I nudged him with my shoulder. “Don’t fish for compliments. You know you’re hot.”
He looked down at me with a raised brow. “Am I?”
It was a genuine question, one that made me want to reassure him of the truth. “Very much so. I mean, have you seen your muscles?” Bold, I wrapped my hand around his bicep. “And when you get a little stubble around your jaw, like you do now? Hot.”
I couldn’t tell if it was the light or if Landon’s cheeks really had pinked.
He gently held the underside of my jaw as he pressed a soft kiss to my lips, gone as quick as it came. I leaned forward, reaching for one more. He supplied it, followed by a kiss to my cheek.
“I’m not as hot as you are, but I appreciate the compliment,” he said, pulling back. “We should probably take showers before we take this any farther.”
I could shower with you,I almost quipped, but I held in my comment. Instead, I followed him to the kitchen.
“I can make you some tea if you’d like.”
I crinkled my nose. “You know how to make tea?”
He pointed to the kettle on the stove. “I’ve been practicing.”
A fit body and good hair were one thing, but what really made a man hot was when he showed you he paid attention to your interests.
Landon opened one of the cabinets, revealing a surprisingly tidy lineup of tea boxes, tins, and glass jars. It was a miniature apothecary—familiar names like Earl Grey and green tea sat beside more whimsical ones: lavender chamomile, spiced chai, cinnamon fig, and something called Vanilla Ruby Dream with a label covered in gold stars.
“This is…” I trailed off, blinking at the shelves. “A lot of tea.”
He rubbed the back of his neck, suddenly sheepish. “Yeah, uh. I passed this tea shop a few weeks back and may have blacked out in the herbal aisle.”
I laughed. “That’s actually really sweet.”
He gave a crooked smile. “How about you shower while I make us something warm?”
“Sure,” I said, oddly touched by the domesticity of it all.
He walked me through the rest of his apartment, covered with books and DVDs on shelves and a shoe rack by the door that was actually organized. In the bathroom, he handed me a soft, faded gray towel that smelled like detergent and a hint of cedar.
“Let me know if you need anything.” He hovered for a second before gently shutting the door behind him.
Steam filled the room as I quickly showered, grateful I had the foresight to take an everything shower before today’s adventure. His shower was immaculately clean, the shelves stocked with neutral-scented shampoo, conditioner, and fancy bodywash.
Landon had lent me a few clothing items: a navy T-shirt, soft with age, and a pair of drawstring sweatpants. When I pulledthem on, the pants bunched at the waist and dragged a bit at the hem. The T-shirt nearly swallowed me, brushing mid-thigh. I glanced at myself in the mirror, cheeks pink from the hot water, long hair in need of a trim.Good enough.
Clothed in his warmth, I padded out of the bathroom toward the scent of cinnamon and chamomile drifting in the air.
“Hopefully, it lives up to your standards,” teased Landon, pushing a chipped mug in my direction. “I’m going to shower.”
“Your tea will get cold—” I turned around to warn Landon, who was already walking into his bedroom. While taking his shirt off. Pretty sure my eyes may have widened on my face, cartoon style, when I caught a glimpse of his soft skin and corded muscles.
I quickly turned back, taking a sip of the tea. It burned. Just like me.
To distract myself from impulsive behavior, I decided to snoop.
The fridge had a few magnets holding up random papers. A takeout menu from a Thai place, a grocery store receipt, and a couple of handwritten sticky notes, which caught my attention. Landon always preferred to write reminders down instead of putting them in his phone.
Unfortunately, there wasn’t anything juicy in the notes, just things like, “Don’t forget to take out trash” and “Cover Michael’s shift tomorrow.”
The contents of the fridge were surprisingly normal. The shelves contained eggs, a carton of milk, multiple blocks of cheese, and a six-pack of craft beer. There was also an entire drawer dedicated to sauces and condiments. I counted at least four kinds of hot sauce. Ironic, considering he had no spice tolerance.
I wandered back into the living room, landing on the media console beneath the TV. The row of books caught my attentionfirst. Crouching down, I ran my finger along the spines. It was a mix of genres, from classic literature likeThe Great Gatsby, a couple of beat-up fantasy novels with creased spines, and even a book on woodworking that looked untouched.
