Page 12 of Why Not Me?

I can’t believe the hold he still has on me. I should hate him, but the reality is, I hate myself. I hate the fact that I knowingly entered a relationship with someone who already had a girlfriend. I hate the fact that when he said he cared about me, that being with me had filled a missing hole and that he was going to end things with Melissa, I believed him. I hate that I fell for his pretty words, even though nine months passed and nothing changed.

What happened was an experience of naivety, but I’m not that twenty-year-old girl anymore. I believe him when he says he made a mistake he regrets, which is why we can move forward with being friends. I can forgive myself for our past mistakes and I will ignore the way he still manages to drive my hormones crazy. If not, I’ll let the friendship go.

His hair is all mussed up when his head pops through the material, his arms flexing as he shoves them into the holes and adjusts the hem. It’s not until he’s striding toward me and the table I’m standing next to that I quit staring at his hair. The memories of running my fingers through it are strong and bring up too many emotions. I need to be better at blocking both the memories and the feelings they invoke.

“Hop up on the table.” His deep voice is gruff, his eyes intent on mine as I do as he says. His fingers probe the muscles in my neck, steady and warm before he guides me through a series of motions. My head is swimming, barely able to follow through with his requests and all I can think about is how much I hope I’m miraculously better so I don’t need to sit here with his hands on me anymore.

“You’ve been doing your exercises.” His praise glides over me in a caress, a shiver running down my spine when he tweaks my ponytail the way he used to.

Shrugging, I give him a small smile, his affectionate gesture sending my stomach into my chest. “Well, my physical therapist told me that doing them would speed up my recovery time. He doesn’t seem like a total idiot, so I listened.”

His lips curl up in a lopsided smile. “Well, let’s see if we can move me into the range of not being an idiot at all. Let’s change up the exercises, your upper back is still too tight and I notice it’s impacting your lower back and hips. Lie down, face up.”

My back hits the vinyl, my eyes locked on the ceiling as he works with my hips and lower back. Curling my fingers, I press my nails into my palms to ground me. It doesn’t work. My eyes flutter closed as I follow his warm touch.

The trampoline is cool on our backs as we stare at the stars. Everyone has left the party and we’re finally able to relax, enjoy our time together without any pretenses. Landon’s fingers leave trails of tingles as he runs them up and down my arm, my sharp inhalation filling the silence.

I bounce as Landon rolls onto his side.

“I love how responsive you are to my touch, the sounds you make are so sexy.” He moans, his expression heated.

He presses into me, shifting until he’s balancing on his forearms over me. We’ve been getting more intimate and I’ve been struggling with the fact that he’s still with Melissa, but when we’re together and he’s touching me, that guilt fades just for the moment as I lose myself in the way he makes me feel.

When his lips brush against mine, I press up into him eager to connect our bodies even more. A moan slips out when he drops his weight onto me, his hands burying into my hair. I love the way his fingers massage my scalp in time with his kiss. Every part of me tingles, lost in the way he makes me feel.

“Stay with me. Please. I can’t bear the thought of not holding you in my arms tonight.”

I feel him standing above me before I hear him. “Did you fall asleep?” I pry open my eyes, blinking away the blurriness only to be met with his devastating smile, his expression teasing.

“No, just—thinking.” Cringing at the throaty sound of my voice, I clear my throat and sit up, allowing him to help me off the table before stepping away in an effort to ignore the heat in his eyes.

For the next thirty minutes he runs me through a series of exercises, tweaking them until he’s happy. My body is tired, my neck sore, by the time we wrap up.

Tilting my head side to side, I stretch it out. A little whoosh of air escapes when I feel Landon’s large hands land on my shoulders, his thumbs kneading the muscles in my neck.

I’m putty in his hands as he works out the tension, relaxing to the point I’m wavering on my feet. That is until a moan escapes from my lips. His hands squeeze my shoulders a little tighter, his fingers pressing into my collarbone. I almost take a step back, a step that would press my back into his chest, but I manage to keep my feet planted.

I won’t go through this again. I won’t be responsible for another person getting hurt.

His breath is hot on my neck as he exhales, his hands falling away. I take two quick steps forward before turning to grab my jacket.

I’m completely bundled before I feel capable of meeting Landon’s eyes, my face carefully impassive. He examines my expression, but doesn’t comment as he brushes past me to unlock the door, holding it open for me.

A blast of cold air whips my hair around me, falling snow hitting me in the face as we exit the building and he locks up behind us. “Ugh. More frickin’ snow.”

He cocks his head to the side. “You love the snow. You used to talk about it all the time.”

Hunching in on myself to fight the cold, I look up at him before glancing away as I answer, “I used to love it. I don’t anymore.”

He doesn’t respond as we cross the road to an Irish pub I’ve never been in. McLaughlin’s.

The door opens to a dimly lit room filled with music coming from a jukebox. Tables fill the center with booths lining the outer walls. The bar, lit with various beer signs, is against the wall closest to the entrance.

Landon leads me through the room to a secluded booth in the back corner. His hand brands my lower back as we walk. Even when it falls away, I can still feel the pressure, the heat.

He sits opposite me, resting his elbows on the table as he leans forward. “You disappeared on me fairly abruptly last night.”

Tapping my fingers on the table, I lean back and meet his gaze. “Brendan was sleeping in the next room, sleeping and thinking I was in bed next to him, and there I was talking to you. It felt—familiar and wrong,” I bite out, knowing my tone is harsh.

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