Page 66 of Don't Look Down

Nope. Stop it, Spencer. You got here five seconds ago. How are you going to last hours with this little self-control?

He gestures for me to come inside. I’ve just been standing in the doorway, staring at him.

My eyes wander the space. His space. The entryway is cozy. There’s a set of stairs to my right. Movement draws my attention. His hands partially cover his eyes, and caution fills his words as he asks, “How was the flight?”

My face twists in remembered pain. “Takeoff was just as traumatic as usual. Thankfully, the skies were clear and there was a blessed lack of turbulence for once. Leigh’s services weren’t even needed this time. I was wiped, so I knocked out not long after we reached max altitude. The landing gear dropping out scared me shitless, though. That was a fun way to wake up.”

He grimaces, then starts making his way down a short hallway; his bare feet gently sound across the tile floor. I toe off my shoes and pad after him in my socks.

“Sounds like a very rude awakening. But it’s great you were able to sleep and avoid most of the torture, right?”

“Definitely.” I pass a door that can only lead into the garage. Sky’s in the kitchen, puttering around back and forth from the stove to the cabinets.

My eyes bounce around the space as he dishes up our breakfast. A home says a lot about a person. His is an open concept, with an island separating the kitchen from the living room and dining area. It’s modern and fresh and open. Just like Sky.

Clean lines with white, gray, stainless steel, and black. And because it’s Sky’s home, there’re fun splashes of color mixed in on kitchen towels, throw pillows, photos on the walls. Even his pots and pans are a bright shade of blue. Mine are black. If not for Mom’s input, my own house would be dreadfully lacking in color and life.

Not Sky’s. His home is just as fun and vibrant as he is.

He makes his way over to the dining table and sets our plates down. “Uh, want me to grab us some drinks?” I’ve been standing here daydreaming, while he’s been working hard on our meal. “Put me to work. I’m not great in the kitchen, but I can handle that much. Where are your cups?”

I’m opening cabinets aimlessly, when I feel his warmth against my back. My breath catches and I freeze. His arm brushes past mine, and he reaches into the proper cabinet to take down two glasses.

“I’ve got this. You go sit.” He hip bumps me out of his way and shoos me with an honest to God pat on my ass.

“Fine, fine.” There’s a bit of huskiness in my voice from the contact. There’s no way something so innocent should be affecting me this much. I need to just rub one out already. Or call Savannah over like she’s been asking.

The thought doesn’t excite me at all.

My ass barely touches the chair, when I’m scolded, “Not that seat, Landon, that’s my chair.”

Oh, shit.I jump up so fast. His laughter shouldn’t surprise me, but it does. His shoulders are shaking from the force of his laughter. The little shit. My nerves are too tightly strung for this right now. “Fuck you.”

“We’ve already had that conversation, Landon. Now sit down and relax. You’re so tense, I couldn’t resist.”

My shoulders droop, all tension immediately gone.

Nervous? Yes.

Awkwardly tense? We can’t have that.

My breath leaves me slowly. “I don’t know why I’m nervous.”

He flaps his hand around in the air, “Psh. Calm yourself. Everything is super chill. Is water good? Or do you want orange juice? I make a bomb café con leche.”

His accent thickens on the words. It shouldn’t be as hot as it is, but here we are.Gimme an extra serving of that please.He can talk to me in Spanish all day.

“Water, please.” That’ll help with the desert that is now my throat.

Sky sets our glasses on the table, then folds himself into the chair next to me. Full-on cross-legged on his seat. Fucking adorable. I watch him scoop a bit of scrambled eggs into his mouth. When he glances up, our eyes meet. His eyebrows scrunch, before he hastily chews and swallows his bite. Hesitantly, like he’s expecting judgment or admonishment, he asks, “What?”

Clearing my throat, I smile at him. My head shakes from side to side, then I reach for my own fork. “Nothing, I’m just happy to be here with you.”

His relief is apparent. His smile is back. He squeezes my bicep with one hand, “Aww, me too, boo. Now eat so we can veg out.”

The food is delicious. The eggs are light and fluffy and the bacon and hashbrowns have just the right mixture of softness and crunch. Sky made enough for an army. It would be rude to waste his efforts. I grab a healthy second serving.

A little while later, we’re settled on opposite ends of Sky’s overstuffed sectional. He’s tucked into the corner, legs folded under him. It seems to be his favorite position.

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