He gives me a strained grin, then falls into the sheets.
"Iwannayousarewonmumph."
"What was that?" I laugh, coaxing his head up.
"I want to use our one-a-month."
My eyebrows rise. "It hasn't been a month."
"True, but last time was in November," he says matter-of-factly. "It's December now."
"Is that how this works?"
"Mmmhmm," he mumbles before kissing my shoulder.
"I'm … I'm still mad at you," I struggle to say as my body ignites against his. My hips press upward, my nails drag down the toned skin of his back, and my eyelids flutter as every nerve ending pulsates.
"I know," he says through another kiss. "But I'm not sorry."
Just like that, my completely revved-up body retreats into itself. If I could cross my legs, I would. The garage is closed; no one's getting in without the code. The urge to push him off and bolt straight out the door makes my hands and knees twitch.
"Excuse me?"
He pushes himself up, hovering, but not touching. Perhaps he senses that his parts are in danger. "I'm not sorry for why I left."
"You don't have to be sorry about that," I bite out. "But you should be sorry for not talking to me."
"I told you I was okay."
"In what world is that enough to ease my mind? I thought you were calling off the wedding."
"Why would you ever think that?" His voice rises. "After everything I've said to you, after the years we've been together, after our date-"
"You mean the date you tucked me in, didn't come to bed, and then left without a word the next day? I was out of my mind. You didn't answer your phone, you wouldn't text me, and the only thing I get is something from Alec and Jace saying you're spending the night at their places. How would you feel if I did that to you?"
"I was doing it for you."
I roll my eyes and cover my chest. He does not get to see boobs right now.
"Just say you're sorry."
"Fine. I'm sorry."
He doesn't sound it at all, and he starts kissing my cheeks and whispering things, but I can't breathe. I feel too confined, too claustrophobic, and I don't want him on me anymore. Not if he's going to be a major asshole.
"Get up."
"What?"
"I don't want to anymore."
I roll out from under him, and he sits up, reaching out to me. "No, wait, Liz. I … I was going to … I mean, I was going to give up."
"What?" I mumble, searching for clothing.
"You can have the Bahamas. I'm done. Tossing in the towel. You've made your point. And I am sorry." He stands up and presses his forehead to mine while I grapple for a pillow so I can fall asleep on the couch watching fantasy guys who apologize in the third act and mean it. "I promise you, I'm sorry."
His hand wraps around mine and he squeezes twice, and I love him, I do, but I'm so confused about our future, what we want for each other and what we want for ourselves, and the fact that he left without a word and that it feels like he's only sorry because I don't want to have sex. And what does that mean in the long run? I'm just scared and upset and tired, and I want a night to think.
So it takes me a long time to squeeze his hand back.
But I do.
"I can't tonight, okay? I need … I don't know, a break."
"We just spent two nights away from each other. You really want a third?"
I get a hold of the pillow and pull it up against my chest. "Those two nights were your choice. This one is mine."
Then I leave him to the bed, wondering if this is what our marriage will be like and if there is any chocolate in the cupboard.
Chapter 27
The Hurdles of Getting Married Surviving Engagement
1. Don't get cold feet over one argument.
2. Don't get cold feet over ten thousand arguments.
I slam my face into the throw pillow and roar. My poor laptop is in danger of being thrown across the room. These Hurdles are impossible. I think I'm more suited for the thirty-yard sprint.
I could've won. We could be cuddling in the bedroom, naked and warm, after the greatest sex of all-make-up sex-but how can it be make-up sex when I don't know if we're going to make up? He doesn't know how incredibly wrong it was to have left like that. And he is wrong. Totally wrong. I'm right, damn it.
Groaning into the pillow again, I twist and turn, buck naked on the couch. The only thing we've discovered with the no-sex experiment is that we're both incredibly unbearable without it. What will happen when I'm pregnant and I don't want him touching me for fear that I'll puke all over him? Or say one of us gets paralyzed from the waist down? Or what happens when we have kids and there's no time? Or when I go through menopause? Will what we have outside our physical relationship be enough to sustain a marriage? Will we even be able to stand one another? Will life become … boring?
