be weird. I know you guys were friends—”

  Nora snorts. “We were never friends!”

  “Well, roommates. That still qualifies as murky water. I don’t know what happened between you two that made things turn sour, except me. Was I the only reason?”

  “Yes.”

  A yes—that’s all I get. This frustrating woman . . .

  “Why won’t you let m
e meet your sister?” I ask suddenly. If she wants to evade questions about her and Dakota, I will just shine the spotlight on something else.

  I look directly at her, and she tucks her messy hair behind her ear.

  “Is it because I’m a broke college student?”

  She jerks, offended. “No. What the hell kind of question is that?”

  A reasonable question, Miss Travels the World with a Family of Surgeons. “A fair one,” I respond to her angry glare.

  “Not fair at all,” she retorts.

  How do I tell her that I was a grade-A stalker and found her sister’s Facebook profile? Should I even tell her? Yes, I should, because I demand honesty from her. It’s only fair, and she’s all about being fair, right? So I should say something . . . But she’ll be mad.

  How important is being fair, really? Sometimes it’s better to omit things, right? I mean, if I were wearing an ugly shirt and asked Nora if it was ugly, should she lie? Yes. Images of me wearing one of those vacation-dad shirts, the ones with the flowers on them, pop into my head. Yikes. I make a promise to myself to never be that kind of dad. I want to be a cool dad, and if Nora goes around lying about my shirts, I can’t be one.

  So, no, maybe omitting is just as bad as lying.

  “I found your sister’s Facebook page and I looked through it. I saw her husband and his gazillion certificates and awards. I saw your beach vacations, and your yellow bathing suit.”

  Nora’s face pales, and she sits in silence.

  “I saw her big house and the brand-new car he bought her, and I saw the guy who had his arms wrapped around you.”

  Nora’s breath catches in her throat. I’ve truly shocked her, and after a few seconds of her blankly staring at me, she manages, “Why—why did you do that?”

  “Do what? It’s Facebook, it’s public property.” I defend my stalking with the lamest excuse I could have mustered. That’s a horrible answer. And a poor excuse for being a creep.

  Nora shakes her head and moves farther from me. “How long ago was this?”

  “Just today, when I was waiting for you to come back.” Was it just today? Time doesn’t seem to make any sense since I met this woman.

  “What else did you find?” Her hands are shaking slightly.

  I look down at them, and she immediately stills them by folding them together.

  “Nothing. You don’t seem to really have a Facebook of your own.”

  She nods, not meeting my eyes.

  And I realize something: she totally has a Facebook.

  “What exactly were you hoping to find?” Her eyes are on her hands clasped in her lap.

  Not so fast . . . I grab her arms and pull her back to me. She doesn’t stop me, but she does move her thighs to frame my waist.

  Is dating always like this—this squeezing feeling that no matter what’s happening, there’s always something hidden around the corner waiting for your happiest moments to occur so it can crush you and take them away?

  “What are you hiding?” My voice is level, unlike my head right now.

  Nora shakes her head. “Why do you assume I’m hiding something?”

  I roll my eyes at her and put one arm behind my head so I can get a better look of her on my lap. My other hand is resting on her leg. It feels like the only connection between us right now, like a fraying thread keeping us together. “Maybe because you are. You don’t want me to meet your sister. You have some secret Facebook page. You won’t talk about your ex-boyfriend—or any other relationships, for that matter—and you’ve shut me down when I’ve tried to understand why you hide so many things from me.”

  I sigh and lift my upper body to rest my back against the headboard for more support.

  Nora breathes, gives me that fake smile. “You know what? You wanna meet my sister? Let’s go, then. You can meet her after I get off work tomorrow. What time is your shift tomorrow?”

  I nod. “I’m off at two.”

  She nods. “Good. It’s settled, then. Now stop snooping around my shit unless you want me to expose yours, too.”

  I furrow my brows and look up at her. “My shit? I don’t have any shit to expose.”

  Nora laughs. “Oh, yes. You do.”

  I grip her hips and pull her forward on my body so her butt sits right at the bottom of my stomach. Wrapping my arms around her back, I pull her to lie on my chest. “Explain.” I kiss at her, right beneath her ear.

  “You and Dakota. I would say that’s sure something to talk about. You hide your relationship—whatever’s left of it—from me. You don’t answer her calls when I’m around. That’s pretty shady for someone pretending to be a saint over there.”

  This woman is absolutely insane. I turn her cheek so she has no choice but to kiss me. “I don’t have anything to hide from you, aside from the fact that Dakota and I are friends. She wants more, I think, but I can’t give her more.” I take Nora’s face into my nervous hands. “You’ve taken it all from me. There’s nothing left to give her. You have it all.”

