“Damn. Sorry. You can just give it to Mia and she’ll give it to me.”
“Cami, can I ask you something?”
“Of course.”
“Have I done something to piss you off or hurt your feelings?”
I frown. “No, not that I recall.”
“Then why are you so determined to avoid me?”
Now Scoot chooses to wind himself between my legs, purring, making me almost trip. “Crap!”
“Cami?”
“Sorry, I just tripped over the cat.” I swallow hard. “I’m not avoiding you, Landon. I’m just living my life.”
“And living your life includes not seeing me?”
Yes, because it’s easier that way!
And better on my libido.
“I see you.”
“I don’t think you do, Cami. I’ll just run this over to you.”
“Oh, you don’t have to—”
But before I can finish, he’s gone.
Chapter 4
~Landon~
Now I can’t stop thinking about the last time Cami got laid. It’s not a thought that I’m comfortable with. Since I’ve been home, the thought of anyone else putting their hands on her makes me a little crazy.
Okay, to be honest, I haven’t been comfortable with other men putting their hands on her in . . . ever.
But damn it, the next time she gets laid is going to be with me if I have anything at all to say about it.
And I think I do.
Damn right I do.
I climb her stairs and ring the doorbell, frowning at the burned-out porch light. That’s an accident waiting to happen.
I’ll replace it for her.
“Hey, Landon,” she says with a smile as she opens the door. “Thanks for bri—”
CRASH.
She closes her eyes, hangs her head, and sighs. “Damn cat. Sorry.”
And with that, she turns and runs for the kitchen, her ass swaying nicely in her jeans, her blond hair bouncing around her shoulders. I step in and shut the door, slip out of my shoes, wet from the rain, and follow her.
“You’re such a menace,” she hisses at the cat, who simply lies down and watches her sweep up broken glass.
“I’m so glad to see that y’all are still getting along so well.”
“Why do I suddenly feel like I didn’t get a cat, but rather he got a human?” She chuckles and shakes her head. “Wait. I’ve always felt like that. I’m his slave, for God sake. Thanks for bringing that by. You can just leave it on the countertop. I don’t want you to step on glass.”
She’s not looking at me. Come to think of it, she’s avoided looking me directly in the eyes since I got home. I lay the iPad on the counter, shove my hands in my pockets, and lean against the doorjamb, watching her sweep, scoop, and dump the glass.
When she’s finished, she turns and her eyes widen as she comes to an abrupt stop.
“You’re still here.”
I nod. “You know, Cami, it used to be that we had a great friendship. We could talk for hours, just about anything. We laughed. We weren’t uncomfortable around each other.”
“I’m not uncomfortable now,” she lies, and bites her lip.
“We never lied to each other,” I continue calmly. “You once knew more about me than anyone else in the world.”
“Yep, I was your ol’ pal Cami,” she says sarcastically. “And I’m still your friend, Landon, but you’ve barely spoken to me over the years.”
“I’ve spoken to you,” I reply.
“Not the way we used to. And I get it.” She holds a hand up. “You made it clear that you didn’t think it was right to have a close friendship with a married woman.”
It was a cop-out. I just couldn’t stand hearing about the new husband.
“I should have kept in contact,” I murmur, suddenly regretting my cowardice.
She frowns and leans her hips against the countertop. “That was a long time ago.” Her voice is soft as she stares at Scoot. “But I missed you.”
“I did too,” I reply. “I’ve missed you for a lot of years.”
“I’ve always been right here.” She holds her hands out at her sides.
“And I’m the one who went away,” I finish for her. “But I’m home now, and I don’t want to keep having this uncomfortable distance between us, Cami. We’re better than that.”
“So, you want to be friends again?” She tilts her head to the side, her dimple winking at me as she bites her lip. “Not that we were ever not friends, but you know what I mean.”
“No.” Enough of this talking-in-circles bullshit. I begin to walk toward her, slowly. “That’s not what I mean.” Her shoulders straighten as I approach. Green eyes widen and are fixed on me now. “I want. To take you. On a date.”
Finally, I’m inches from her, but I’m not touching her. My hands are braced on the countertop next to her hips and I’m leaning in. She licks her lips. Her pupils dilate.
She’s not immune to me, and damn if I don’t want to boost her up on this countertop and take her, right now.
“A d-d-date?” she stutters.
I nod slowly. “A date. Dinner. Conversation.” My eyes skim over her, from her hair to her lips. “The kind of date that might end with a kiss.”
“What kind of kiss?” she whispers, staring at my lips.
“The good kind,” I reply, also whispering.
“I don’t know if that’s a good idea.”
I frown. “Why?”