Page 93 of Fall With Me (Sugarland Creek)

Landen removes his baseball cap and then does the hottest thing I’ve ever witnessed. He reaches behind his neck and pulls off his T-shirt in one smooth motion. He uses it to wipe his face and over his hair before he puts his hat back on, backward.

My gaze drops to his chest and abs. Hard muscles line every inch of him. A six-pack I want to trace with my tongue. And a thin happy trail that leads below his shorts.

Why is the first time I see my boyfriend half naked in the middle of his parents’ kitchen?

That should be a crime.

A throat clearing grabs my attention, and I snap my focus back to Landen’s face.

“What?”

“I saw that.”

I scratch my cheek, furrowing my brows. “I have no idea what you’re talkin’ about.”

“That was one helluva eye fuck if I’ve ever seen one.”

With both hands on my hips, I scowl. “To be fair…you’ve been holdin’ out on me.”

He closes the gap between us, tilting up my chin. “And you’ve been such a good girl waitin’ so patiently for our first date.”

“You love to torture me, don’t you?”

He knows exactly what he’s doing by calling me agood girl. He says it every time I sit in his lap and get him hard, then he tells me to finish on his cowboy hat.

“Only five more days, Little Devil.” He winks. “And then I promise to give you anything you need.”

Curiously, I arch a brow. “Anything?”

He leans in and presses a quick kiss to my lips. “Anything.”

My chest aches with anticipation of getting to touch him. Although it’s only been a month, it seems so much longer with the intense feelings I have for him.

“Are you gonna tell me what we’re doing for our first date?” I wrap my arms around his neck and pull him closer.

He grasps my hips. “Nope. But wear comfortable clothes.”

“That’s not helpful at all.”

He captures my mouth again and teases me with his tongue. “You’re going to love it, I promise.”

After we eat lunch together, and I’m home for the night, I help my mom with cleaning up the kitchen and catch her up on my day.

“I’ll have to stop by the farmer’s market and grab some bread. It sounds delicious,” she says.

“It is. If you can’t make it, though, I’ll save you a loaf. I’m gonna work the booth this Saturday,” I tell her as I organize a pile of mail.

A letter catches my eye when I see it’s addressed to Aunt Phoebe. But the odd part is the return label says it’s from the Nashville Women’s Prison.

“Mom, what’s this?” I hold it up for her and when she turns to see, her eyes widen in panic.

“Nothin’, sweetie. I screen all of Aunt Phoebe’s mail so she doesn’t get any scammers.” She reaches for it as I study the handwriting and a wave of déjà vu hits me.

“Who would be writing?—”

“Just a pen pal, sweetheart.”

“Oh…okay.” I hand it over, wondering why a weird feeling overcame me.

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