His eyes dart to mine. “No, of course not.” His cheeks turn bright pink, and my stomach somersaults. Goddammit. “I just thought Ben would beat me here.”
“Well, he didn’t. Come on in.”
Landon follows me in, and when I gesture to the couch, he sits down. I plop down beside him. Not as close as normal, but that’s mostly because Ben isn’t here yet and I don’t need to be right on top of him.
He sits quietly, eyes fixed on the ground in front of him.
Well, this is awkward.
“So, uh—” I start
“I was curious—” Landon says.
Oof. Gross. “Go ahead,” I say, waving a hand in his direction.
His cheeks—which had just lost their rosy hue—darken again. “I was curious about something.”
Well, I’m not sure that sounds good. “Okay?”
Landon takes a big breath, his shoulders rising and falling quickly. “What did you mean by failed hookup?”
What?Oh.I did mention that, huh? “Well…” Jesus, why did I mention that, and what do I say now? I could play it off like it was nothing, but that feels so disingenuous, and Landon seems… fragile. I don’t know how else to explain it. “Well,” I say again, swallowing hard. “The first time I met Ben, we came back here to have sex.”
Landon glances at me with a small grin, then shocks me by rolling his eyes. “Yeah, I’m aware of what a hookup is. What I don’t understand is how youfailat it. Are you just not attracted to him?” Before I can answer, he rambles on. “I mean, it’s possible he’s not your type, I guess. But then I kinda feel like Ben iseveryone’stype.” Heat crawls up his throat, splashing color across his face. He buries his face in his hands, groaning softly. “I’m gonna shut up now.”
I just stare at him for a second, marveling once again over how damn adorable he is.Danger, danger, danger.
“Nah, you don’t need to shut up. Ben probably is a lot of people’s type.” I take a deep breath, nerves rattling my stomach. “But it’s not really about whether he’s my type or not.”
He lifts his head from his hands, peering at me with large, dark brown eyes. “No? Then what is it?”
“I’ve been burned before. Can I tell you a secret?”
He nods slowly. Fuck, he’s so earnest. “Anything.”
“I really wanted that hookup. I was just afraid.”
“Afraid,” Landon echoes, face twisting in confusion.
There’s something about Landon that makes him feel like a kindred spirit. If there’s anyone who will understand my irrational fear, I think it’s probably him. He’s afraid too. Maybe not in the same way as me, andprobably not for the same reason, but that doesn’t really matter. It’s that damn string again, connecting us.
I sigh. “Yeah. It’s terrifying to put yourself out there.” Scooting a little closer to him on the couch, I nudge him with my elbow. “I think you probably know a little bit about wanting something but being afraid of it too.” He looks at me like he’s wondering how I dipped into his mind and pulled that out. I shrug. “I let my fear win.”
For a long while, he doesn’t say anything. Hell, I don’t have any room to judge. God knows I’m not confronting my fears.
“I’m not sure how to overcome my fears,” he finally says after a few minutes. “How do you overcome programming you’ve been taught your entire life?”
Damn. For all the things I went through growing up, I never, ever had to question my parents’ love for me. Hell, I was thirteen when I loudly proclaimed I was in love with Lincoln. Not only did they not bat an eye, they went out and bought a pride flag to hang on our porch. Three years later, when I told them I didn’t think I was a boy or a girl, they helped me research what that meant for me, and a nonbinary flag joined the fray.
“With time and love, I think, but I’m no expert,” I say when I realize I’ve been quiet for too long.
Landon sighs. “I’m not sure it matters if I overcome my fears, anyway. I don’t think they feel the same way.”
“Ben?” I ask quietly. It would be impossible to miss the signs.
“Well,” Landon says, then pauses, and for a brief second, I wonder if I’ve got it all wrong. “Yeah, Ben.”
My stomach twists. It can’t be jealousy. It absolutely cannot be. And even though all I can see are flashes of deep, angry green—jagged and rough on the canvas of my mind—I refuseto call it that.