My fingers tighten in the pillow, and I press farther into the feathers, wanting to chase those ridiculous thoughts from my brain. But I can't. We are forever peas and carrots.
I grab at the throw blanket on the back of the couch, knocking down a picture from the collage wall. It's too dark to search behind the couch for it, and I'm too mad to care, so I slump into the cushions, wrap the blanket tight around my shoulders, and burrow my feet into the cracks.
I miss Landon's warm legs, and I hate myself for it.
-
I'm completely splayed out on the couch when I wake up, legs wide open and arms high over my head. A beautiful trail of drool drips on my shoulder, and I lazily wipe it away. A pang in my back makes me wince when I sit up. My laptop is open on the coffee table, with a steaming mug next to it.
My Hurdles List has been tampered with.
I slide closer, wrapping the blanket around my buck-ass naked body, and squint to read the typing.
The Hurdles of Getting Married Surviving Engagement Sleeping Alone
1. Try not to miss Liz when you turn off the light.
2. Try not to miss Liz when you pull the sheets up.
3. Try not to miss Liz's cold feet. (Her literal cold feet.)
4. Try not to think about Liz getting metaphorical cold feet.
5. Try not to miss Liz at midnight.
6. Try not to miss Liz at one o'clock.
7. Try not to miss Liz at two o'clock.
8. Forget sleeping, just look at her naked body while you still have the chance.
9. Try not to wake her up as you lie on the floor next to her.
10. Hold her hand. Squeeze it twice.
I just finish reading the last Hurdle when I smell Landon's aftershave waft from the bathroom.
"I'm sorry," he says from behind me.
I don't turn around. "For what?"
"Everything."
"Which is what?"
He sighs, and I finally turn to look at him with an arched eyebrow. He needs to be specific so I know he won't pull this shit again. His lips turn up slightly, and he settles his baseball cap on the back of the couch before leaning in.
"I'm sorry for leaving for three days. I'm sorry for not calling you back, not texting you, and for acting like it wasn't a big deal."
"Is that all?" It better not be all.
"Uh … is it?"
I shake my head, swivel in my seat, and take a sip of my steaming coffee.
"Um … I'm sorry for … touching your computer?"
"No."
"I'm sorry for leaving my socks on the floor?"
"We both know you'll do that again."
"I'm sorry for deleting your vampire show?"
"You did what?"
His silently laughs and slides onto the couch next to me.
"I'm just tossing out shit. I don't know what else there is-"
"You should be sorry for not being sorry last night."
He tosses his hands in the air. "How in the hell was I supposed to figure that out?"
"Landon … " I press, and he tugs on the ends of the blanket wrapped around my shoulders, pulling me in close.
"I love you, and I'm sorry for not being sorry." He rests his forehead against mine. "Did I pass now?"
I nod my approval. "You had me at the Hurdle List."
"You devil woman."
"It was very romantic."
"Very out of character for me."
"You're more romantic than you think."
Landon moves my ponytail off my shoulder as he shakes his head. It finally feels like us again, even with the engagement nearly at a close. My stomach belly-flops at the thought of the wedding being in a little over a month, but instead of getting worked up about it, I toss the blanket off. Landon's gorgeous eyes bulge and don't miss a beat drifting down.
"You still want our one-a-month?"
Chapter 28
Even though I proposed our cheat, Landon didn't take me up on it. Instead he went to work and asked to cash in later. But it's been five weeks since the naked argument, and I haven't seen Lord Landon since. The worst part? I haven't really noticed. Not with all the Wedding Hurdles.
Dress Hurdle … well, I finally gave up on the dress. It was enough to drive me to The Cheesecake Factory with my last ten bucks where I received a phone call from Satan my future mother-in-law to inform me that they're coming in for Christmas.