Nothing More (Landon Gibson 1) - Chapter 66

Nora shrugs again and I think I hear her say, “It’s okay.”

“Are you mad at me or something?” my mouth says for me.

Mad at me?Am I five, asking Carter if he’s mad that my mom accidentally ran over his toy in the driveway?

Before I can stumble further and make things even more awkward between the two of us, Nora turns around to face me. The curve of her throat seems to be pulsing, her chest rising and falling in a slow throb. My own chest is on fire, a hollow feeling that doesn’t belong here, not because of someone who’s practically a stranger.

“Mad at you? For what?” There’s sincerity in her eyes when she speaks to me; her lips are pouty and she’s waiting for an answer that’s somehow harder for me to give than it should be.

I rub my hand over the back of my neck, thinking, thinking, thinking, always thinking.

“Everything? The Dakota thing, the kiss, the—”

When Nora opens her mouth to speak, I stop midsentence to let her. She leans her elbow against the counter and her eyes focus on me. She’s staring hard, and in this moment I wish I knew her well enough to know what she’s thinking, how she’s feeling. I can’t read her, no matter how badly I want to.

I’m usually good at figuring out people and their behaviors. I can usually tell when someone is feeling something, even when they’re trying their best to hide it. The quick movement of their eyes to the opposite side of the room or the subtle shift of their body weight . . . there are a million ways to read someone.

“I’m not mad at you at all. It’s all been a little messy, yes,” she says, and something about the way her voice catches at the end of her sentence makes me uneasy.

I have never wanted anything more than to know about the parts of herself that she keeps hidden.

Her whole being reminds me of some sort of secret, the closest thing to discovering a true-life mystery, one that’s difficult to solve but that tantalizes you with the prospect of a solution.

“Landon, the reason why—”

But her voice is interrupted by the creak of sneakers on the clean tile floor.

I turn. The white sneakers touching the floor belong to a pair of tightly covered legs. The body is thin, wearing a sparkling tutu and black body suit.

Dakota’s eyes scan Nora, standing only inches away from me, and she seems to morph into something bigger, something darker and stronger.

Dakota squares her shoulders and pushes out her chest, demanding attention.

“Dakota . . .” I instinctively step toward her and away from Nora.

“So this is where you went?” she says.

I’m confused for a moment before I realize that she’s not talking to me. She’s facing Nora now.

Nora’s eyes meet mine. “No, I was just here with Tessa—”

Dakota cuts her off midsentence. “I told you to leave, not to come running to him.”

And I’m so confused by what’s going on. Dakota’s voice is rising like an angry tide, ready to swallow my tiny Brooklyn apartment.

“I told you to stay away from him,” Dakota says. “He’s off-limits. We agreed.”

Dakota’s eyes are narrow slits and Nora’s are wide saucers; she still seems shocked at seeing Dakota in the kitchen.

“I better go.” Nora reaches for the dishcloth on the counter to dry off her hands. She does so quickly, and Dakota and I stand in silence as she leaves the kitchen without looking at either of us. The front door opens and closes in less than twenty seconds and she’s gone without so much as a goodbye to Tessa.

She’s so quick, and I’m so much in shock that I didn’t even have a chance to follow her.