8. Langdon
Eight
Langdon
H er face lands squarely between my nipples. She’s so soft and supple. She glances up at me, blinking her long lashes slowly.
My cock twitches in my pants as she exhales. “You smell different awake,” she whispers then gasps. The little gasp is so adorably sexy, it nearly sucks all the oxygen from between us as I look down at her.
I take a step back uncertain that I heard what I heard. I look at Delia just in time to catch the spray of pink blossoming across the bridge of her nose and cheeks. She is so goddamn hot. I let out a roaring fit of laughter. In the right circumstances that joke would have landed so god damn well. I can’t stop my chest from heaving with my laugh. Fury twists her features into a scowl before she takes off past me .
I look up to Mom and Jennifer slightly embarrassed.
“Was it something I said?” I ask.
Delia’s mom laughs and shakes her head looking thoroughly amused, her long dark blonde hair dancing with the movement, while my mom skewers me with a withering glare. “Fix it Lang.”
Jennifer puts her hand on my mom’s forearm. “They’re kids. It’ll work itself out.” But my mother is not having it.
With a huff I march my ass out the porch to look for her. I didn’t do anything wrong. What’s a little harmless banter? I did not see her response coming. At all. She’s curled up as if she’s trying to make herself invisible in one of the rocking chairs. When she sees me, the way she glares at me with such hatred stabs my chest.
“Hey, I didn’t mean to, uh, embarrass you.”
She crinkles her nose. Her eyes soften at me but I’m fixated on her lips which look even softer. A little smile curves her mouth. I lick my bottom lip wishing she was still pressed against me. A vision of her sprawled across my bed, naked, flashes in my mind, and I quickly shove it away.
I take a seat in the other rocking chair, relieved to be outside where it’s cooler and there’s a slight breeze.
“Why are you guys even here?” she asks.
“We have dinner here every Sunday.” She is so much prettier in person. I thought her face was stunning through a dirty pane of glass but the whole package, she’s a snack with a capital S. I try to keep my eyes off her. Play it cool, Lang.
“Why?” she pushes .
I rub my hand over my head. Why was a damn good question. “Well, we’ve been bringing dinner over Sundays since Maeve died. Heath and Maeve helped our family through a tough time a while ago and my mom just took it upon herself to return the favor.”
“It’s been a year, right? Isn’t that long enough?” she huffs out.
“Listen, I’d rather be at the river swimming with my friends, but I’m here. Mom’s house, Mom’s rules.”
Stealing a glance at her profile, I notice she softens. Her slender jaw gives way to a delicate neck milky white and soft. “So you knew my grandparents pretty well?”
I shrug. “I mean yeah I guess. It’s a small ass town, everybody knows everybody.”
“What was she like?” Her breasts rise and fall as she breathes making it really hard to concentrate on anything. What is my deal. I need to get laid, it’s been too long.
“Who? Maeve?” I tear my eyes from her tank top. It’s humid and clings to her leaving little to the imagination. My cock twitches. Down boy.
“Yeah,” she says. There’s a slight wavering in her voice that softens my attitude.
I look out over the yard. The sun is sinking behind the horizon and soon it will just be moonlight. Thinking for a minute I tell her, “Maeve loved comfort foods like meatloaf and mac and cheese, and lasagna, and pints of beer. Kinda weird for a grandmother if you ask me.”
She snorts. “Not to me. Up until a few days ago, I didn’t even know I had living grandparents.”
“What?” I turn my gaze to her. Her eyes lock on mine and I can’t look away .
“Never mind,” she says and blinks, breaking my trance. She tucks an errant strand of dark blonde hair behind her ear.
“You can’t drop a bomb like that and pull a ceasefire,” I say.
“I’m a whole-ass minefield, just wait.” She laughs nervously.
I fold my arms, chin tilting as I lean back in my chair. “Meaning you’re full of surprises?”
A long pause follows. “What’s something you do when you’re nervous?” she asks.
“Wait, what? That’s not an answer.”
She shifts in her seat and the split in her skirt opens up revealing a smooth, toned thigh and I suddenly want nothing more than to reach out and touch it. I pick at the hem of my shirt instead.
She eyes me. “Just tell me.”
I shoot for honesty. “I pick at things when I’m nervous or working up a lather in my thoughts.” I immediately stop fiddling with my shirt.
