Page 196 of Snap Shot

She grabs my wrist and molds one of my hands around her throat before drawling out my name. “Landon.”

“Mm?”

“Spit in my mouth.”

Sex-addled mind fog takes over as I tease my mouth over hers.

“Beg me for it.”

Chapter 46: When the Time’s Right

Indi

New Year's Eve is always a shit show. The weather is beyond freezing, the slushy streets are packed with hammered clubgoers and there's not an empty taxi in sight to save anyone from the elements.

Any other year, I'd be holed up in my apartment with a bottle of wine, a smutty read, and a buzzy nighttime friend, far, far away from the chaos below. Not this year, though, because the Regents are playing in Montreal again and the only way I'll get to see Landon is if I go to Wade Boehner's private postgame party. Which means I have to wear something other than pajamas, likely with absurdly high shoes, and hope to God I don't fall to my death on an icy footpath.

And I'm dragging Bea along. Gabe will meet us after covering the game, too. If I have to suffer,we all have to suffer.

Twenty minutes of multitasking in extra-large hot rollers and I've got Jessica Rabbit hair, a killer winged liner, and a classic matte red lip. While I stare at the new dress hanging in my closet, the front door sounds out with a knock. I squint one eye to look through the peephole. A bundled-up delivery person stands on the other side, holding a package topped with brown paper.

“Can I help you?”

“I've got a delivery for” —the paper rustles as he checks the receipt in his hand— “Indira Davé?”

“Oh.” I swing the door open. “That's me.”

He pulls the wrapping away and hands me a bouquet of garnet dahlias—flowers I only recognize because of Gabe's green thumb—in a vase, gaps filled with green sprigs. I flip open the crisp white card. It contains a single, handwritten cursive word:Yours.

That one simple word says everything. Who it's from, who it's for, what it is. Encompassing our relationship—who we are to each other—so concisely I can't help the swell of my chest or these watery eyes. I pull it together to send him a text.

Me:Got some beautiful flowers today. In my favorite color, too.

Gym Guy:Sounds like someone's really obsessed with you.

Me:I wish I knew who sent them. I'd totally WHTCOAEMPUICAOHF.

Gym Guy:Me!!

Me:I might let him tell me to STFUATTDLAGFG.

Gym Guy:ITS ME BABY!!!!!

Me:Whoever it is better get their round juicy hockey buttover here before I finish the job myself.

Gym Guy:Nooo I'm already at warmups.

Gym Guy:Great, now I'm gonna be hard for the rest of the game.

Me:I'll take it later tonight.

Gym Guy:That's what she said.

Gym Guy:Send me a pic of that pretty face to hold me over??

I take a duck-faced selfie from the exposed shoulders up, showing off the voluminous curls. I'm not naked, but it's fun to tease him into thinking so by keeping the strapless bra off-camera.

Gym Guy:Fucking hell. You're trying to kill me.

---