  Nora softly kisses me against the corner of my mouth. Then her mouth grows fierce. Her tongue makes smooth circles on mine.

  “Hm, that sounds good,” she says into my mouth.

  “You sound good,” I mutter, and I’m glad she doesn’t seem to notice or care. Her mouth is hot on mine.

  chapter

  Twenty-two

  Nora

  MAN, IS HE GOOD at distracting me. I pull back a little, to be able to focus again. A few inches separate our bodies, but I keep my mouth on his. His lips are so soft. Too soft for me to be able to pay attention to anything else.

  I need to regain my composure.

  I open my eyes while he kisses me. His hand moves from my thigh, so I have a tiny bit of control over my body for now.

  I look around the room, trying to find a focal point. I spot a hockey poster on the wall; two rows of beady eyes on bulky men gawk back at me. Each of them, hockey stick in hand, is staring down at me like I’ve done something that deserves their judgmental yet surprisingly hunky stares.

  Why the hell does Landon have this hanging over his bed? Sometimes his age is so there, like it’s a massive neon sign over his head, screaming at me. Like now, when I’m lying here in his bed reading the calendar schedule for a hockey team. He clearly doesn’t have women in here often, which kind of makes me love the poster a little more.

  But other times, he is nothing but pure man. He has an old soul. A wise-beyond-his-years smile and a heart of dripping gold. He’s careful, and each of his touches means something. He puts thought behind his glances, his kisses. He doesn’t just put his mouth on me, he puts his entire soul into me, taking a piece of me with every drawn breath.

  And his body. He has the body of a man; threaded ropes of muscle make up his arms. His cheeks are covered in hair, and his broad shoulders carry the weight of so many others. He’s the most thoughtful person—man or woman—I’ve ever come across. But no matter how I try to justify it, he’s still five years younger than me. When our ages are pointed out, when they’re focused on, the numbers change things. He feels young; I often feel old.

  The air shifts; the energy between us thrums a little louder. He’s only in his second year of college—what do I have in common with him?

  His mouth moves down to my neck, and his tongue makes sweet swirls against my skin.

  Maybe I can name a few things we have in common . . .

  But then there’s Dakota. She called him again. What am I going to do about this girl? I don’t have the energy for this high-school love-triangle bullshit. I’m too old for that. I’ve done that. I’ve fought with friends over boys and cried my fair share into bottles of cheap wine. Landon didn’t even have time to get her out of his system before I came around, pulling him in the other direction.

  Part of me can’t possibly understand what he sees in her, besides her appearance. She’s beautiful, and works hard for the body she has. But inside, she’s rude and dramatic and childish and—

/>   Am I really doing this? Am I lying here, in his bed, with his mouth on me, curating a list of reasons why his ex is awful? Is that the level I’ve stooped to?

  I drag my fingers down Landon’s back as he continues to lick at my neck. I’ve never before felt this content with a man, and I sure as hell haven’t ever met a man who, given complete control over my body, would choose only to use his mouth on me until I’m a blissful puddle cradled in his lap on the floor.

  Still, he hasn’t had time to properly date anyone. He’s never even gone out on a date with anyone other than her. He’s living in his first apartment; I paid a mortgage on a condo. He hasn’t had his college experience yet; I had my share of waking up on someone’s lawn with a hangover. He’s never been to a college party. He’s never had a one-night stand. Dakota is all he knows about women.

  He has roots with her. She owns a part of him that I’m never going to be able to take away. That part of him, all his first memories, will never be mine. But do I need them? He doesn’t have my first, either. I shared them with another man. Why does it bother me so much, then? Is it because my ex isn’t hanging over us, still calling my phone while we lie in bed together?

  My mind pushes a memory forward: the look on Cliff’s face when Hardin had him in a headlock. The way his bones crunched when Hardin’s boot pressed them into the floor. Cliff was sent here to check on me. I know it, though I haven’t had the courage to ask. I would rather not confirm my worst suspicions.

  Dakota begged me right outside this very apartment to stay away from Landon. She wants another chance to make things right between them. I wish I knew what it was that tied them together so tightly. What is it that’s hanging between them, left untouched and unhealed, open and bleeding out?

  Am I going to be strong enough to put pressure on that wound and find the stomach to stitch it up?

  That depends on what it is that they share. I know there’s a reason he isn’t ready to let her stand on her own; I just don’t have a clue what it could be. It’s not just her taking his virginity; it’s something more.

  Still, it’s not fair for me to demand to hear it when I’m not ready to share my past with him.