Nothing More (Landon Gibson 1) - Chapter 42

Dakota’s flat shoes squeak against the floor, and I can’t remember it ever taking so long to walk to my apartment. The elevator seems to be taking forever.

When we finally reach my door and I unlock it, Dakota pushes past me and enters. I lay her purse on the table and kick off my shoes. She takes a few more steps until she’s in the center of the room.

The living room feels much smaller with her in it. She’s a beautiful storm, all waves and anger as her lungs fill with air. Her chest rises up, then down, in a ragged pattern.

I step toward her, right into the eye of it all. I shouldn’t know how to approach her. I shouldn’t remember the exact way to talk to her, to cool her temper.

But I do.

I remember how to slowly step to her and wrap my arms around her waist. When I do, they fall into their protective place, trying to shield her from anything and everything. In this case, from myself.

My fingers should have forgotten how to gently raise her stubborn chin and let me look into her eyes. But they haven’t, they couldn’t.

“We have to talk about this,” I whisper through the heavy air between us.

Dakota takes a breath and tries to look away from me. I bend at the knees, leaning down to her height. She looks away again and I refuse to give in before she listens to me.

“I met Nora a while ago, back in Washington,” I begin to explain.

“In Washington? You’ve been seeing her that long?” She hiccups at the end of her question and pulls away from my embrace.

I wonder if I should offer her something to drink. I don’t think this is the best time, but when an inebriated person hiccups, it sometimes means they’re going to get sick, doesn’t it?

Where did I even hear that?

This is one of those times when I wish I knew more about drinking and the effects it has on your body. Dakota’s toe catches on a pile of textbooks on the floor and she stumbles, taking a few unsteady steps toward the couch. Better safe than sorry, I’ll get her that water after all.

I shake my head. “No, no, no. She came over a few times because her parents live close to my mom and Ken.”

I know it sounds like a lie, but it’s not.

“I barely know her. She helped my mom with baking and now she’s Tessa’s friend—”

“Your mom? She met your mom?” Dakota shrieks.

Everything I say seems to add another shovelful of dirt to the hole I’m digging myself in.

“No . . . well, yes.” I sigh. “Like I said, her parents live near mine. I didn’t have her over for family dinner or anything like that.”

I hope something clicks within her and she sees that this isn’t what she thinks it is.

Dakota turns away and her eyes scan the living room. I watch her as she walks over to the couch and sits down on the side closer to the door. I pull my jacket off and drape it over the chair. I hold a hand out for Dakota’s jacket, but she isn’t wearing one. How did I not notice? I remember looking at the line of her tights, the outline of her bra through the thin cotton of her dress. I’m not used to seeing her dressed like this, in such tight clothing.

That’s my excuse for being a pervert who didn’t even notice that she wasn’t wearing a jacket? It didn’t even cross my mind to offer her mine—what’s happening to me?

While I wait for her response, I walk over to the thermostat and turn up the heat. If we’re lucky, it’ll make her drowsy. I pop into the kitchen and pour each of us a glass of water.

When I return, she shakes her head and looks past me; I can see that she’s struggling within herself. “For some reason, I believe you, but should I? I mean, this fast? Just like that?”

She rests her chin on her elbow and stares across the room. “I didn’t think I would care this much