by Ella James
I walk over slowly, so as not to scare her.
“Evie?”
She jolts, lifting her head. I see her squint.
“It’s Landon.”
She stands quickly, wiping her eyes. I know from the way she tucks her arm around herself that she wants to look composed, so I don’t close the distance between us. I sure as shit don’t put my hands on her.
I stand there, breathing hard and trying not to look like I am. My heart is fucking pounding. I feel like I’m sixteen years old.
“You okay?” It comes out sounding gruff.
“Yeah, I’m fine.” In the dim light from a street lamp by the road behind her, I can see her try to smile. “I’m just a weepy drunk.” She wipes her eyes. “I have to work tomorrow. Shouldn’t have come out. That stuff was so sad,” she says softly. “Made me want to have a drink and just forget.”
I nod.
She looks behind her, at the road. “I need to call a ride.”
I check my phone. “I’ve got one. Here right now,” I tell her as I spot the message from the app. “Only fair,” I add. “I owe you.”
“Mmm.” I can see her searching for the words to turn me down as a dark SUV pulls up along the curb. My arm arches around her back. I touch her gently with my fingertips.
“C’mon. I don’t mind.”
“I can’t,” she says thickly.
“It’s just a Lyft, Evie.”
She nods once, and then she lets me urge her toward the sidewalk.
Evie
I had three screwdrivers—three too many. Now I’m doing something foolish. I know as I buckle up that I should get out of the Lyft and call my own ride. But I’m drunk, and Landon is beside me. Grown up Landon, with his bulky shoulders, scruffy face, and big-but-gentle hands. He’s wearing a starched button-up and straight-front khakis, and he smells faintly of cologne and liquor.
Add to that: he found me while I was crying. Is there anything sexier than a well-dressed man wiping your tears? Of course not.
With my inhibitions gone, there’s no way I’m doing the smart thing. I’m going to sit beside him on this leather seat and pretend he’s my date. We’re going somewhere good, and if I shut my eyes…just for a second, if I close my eyes, he might lean over. Touch me.
It’s the feel and smell and look of him that calls to me, but also so much more. Riding in a car with Landon is like going home. The kind of home you can’t go back to once you’ve left. And I left. I really, really left. In a certain sense, I left the day he left. He took my heart. I’ve never found it.
The fullness of that loss, sharpened by vodka, comes down on me like a monsoon. I just left a bar with Landon. I’m interning alongside Landon. I could reach across the car and touch him right now.
God, I used to dream of this. And it actually happened. My dream came true, but I can’t touch it. I can never touch it.
“Evie?” His voice is rough and quiet.
I notice that my head is in my hands. Oops. I try to lift it, but my eyes seem to be leaking again. When I don’t lift my head, I feel him moving closer to me. No. Fuck. I peek through my fingers and see the road tilt out the windshield. We’re moving, so I can’t get out. Oh my God, I’m so dumb.
“Evie…what’s wrong?”
Landon’s here, and he’s so fucking nice. A grown-up Landon. He’s a surgeon, too. Why is he a surgeon? Why does he smell good?
I think of sitting up and kissing him. How good his scruffy face would feel under my hands. I would kiss him, and his eyes would close. When we were younger and we kissed, Landon’s eyes would always close—and I would sometimes look at him. This is what he looks like, I would think: my person.
Mine.
I still feel like he’s mine. When he leans over right beside me and he murmurs in his Landon voice, my heart says mine.
With my hands still over my face, I twist away from him, toward the door. “Stop the car, please.”
“What?”
I curl over my lap. “I need to get out.”
If I stay near him in this state, this will not end well. I feel it.
“You want the car to stop?” he asks quietly, his voice sounding concerned.
“Yes, please.”
I feel Landon lean up toward the driver’s seat and hear him say, “Hey, man, can you pull over?”
The car stops, and I struggle with my door handle. My hands are damp and unsteady. When I finally manage to push it open, I find myself looking at Landon. While I struggled, he got out and came around. He holds a hand out for me, and I just look at him.
