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I smile even before I check, hoping it’s Landon. I’ve never been this giddy over a guy, and somehow, texting him makes my day more tolerable.
Or maybe it’s the concussion, or the mandatory week off work.
April’s still always there, though. Her memory haunts me, and even in my peaceful moments, I never truly forget that a part of me is missing.
But Landon makes me smile, and that’s more than I could have hoped for.
I gasp in surprise when I see the text.
Hey, it’s River. I know it’s short notice, but are you busy tonight?
I frown. I never gave him my number, so he must have gotten it from Landon.
No. Why?
I still feel awkward after our last encounter. I know he knows what I did to his jacket, and when he left with Landon, he didn’t really even say goodbye.
Landon said River would help me, but I can’t help but feel that it might be because he feels obligated to.
Good. Because I’m turning onto your street.
He’s what?
I reread the text; unsure my eyes are working properly.
Nope. He’s definitely turning onto my street, and I’m dressed in nothing but sleep shorts and a thin white tank top.
Practically nothing is left to the imagination—and as tempting as it would be to answer the door like that, I’m not sure what his response would be.
I’m elated but terrified.
I’ll be alone with him again after smearing my slick all over his clothing like an animal.
But if he’s coming over, I’m sure that means he’s here to talk about April, which is a good sign.
It’s exactly what I wanted.
Maybe he won’t even bring the jacket up?
Thankfully, my oversized lavender sweater hangs off the arm of the couch. I toss it on just as there’s a knock at my door.
My stomach flutters and his spicy, rich scent infiltrates my senses as I open the door.
It’s barely been a few days, but I forgot how handsome he was.
His hair is disheveled, as if he’d been running his fingers through it nervously. His eyes are a stunning forest green, and he looks at me with hunger. His eyes rake over my body before he meets my gaze.
“Hi,” he says, his voice low.
He’s also wearing a different jacket. It’s fitted black leather, and combined with his dark jeans, he looks like every dark fantasy I could have conjured.
My throat is dry, and my mating gland throbs under my sweater.
“Hi,” I croak back.
“Can I come in?” he asks. My eyes dart to his lips, and I swallow. Were they always that full?
“Of course,” I answer, stepping aside so he can enter. I watch as he places the laptop he has under his arm onto the counter, and then he turns to me.
