Doing It for Love(25)

He gives me a strained grin. "Even your unconscious mind wants me."

I drop my gaze to his boxers, a wet bead near the push of his erection against the material. Slowly, I shift my legs, gently peel my sweaty body away from his, and let out a large breath.

"I'm … I'm going to sleep in the spare room."

I sit up and grab at a pillow, but a hand locks around my wrist.

"What? You can't leave me like this."

"I have to."

He sits up, too. His eyebrows knit together like I'm joking. "Then stay and talk him down. It's your fault he's awake."

"It's your fault I woke him up."

"How the hell is this my fault?"

"You know exactly why it's your fault." I rip my hand away, flustered and hot and needing space before I leap on him and ride out the stress. "You were all hump talking before."

"Hump talking?"

"About the accidental slip. And the humping."



       
         
       
        

"I didn't say anything about humping."

Yes he did! "You said the word 'thrust.' "

He grabs at his hair, and I can't look at him because even that is turning me on.

"You're seriously leaving?" he asks.

"If you don't want me to, then stop me." I drop the pillow, knowing full well that the nips are up and ready. He pulls at his hair again.

"Damn it, you're not playing fair!"

"You're not either!" Him and his cleaning the house and rocking the risky business and talking about thrusting, so much thrusting, and never wearing a shirt or wearing the shirts that are completely awesome on his body, and I can't look at him without getting frustrated.

"It's different and you know it," he says.

"Why? Because you're a guy?"

"Well, yeah!"

"I'm going through hell, too. I was just humping our bedsheets!"

"I've been hard for three months."

"I've been wet for three months."

"Urgh, stop saying shit like that. You're doing it on purpose."

"Then just give in."

"I can't."

"Because of Sundance?"

"Yeah."

"You go every year, Landon. Why not skip one for our wedding?"

"You don't get it. It's inspiring, gets the creative juices flowing. I see what's out there, who's out there, get to chat with people who understand. Every year is another step toward directing. I don't want to miss it." He rubs his eyes. "Can't we move the date?"

"I've already booked the hall. Our hall. I told you it was the only weekend available unless you wanted to wait a year. But then, a year is still around Sundance, so either way I lose."

"You're damn near winning this thing."

"I'm not talking about the bet!" I chuck my pillow at him. "I'm talking about how you care more about Sundance than our wedding."

"I'm not saying that. I'm just saying our wedding date is more flexible than Sundance."

"I just told you about the hall-"

"I don't care about the hall. We could get married in a McDonald's and it wouldn't matter."

"It doesn't matter to you?"

He narrows his eyes, and damn him for looking good doing it. "Stop twisting it. That's not what I meant."

"Then what did you mean?"

"That I don't care where we get married. I just want to get married." 

"For sex? Or for Sundance."

"Shit, I'm not gonna talk to you right now. You're just gonna take everything the wrong way."

"Fine." I snatch the pillow back and march to the door.

"Congratulations," he calls out. "You talked him down!"

"Good, because I won't need him for another two months. Maybe more!"

Then I slam the door, stuff my face in the pillow, and scream.





Chapter 19


"Um, Elizabeth? Try to smile in this one, okay?" Helen, our engagement photographer, says. She's laughing, but it's one of those really awkward laughs people use when they just want to get out of the damn place as soon as they can.

I tighten my grip on Landon's belt loop, my whole body soaked in sweat from my thick wardrobe. Seriously regretting the winter theme as the unusually bright November sun beats down on us in our beanies.

Normally I'd be celebrating this weather, but the frostiness between me and my fiancé trumps it. Landon and I have been practically forced to touch each other. I bet Helen wonders if one of us needs a green card.

"Okay, Landon, relax your hand. Squeeze in together. Elizabeth, smile. Landon, rest your forehead on hers. You have to smile, too. Look each other in the eyes. Elizabeth, keep your finger in his belt loop, but rotate your wrist so we get the ring. Okay … Stay still … one, two, three. And another, one, two, three. One more, smile, don't drop that smile, Landon, you need to smile."

Landon's jaw is so clenched I think if Helen were a man he'd have decked her by now. And as upset as I am at him for being just as pissy as I have been, we need to get through this. So while I'm trying to "gaze fondly" into his eyes, I drop the façade, pull major duck lips, and cross my eyes.

His jaw unlocks as the first smile I've seen today breaks out on his face. Helen snaps a few pictures, so I give Landon a few kissy faces, too. He closes the tiny space between our lips and the small peck sends electric static down the back of my neck.

"That's great," Helen says, breaking what was barely a moment. "Playful works for you guys really well. Let's move over to the gazebo for a couple shots."

I increase the distance between our faces, and Landon's jaw tightens right back up. I stuff a Mr. Goodbar from my pocket into my mouth when he's not looking.

Helen takes more shots of us by the gazebo, by a tree, in a pile of snow, of us throwing snowballs at each other-that was actually pretty stress relieving, and we got supercompetitive and she said there were a ton of shots that were useful. But even after she drives off with a positive smile, I doubt the shoot is full of romantic, Save the Date – worthy pictures. Just another Hurdle I'm basically stumbling over.

"How long will you be this afternoon?" Landon asks when we get in the car and strip out of our coats and beanies. I'm already pulling out my phone to tell Theresa the pictures are done and now we can get my dress! The winter sale started today. Time to take that baby home.

"Shouldn't be long," I tell him, pushing my phone back into my pocket. "You editing tonight?"

He shrugs. "Probably. I need to use Jace's computer at the studio though. It's easier to edit from a desktop."

"Call him."

"You're okay if I'm a bit late?"

"Sure. Theresa will keep me company." And I can wear my dress around the apartment in an attempt to untwist my panties.

He presses his lips together and starts the car. The speedometer reads "something's bugging your fiancé" as we head home, but I don't say anything, worried that if I do we're just going to fight again.



       
         
       
        

So I just take his hand and squeeze it twice, keeping my gaze out the passenger window. After seven Mississippis, he squeezes back.

-

Theresa pulls and pulls on the zipper, but it won't budge. I'm sucking in so hard I feel like my belly button could pop out my butt crack.

"I'm sorry, Liz," she says after a gusty sigh. "It's not going to fit."

No, no, no. It has to fit. This is THE dress. "Give me two seconds to breathe and we'll try again," I say, determined not to let my chocolate indulgence over the past two months be the cause of my dream dress demise. I prop myself up against the wall of the dressing room and relax my stomach before she starts pulling at me again.

"I … I think you're SOL. Look at my fingers. I'm going to be drawing blood if I tug on that zipper one more time."

"But … this is … this is my dress."

She puts a hand on my upper back, and I refuse to see the complete surrender in her eyes.

"It fit last time you put it on, didn't it?"

I lift a shoulder. "I thought so. But I couldn't zip it myself, so I zipped as much as I could." My eyes drift to hers and I straighten my back. "What am I going to do? I can't lose an entire dress size between now and the wedding."

"You could … if you give up the chocolate."

I think about the day I've had, and the only good thing so far has been that Mr. Goodbar. "It's the only thing keeping me sane."

"Then have sex."

"I'm not flaking out!"

She crosses her arms as if to say I'm being a complete bridezilla and it's my fault I can't squeeze into the thing.

It's Hershey's fault.

I slap my hands over my face and try to form a plan to make this dress fit, but Theresa pulls on my arms.

"Don't panic. Dress shops like these do alterations all the time, I'm sure. Let me go get someone, okay?"

"This is why you're my best friend."

"Don't get blubbery on me."

She steps from the dressing room, leaving me alone to look at the bulging areas of my body that I've never been overly self-conscious about before, but now … ugh.