by Anna Todd
First I was too fat, then too skinny. Nothing I did would please those bullying assholes. And as soon as I stopped trying to, my life became easier.
“What are you thinking about?” Dakota asks; her hand is warm now as she wraps her fingers around my wrist and lowers my arm to my side. Her body presses against mine and she leans her head on my chest. She takes another drink of water and sits the cup down on the counter.
I haven’t responded yet, I’m aware of that. I just don’t know what to say other than reposing my question about whether she wants to get back together.
Do I bring it up again, or wait and see which way she takes the conversation?
I take a sip out of my own glass and decide to wait it out. I shouldn’t trust myself to keep my mouth from saying something stupid. I’ve never been the best at knowing what to say or when to say it. I’m not that cool guy who can lean against the counter and be all I was just thinking about us getting back together and running off into the sunset and living happily ever after, yo.
Ugh, even my self-mocking fantasy is lame.
I don’t know how to keep eye contact when I’m nervous about her answer. I simply just suck at being that guy.
Surely, this is one of those things that I can blame on my father. I’ve been patiently waiting for one of these moments when I could cash in my “crappy dad” coupons and blame him for dying too early to be able to teach me how to be a man. But even as the thought passes through my mind, I know it’s irrational and not true. My lack of assertiveness wasn’t his fault, and still isn’t, but I want someone to blame other than myself.
If I’d had a man to talk me through my teenage years, to explain how to talk to women, I would know what to say. It must be his fault that I overthink everything.
“Landon,” Dakota says in a soft breath like she’s coming to some sort of resolve. And I’m just standing here, disappointed in myself and stuck in playing the blame game.
“Dakota,” I say back to her, and she turns her cheek. I gently push her hair down, caressing the thick curls with my fingers. I’ve spent hours, probably days, of my life touching these strands, calming this girl. Her hair has always been one of my favorite things about her. Her fingers grip at the back of my shirt, and I can practically hear the starchy fabric crunch. Never again will I iron my shirts under Tessa’s watchful eye. She went a little overboard on the starch spray that day.
Dakota holds me tighter and I dip my head down to kiss the top of her head.
She sighs, melting into my chest, her voice soft as she says, “I made a huge scene.”
I keep one hand on the counter to hold us up and wrap the other around her back.
“Oh God, this is so embarrassing. Of course you and Nora aren’t dating.”
My arm tenses. Something about the way she says this sits weird with me. Is she assuming that since I’m hugging her in my kitchen, I couldn’t be dating Nora, because I just wouldn’t do that kind of thing? Or that the idea of nerdy me dating someone like Nora is impossible and ridiculous?
Either way, I remind myself that I shouldn’t care. I’m not dating Nora and I’m pretty sure that she has absolutely no desire to actually date me. She eats guys like me for breakfast. I need to stop thinking about her. I already have.
Dakota lifts her cheek from my chest just long enough to speak.
“I feel like shit,” she says.
“Because you drank too much or because you made a scene?”
“Ugh,” she groans against my chest. “Both?”
I pat my hand against her back. I can tell she’s exhausted. Her hands are on my back, at the waist of my jeans. She reaches up, untucking my shirt. Her hands are a little cold against my back. The ache of familiarity as her fingertips move in circles over my skin mixes with the coconut smell of her hair, and suddenly I’m a man obsessed.
I’ve been here before, immersed in her scent, her touch. I feel her fingers press into the small of my back and I mold myself to her body. I’m ever so accustomed to this. To her. It’s only natural that I fall back into this routine. Once she touches me, I see only her.
“Let’s go to your room,” she says just as her lips touch mine. She keeps them there, barely skimming mine. “No one is here, right?”
Tessa’s gone. Check.
For a second I feel a pang of guilt about Tessa being gone because I left her somewhere. But when Dakota kisses me again, deeper, all guilt disappears in a wave of desire.
At last, we don’t have to sneak around like we did when we were kids. I’ve never been able to actually fuck this love of mine in the privacy of an empty house. All of our encounters have been hushed kisses and subdued moans, rushed hands and sloppy tongues. I’ve never been able to slowly devour her body in the way I dream of. I want to run my tongue down every inch of her caramel skin and spend extra time where she needs it the most. I want to taste all of her, hear every sound of hers.
Now that I have my own place, I could take her in my bed and do everything I’ve longed to do since we were teens. I remember how amazed I was the first time she wrapped her lips around my cock. I think back to the many times she wanted to try things. It all felt so experimental then, it felt exciting, otherworldly, and our list of favorite things to do quickly became sexual. That’s all we did for a while, all we wanted to do.
Dakota’s hands move to the front of my body, circling around my belly button, her fingertips slipping into the top of my briefs. I grow under her touch, hard now, and I can’t begin to fight it. It’s biology, after all. I haven’t been touched, save for that one kiss and a few touches from Nora, in months. Dakota proves that she still remembers my body when she rubs her index finger over the sensitive skin above my hipbone. I jerk away from her tickling, and she laughs, pulling me closer.
She’s in a much better mood now, but this feels an awful lot like throwing a blanket over a raging fire. Eventually, it will burn up just the same.
Eventually, but not right now.
chapter
Fifteen
DAKOTA TAKES MY HANDS and pulls me out of the kitchen. I follow her like the lost puppy I am.