He’s handsome. With his striking eyes and high cheekbones, plus that stubble, Landon is the kind of guy who probably gets a lot of female interest—and that’s in street clothes, without the magical white coat.
His hair is short, and in the darkness it looks brown. His eyes are still that earnest gray. They look at me as if they’re trying to send a message. I can’t hear it. I can’t do this. If I do, I’ll talk. I can’t lie to him, and I can’t tell the truth. Landon is off limits. Why did I think that we could share a Lyft?
After a long, unreadable look at me, he presses his lips together, glances down, and walks back around the car. I’m so confused that instead of getting out, I turn around and watch him climb in. I’m expecting him to meet my eyes, so when he doesn’t, just buckles and blinks straight ahead, I’m thrown; I pull my door shut.
After a long glance in my direction, Landon tells the driver, “You can go.”
I frown at his profile. Swallow. In my dumb, tear-softened voice, I ask him, “Why did you say that?”
He blinks at me, impassive.
“I told you I was sick,” I whisper.
His jaw twitches. “No. You said you wanted to get out. You’re not even drunk, Evie.”
“I am, too.”
His lips flatten and twist down. He glances away for a moment before his eyes return to mine. This time, they’re hotter. “Do you think I can’t tell when you’re lying, Evie?”
“Are you kidding me?”
“You think I’m kidding?” He looks incredulous. “I watched you lie a thousand times. I know what you look like when you’re holding something back. You’re not sick, Evie, and you’re not that fucking drunk. You just don’t want to be in here with me. You said you wanted to get out, but when you found me right in front of you, you wouldn’t even take my hand.”
“I wasn’t sure if I would need to,” I murmur, but it’s bullshit, and it sounds like bullshit.
“What about now?” His gray gaze burns. “Do you need to get out now?”
I blink through tears. “No. I don’t.”
“What address?” he asks me tightly.
“What?”
“What’s your address?”
After I tell him, Landon looks ahead again, his jaw tight and his shoulders tense.
“I’m sorry,” I say softly. “I’m a mess.” I don’t even plan the words, they just roll out, because I’m me and he’s Landon.
Four
Evie
Landon’s gaze angles to mine, and in a softer tone, he murmurs, “Why?”
“Because…I’m sad.”
He turns to me more fully, looking like he did as he stood by my door a minute ago: as if he’s trying to discern something.
“You never wrote,” he finally says.
I shake my head, my eyes filling with tears.
“You wanted to forget.”
Tears spill. He leans close, wiping them as his eyes hold mine. “I came on Christmas Eve,” he says softly. “I was living in Knoxville, but I took the bus. Emmaline answered the door. Do you remember?”
I shake my head again.
“She asked if I was there to stay. When I told her probably not, she hugged me and said you weren’t at home. She said you’d been sad about me, but you weren’t anymore. That I shouldn’t come and make you sad again.”
I heard about that—him coming by. But before that…
“You disapp
eared.”
“I told you that I would. That’s why I sent the letters, Evie. What was I supposed to do? I had nowhere to go. That group home was a fucking cesspool.”
“You could have come found me.”
The Lyft stops—in front of my townhouse. We get out, and we’re there on the empty sidewalk, our faces splashed gold by a streetlamp. Landon’s hands are by his sides. My arms are wrapped around me.
“That’s what I’m saying, Evie. I came back as soon as I could. When I left the group home that spring, I just…ran. I found some college kids in Knoxville who let me crash at their place, and I had to wait it out till I was 18. I kept writing you until the fall. I told you everything…”
I shake my head. I just shake my head, because I cannot speak.
“You didn’t get my letters?”
I bite the inside of my cheek so I won’t cry, and look down at my sneakers.
Landon’s hands are on my shoulders, gently squeezing. I can’t help but look into his eyes, at his familiar Landon face—a face I loved.
“Well, I sent them. Evie—why?” His fingers tighten, as his face does. “Why didn’t you do anything?”
“I didn’t get them.”
