Chapter 21
LANDON
Waking up next to Dean was getting to be a habit very quickly, and one I was pretty pleased with.
It felt more natural than waking up next to Geoff had ever been. It was just so . . . easy.
I opened my eyes to find his beautiful sleeping face next to mine, and a moment later, he opened his own eyes, still sleepy, and smiled at me.
“My turn to make the coffee,” I said, leaning in to plant a kiss on the tip of his nose.
He gave me another sleepy smile, grabbed the pillow I vacated, and pulled it in for a snuggle, pressing his nose into it and taking a deep breath, like the smell of where I’d slept was the best thing in the whole world.
How had I gotten so damn lucky?
I wandered into the kitchen, took a moment to start the coffee maker, and then stared into the fridge for a bit.
I had eggs, so I could make breakfast. Given Dean’s clear sweet tooth, I could probably make something like .
. . French toast. I even had the syrup. I always got the real maple kind, because my parents had always insisted on the corn syrup with brown coloring, because it was cheaper, and they said the taste was close enough.
It was certainly not.
Yeah, that sounded good. It was easier than pancakes, and filled the same general need.
The need to feed my man something he would like.
I pulled the eggs out of the fridge and started gathering the other ingredients. Bread, and cinnamon, and—
There was a knock at the door.
What the hell?
It was nine in the morning on a Saturday, who would be bothering us at a time like that? My mind immediately went to Lucas, worrying that maybe something was wrong with him, or with Dean’s family, and maybe Dean’s phone had died in the night and—
The knock came again, shoving me right out of my catastrophizing spiral. I rushed over to the door, though, because if Lucas needed us, and Dean’s phone had stopped working, then—
Geoff.
Geoff was standing at the door to my apartment.
“What the actual fuck?” I demanded, which was . . . maybe a little rude. I didn’t care too much. Geoff was my past, and not a good part. Not something I wanted to revisit. I had never, ever wanted to see him again in my entire life.
Hell, I had wanted to see him almost less than I wanted to see my brother or parents.
His betrayal hadn’t been as heart-shattering as theirs, but frankly, after it, I had been left with no good feelings about him whatsoever.
For my parents, there were memories of birthday cakes and graduations and hugging me when I was sick for me to lay alongside the betrayal as a contrast. To make it seem like I was losing something, rather than excising a cancer from my life.
For Geoff? There was a lot of behavior I’d only realized in retrospect had been one red flag after another. Not wanting to be open about our relationship, not caring about my feelings, not contributing anything to our relationship while I gave my all and then some.
Looking back at Geoff only reminded me how I’d ignored one thing after another, convincing myself that it was all fine, as long as he loved me. All the while overlooking the important fact that no, he didn’t love me at all.
I doubted he loved anyone.
Carefully, I braced a bare foot behind the door, just in case, and only let it open halfway. “What do you want, Geoff? How did you even find me?”
He gave me his winning salesman smile, and it was .
. . frankly, it was shocking how easy it was to see through it, suddenly.
It was empty, devoid of emotion. It was like .
. . authors always said in books “his smile didn’t reach his eyes,” and until that moment, seeing Geoff’s empty smile where his eyes didn’t change at all, I hadn’t truly understood what it meant.
“This moving company sent something to our old place about finding your missing box,” he said, pulling an open envelope out of his jacket pocket.
I narrowed my eyes at him. “Did you open mail that was sent to me?”
“Well, you weren’t there to open it,” he justified.
He’d spent a lot of our relationship justifying his behavior, and for some reason I’d never thought much about why. Hell, sometimes I’d felt bad about it, like I was “nagging” him, forcing him to justify himself.
But he never would have had to do it, if he hadn’t been an asshole to begin with.
“It’s illegal to open someone else’s mail,” I said, trying to snatch the letter from him, but he pulled it away.
“What else was I supposed to do with your letters, Landon? You weren’t there to open them. They might have been important. Like this one, they had your grandmother’s china. I know you care about that crap.”
And that? That was worrying. They had it, he’d said. Not have it.
So they found the box and sent the information to the wrong address.
And now?
“They were supposed to bring it here. I’ve been in contact with them and they—”
“Oh I told them not to worry about it,” he said, big fake fucking grin again. “I said I would just pick it up.”
Had.
Because now, he had my china. He’d . . . he’d stolen it. Was he planning on giving it to my parents? Hold it hostage unless I went to his wedding to my asshole brother?
“Then where is it?” I asked, not even realizing I was clenching my teeth until halfway through the sentence, when it came out sounding livid.
He leaned against the doorframe, invading my space, forcing me to either let him in by backing up, or allow him to practically kiss me, he’d placed himself so fucking close to me.
But that?
That was when a hand slid firmly across the small of my back, wrapping around my waist, and Dean tugged me back against him.
He, too, wore a smile that didn’t reach his eyes.
Unlike Geoff, though, his eyes weren’t cold and unfeeling like a fish or a lizard. His eyes were angry. Blazing with it. With the barely leashed violence of the panther he was.
He tugged me into his chest protectively and watched Geoff with avid, dark eyes. “Hey babe. Why don’t you introduce me to the random guy knocking on our door at ass-o’clock on a Saturday morning? And did I hear him say he stole your grandma’s china?”
Even I wanted to hide from the predator now, if only because I was afraid to get Geoff’s blood on me when Dean tore him open, because that was clearly what he had on his mind.
That . . . was the hottest thing I had ever seen in my life.