Nothing More (Landon Gibson 1) - Chapter 67

I briefly wonder if I would have, and how Dakota would react if I did.

Chapter Twenty

DAKOTA IS STANDING IN THE kitchen, her eyes on me and her mouth set in an angry frown. Her hair is down, wild ringlets running loose over her shoulders. She’s picking at her fingernails, and I really don’t like the way she’s behaving, acting like we’re in high school.

Scratch that, she’s acting full-on elementary, and the tutu she’s wearing isn’t helping make her look like an adult.

“What was that all about? What’s up with you?” I ask.

Well, it came out more like a demand, but I need some answers. None of this makes sense.

And of course she’s immediately on the defensive, glaring at me as though I’m the one acting like a jealous child. Dakota doesn’t say anything, she just stares at me, and suddenly her gaze softens. Her lips pout out and she leans casually against the kitchen counter as if nothing just happened.

I decide not to let this one go. “Why did you just chase Tessa’s friend from our apartment?”

Dakota looks me over. I assume that she’s using her silence to buy herself time to decide what to say.

Finally, after a few more seconds, she sighs and begins to speak.

“She’s not just Tessa’s friend to me, Landon. She’s my roommate, and I don’t want her hanging around you. She’s not good for you. And I’m not going to let her attach herself to you.”

She pauses a beat, then adds, “I refuse to let that happen.”

I don’t know what’s worse: the tone of her voice or the jealousy and possessiveness that thread through her words, but my skin prickles and adrenaline builds in my chest.

“Okay, first of all, I had no idea you two were roommates—so I’m still processing that. And second, you don’t get to decide who’s good for me, Dakota,” I say.

She blanches like I’ve smacked her across her face.

“So you actually do like her!” Dakota’s mouth twists into a grimace as she hurls these words at me.

I’m getting angrier at her by the second and I can feel the tension between us building with every rise and fall of her chest.

“No. Well, I don’t know what I feel about her, honestly.” My answer sounds like I’m avoiding the truth, but I truly don’t know.

I’ve always been honest with Dakota, save for those rare moments when the truth was better left unsaid.

What I do know is that Dakota doesn’t get to be the one who decides who gets to “attach herself” to me.

Dakota walks across the kitchen to me, her glittery tutu swaying with every step. “Well, try to figure it out, because I don’t want you to be confused about how you feel about me either.” She rolls her eyes.

I recognize this tone, this guardedness.

“Cut it out. Turn it on,” I tell her.

She knows exactly what I mean.

Dakota is good at turning her emotions off and completely detaching herself from any danger of pain, and throughout the years I’ve been good at reminding her to turn them on and lower the guard. Only when it’s safe to do so, though . . . I’ve always wanted to keep her safe.