“None of them?” I shake my head. He shuts his eyes for just a second. “Fuck.” His shoulders rise and fall. He lets go of me. Turns around. I watch him struggle with his breathing, like he used to do when we were younger.
I come up closer beside him. “I looked for you, Landon. I did. But you were gone. You left the group home.”
He struggles with a few more deep breaths. I can see the pain on his face. Seeing him like this makes my heart ache so hard, I can’t help it: I wrap my arms around him, even though I know I shouldn’t touch him. Landon puts his head down on my shoulder. Wraps a heavy arm around my back.
I’m hugging Landon. His hand comes behind my head, holding me to him. I shut my eyes, and we just breathe.
“I’m sorry,” he says, lifting his head.
“No. Please.”
“This…never happens anymore.” His shoulders raise a little as he says it.
“I’m special,” I say as I squeeze him. “Worth the reaction.”
He laughs. It sounds a little hollow, but it is a laugh.
“For old times’ sake.” I rub his back. My eyes start leaking tears again.
“Jesus, Evie…” His arms squeeze me so tightly I can barely breathe.
When he loosens his grip, he takes a half step back and looks down at me. His hand strokes my hair back from my face. His eyes are asking. I can feel them asking. I nod, just a tiny motion of my chin, and Landon leans down…and his lips find mine.
The kiss starts gentle, but it quickly deepens. I’m possessed, consumed by Landon’s mouth and hands. I wrap my arms around his neck and kiss him like I’ll die if I don’t. Maybe I will.
Landon’s breaths and Landon’s body. I grab onto him, and I’m a girl again. There is nothing but the hard, warm muscle of his neck under my hand, his chest against my breasts, his hands in my hair, and his hot mouth, rougher with his stubble.
Soon we’re grabbing at each other, too-much-for-the-sidewalk grabbing. I should let him go. Instead I take his hand and lead him up the porch steps. Fumble with the key. Alyssa, don’t be home. I push the door open and—thank you, God—the place is dark.
As we step into the foyer, Landon’s mouth finds mine again. His hands in my hair are gentle, his lips brushing my forehead in a soft moment where I feel like he’s waiting for the okay from me.
I trail my hand down his chest. “Landon…”
I can feel him harden underneath my fingers. He groans as I rub him, then we’re moving toward the den.
I’m dragged in Landon’s current, battered in his storm. His hands on my face, in my hair, on my blouse…
When his fingers tremble on the last of my shirt’s buttons, his eyes come to mine, and then he rips the fabric. His hands are frantic, pushing my shoulders as he urges me onto the couch, holding my face as he presses me against the back of it and kisses me like there is no tomorrow.
Landon kissing me. The taste of him, the feel of him, even the smell of him as I yank his shirt off and run my hungry fingers over his taut abs—it makes me frenzied. Landon jerks, and groans. My palms rove up to his pecs as he kisses my neck.
“Evie…”
His hot mouth roves down, scruff scraping my skin, and then he’s kissing me along my collarbone while one hand lifts my bra and frees my breasts.
It’s stupid, reckless stupid, but I go for his pants. I reach into his boxer-briefs and grab onto him—hard, hot Landon, long and thick and standing straight up for me. He’s on his knees, his body pressing mine against the back of the couch, but when I start to stroke, he sags down on his heels and clasps his hands around my biceps. My palm cups his head, and he lets out a soft groan.
“Evie…fuck.”
I need that: to hear his voice, husky with lust. I need Landon hard and thick in my hands, heavy in my hands. His long cock twitching in my palm; his hands on my shoulders; his mouth on my breasts.
He nips one, and I gasp, and I can feel him pulsing in my hands. I run my other hand around his balls, then cup them, teasing. He’s sucking my nipple, and I’m jacking him off.
“I missed this…” The words slip out, and I can feel them echoed in his dick: it twitches, and his balls draw up as he starts breathing harder.
“Fuck…” And then he pulls away from me, his face strained as he turns me around so I’m facing the couch’s spine. He wraps an arm around my chest to hold me up against him, and I feel his cock against my hip.