Shit.
She laughs softly. It’s the most intoxicating laugh I’ve heard. It’s like…magic. “I like that. A lather of thoughts. Well, Langdon, I recite the most random and ridiculous memory my brain can retrieve. That was something someone said at my last school in class to his girlfriend, and it was hilarious—then—but obviously completely fell flat tonight.” She buries her hands in her face and groans.
“I thought it was pretty funny. I mean it was definitely original and a first for me. You will forever be the only girl to creepily tell me I smell different awake.”
She groans again. “Oh my god. Please let this die with us. My thoughts seem to be locked and loaded in my mouth without a filter. And then I open it and they just ricochet around, shooting out of my mouth and bouncing off other people’s horrified faces right back into my mouth. It’s torture.”
I want to laugh so badly. I swallow it down instead and allow her the grace of changing the subject. “Are you bummed to start a new school your senior year?”
She stands and stretches revealing a sliver of skin between the waist of her skirt and the hem of her tank top. It looks soft and warm and like my lips should be on it. I really need to get laid.
She shrugs. “I start a new school every year. Status quo for me.”
A rush of breath leaves me. “What? Every year?”
That can’t possibly be true.
She turns to me and smiles. “In eleven years, I’ve been the new kid…” her eyes glance up, mentally counting, “twelve times already.”
My brow wrinkles in confusion. “How’s that possible?”
She stares out at the yard. Come on, look at me. Give me those green eyes. I need to get my shit together. She’s just a girl. “One year we moved mid-school year. New kid twice that year.”
“Jesus, that sucks,” I say.
And it does. I can’t even comprehend it, honestly. I’ve been with the same kids since kindergarten. Perks of small town life. I can’t even remember the last time we had a new kid at school. Maybe Ninth grade?
She shrugs. “It’s fine. Only one year left.”
“Langdon, Delia, Dinner,” Anderson all but screams from the screen door .
I roll my eyes and Delia frowns at the shrill sound as I holler back at him that we’re coming. I push out of my seat and stand as she passes by, not smiling. “You should smile. You have a nice smile.”
And just like that, I’ve committed the cardinal sin of sexist cliches. You’re an idiot Langdon. A grade A douche bag.
She makes a sound of disgust and pins me to my spot with her eyes. “How bout this, I’ll smile when I fucking feel like it.”
We eat dinner and thankfully there are no more awkward interactions between Delia and I, sadly because there are absolutely no interactions between us at all. She deftly avoids me at every opportunity. Can’t say I blame her. As mom packs up the dishes we brought, Heath pops over to say goodbye to me.
“Langdon,” he says in his gruff voice as she shakes my hand the way old people do, with a weird arm grip plus the handshake. I don’t get it. “See you next week?”
“Yeah, of course,” I say.
He glances at Delia and I allow myself to do the same. “Maybe you should get Delia’s number, show her around. It’s tough to be the new kid in town here.”
Delia sighs from the living room. “That won’t be necessary Heath. I don’t have a phone.”
“I’m sorry what?!” I squawk.
“I don’t have a phone. Or a tablet. Or a laptop. Or a TV.”
“Delia, my dear,” my mom interjects laughing. It’s weird to see my mom this happy and loose. She hasn’t been like this for a long time. “I think you might be the perfect child. I can barely get Langdon and Anderson off their devices long enough to have a conversation most days.”
Delia smiles at my mom. “Ha. Definitely not the perfect child. But thank you.”
“Didn’t see that coming,” I say to Delia.
“I’m sure there’s a lot you don’t see coming,” she quips back and gives me a sultry little grin.
Touche. Game on my friend, game on. My dad blows out a laugh while my mom presses the back of her hand to her mouth to stifle hers.
Great.
Humiliated in front of my parents.
Har har.
“Check ya later, D!” Anderson says an inch from her face in his outside voice. He holds up his hand for a high five. Delia stares at it a beat then gently pokes her index finger into the center of his palm.
“Peace out, A.” She smiles at him.
My heart melts a little. All my friends treat Anderson like the bastard little brother (which he often is) but damn does my chest feel warm at the sight of her being a good sport for his sake.
Mom shuffles us all out the door and into the car and I’m stuck thinking about hot, weird perfect Delia the entire drive home.