Nothing Less

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