“Are you sure?” he grits. I feel him stroking himself.
“Oh yes…please!”
His fingers find my slit and stroke down through my slickness. He parts me as he drags back up and skates around my clit.
“Oh God,” I gasp. He slides a finger inside, and I groan and sink down on it. I feel his length against my backside as he shoves another finger into my pussy.
His thumb circles my clit, and I whimper. His fingers thrust, gentle but deep. My legs shake. “Oh God, Landon!”
I shimmy up against him, trying to work my hips so I can find the head of him and get it where I want it.
“Rub yourself…against me,” I pant.
I feel his cock nudge between my thighs. He rubs himself between them, and I reach between my legs to touch him. My fingers stroke his head, and Landon groans. I feel a slick spot on his head, and my clit throbs so hard I gasp again.
“Please!”
“Please what?” His fingers find my nipple, twisting.
“I need you!”
“For what?” His voice is dark and rough.
“Please…give it to me!” Tears spring to my eyes as he teases my clit.
“Give you what,” he rasps, “and where?”
“You know what.”
“Say it, Evie.”
“I want you…” He kisses my shoulder, nipping hard, until I’m panting.
“Where do you want me, Evelyn?” His thumb glides over my clit, and I moan.
“Please…in my pussy.”
Landon grabs my hips. He pulls me back against him, his cock still squeezed between my thighs, and then he slides his fingers out of me and I can feel his thick head roll against my pussy from behind. His cock glides between my lips as he presses a finger on my clit. A shiver wracks me, makes me arch my back and push myself toward him and whimper, “Oh, please…”
“Please what?”
“I want you…” My voice is shaky. Hoarse.
I moan as Landon rolls his head between my swollen lips. I scoot myself back, and he presses his head into me, barely enough to penetrate. I cry out as I try to rock back on him, needing more.
I can feel him breathing heavy, too. I scoot back, desperate to take all of him. He grabs my hip and squeezes.
“Landon, please…”
“Be sure,” he warns.
“I’m sure!”
/>
I hear a rip: the condom wrapper. He shifts his hips, and I can feel him spread it down his long, thick shaft. I’m throbbing for him, wetter than I’ve ever been. My cunt feels swollen, my clit hot. When Landon spreads me open with his fingers, I groan. His hand goes around his cock. I feel him tease me with one final stroke through my wet lips, and then he fits himself against my core and shoves inside.
I groan, and buck against him. “Oh!”
His body goes still—briefly. Then he’s moving, slow and steady, harder, deeper, filling me so thoroughly, I can’t help screaming as he pumps his big cock in and out, and I slump over the couch.
“Ahh…” I bite my lip as Landon wraps an arm around my waist and pulls me to him. I can hear him grunt, can feel his body, damp and shaking, even as he picks the pace up, fucking me so rough and hard I’m seeing stars. Just a few thrusts, and he groans sharply.
His hand comes to my clit then, and he teases me with gentle strokes as he pumps deep and hard, making me cry out. Landon’s hips move faster. On my clit, his finger circles. Then I squeeze my eyes shut, brace my body for it—
I come as I feel his cock expand and thump inside me. Landon gives a low grunt. Then our panting fills the room. His body bows around mine: his chest pressed against my back, his arms coming around me tightly.
“God…” I feel his face against my hair before he hugs me, then shifts on his knees and pulls out.
“Ohh.” I feel so empty now. I turn to face him with my wet eyes. Landon’s eyes are slightly wide, but when he gets a look at me, I see relief on his face.
“Ev…” He hugs me to him. I can feel his lips on my head. “God, Evie.”
His chin nuzzles my hair, and I can feel his chest pump as he inhales deeply…exhales slowly. For a moment, I feel blissful with his body pressed against mine. And then he’s up.
He disappears in the direction of the kitchen, coming back with a warm, wet towel I recognize from my hand towel collection. His eyes assess me as he kneels beside the couch where I’ve curled up. He gently moves me fully onto my back, draping the hot cloth over my pussy. From his spot beside me, on his knees, he peers down at me.