“Don’t forget your water,” I remind her, and she pouts at me, but I point to the water on the counter. She really will need it.
With a sigh, she removes her hands from mine and goes back to grab her glass. While she’s doing that I grab the TV remote and turn it on for Tessa, hitting mute. I always make sure she has some light when she gets home later than me, and the lamp on our end table has a blown lightbulb that I keep meaning to replace.
But as I put the remote back down on the couch, I hear the ominous sound of voices and a key ring jingling.
The lock finally clicks and the door opens, bringing Tessa inside . . .
. . . with Nora.
As I stand there somewhat dazed, Tessa takes off her purple beanie and closes the door behind her. Nora pulls her jacket off and her cleavage nearly spills out from her shirt as she shakes her hair.
Then both of them look over at Dakota and me, suddenly realizing they’re not alone.
Please, dear God, let Nora think I was looking at her face at least.
And more importantly, where is that damn portal?
“Landon?” Tessa starts.
“Hey, I didn’t know—” Nora begins, but stops as soon as Dakota walks out of the kitchen, seemingly unaware of her.
Dakota approaches me and, walking between me and Tessa and Nora, wraps her hand around mine. As her fingers play with my own, Nora’s eyes stay fixed on me. She doesn’t look down to Dakota’s and my joined hands, though I get the feeling she wants to.
“Let’s go to bed?” Dakota says, pulling me toward the bedroom with her, without looking at either of them.
When I look again, Nora’s eyes are on our connected hands and Tessa is staring with her lips sucked in against her teeth and her eyes wide.
I turn to Dakota. She’s giving me a look. One that says, You better not stop and talk to that girl instead
of coming to your bedroom with me.
I look at Nora again and then at Tessa. I’m confused, and seemingly without my permission, my mouth says, “Uh, yeah. Good night, guys.”
I follow Dakota into the room and she closes the door behind us.
Dakota is fuming when she turns to face me.
“She has some fucking nerve!” she roars. She tosses her hands into the air and then presses them to her temples.
I step toward her and cover her mouth with my hand. “Hey, be nice,” I softly advise.
Dakota talks under my hand and I bring my free hand to her neck. I spread my fingers wide and cover her shoulder. I rub at the tense muscle there and she stops talking.
“She knew who you were all along,” she half whispers. “I know she did. She had to remember your name.”
I try to be the voice of reason. Maybe she did, but she honestly seemed just as clueless about my connection to Dakota as the rest of them.
I shrug. “Are you sure you said my name? Do you have our pictures out anywhere?”
I wince after that last question; I kind of don’t want to know the answer.
I don’t know Nora very well, but I don’t see her as the type of person who would purposely go after her roommate’s ex, knowing it would all blow up sooner rather than later. Plus, it’s not like there aren’t three million other guys in the city who would happily return any interest she showed in them.
Dakota huffs. The gray dress she’s wearing is falling off her shoulder and she looks so small next to me.
“I don’t know . . . maybe I never said your name, exactly.” She looks around my bedroom. Her eyes stop at the picture of us on my dresser. “And I didn’t keep any pictures of us around.”
She looks guilty when she says this. And it’s not like I expected her to build a shrine for me or anything, but is it possible that she didn’t even mention my name to her roommates? Not once?
“Like at all?” I ask.
She shakes her hand and pulls at my shirt. Her fingers are struggling to loosen the fabric, so she moves to the buttons of my jeans. I steady them, cupping my hands around hers and pulling them to her chest.
“Not tonight,” I say against her cheek.
With a pouty grumble, she pulls her hand free and dips it into my pants. I groan as she grips me and slowly moves her hand up and down.
Think logically, I remind myself.
I have to think logically, and I can’t do that while Dakota’s teasing me like this. I reach for her hand and gently unwrap her fingers from me. She looks up at me in confusion.
“You had too much to drink,” I say, and lead her by the elbow to my bed. She stands in silence while I reach for the zipper of her dress.
She gathers up her hair and holds it out of the way to allow me access to the fabric. When the dress begins to fall she holds it to her chest and I pull her tights down her smooth legs. She steps out of them and lets the dress drop to the floor. She isn’t wearing a bra.
Fuck me, she isn’t wearing a bra.
Clearly I’m meant to be tempted tonight. For panties, she’s wearing a red thong made of lace. Her ass looks so good in them, petite and toned. She turns around to face me with a devilishly sly grin.
“I don’t remember these,” I tease. I hook my finger around the hip of her panties and she moans when the fabric snaps back against her tawny skin.
I back away and she glares at me.
“You’re mean,” she says, sticking out her tongue as she shakes her ass a little. She’s in a playful mood now, and I’m very aware that I’m in for it. There’s nothing she can do to make me sleep with her tonight, no matter how sexy she looks standing here in only panties. We haven’t touched each other in months, and we aren’t dating. Tonight isn’t the night to change all that. Not while she’s wasted and we’re both confused.
She’ll understand in the morning.
I wrap my hands around her shoulders. “Let’s get you to bed.”
I can hear Tessa and Nora talking in the living room, but I can’t make out anything they’re saying. Dakota grabs the picture frame from my dresser and holds it to her face.
“We were soooo dorky!” She laughs, running a finger over the hideous plaid shirt I’m wearing in the picture.
Her bare breasts are distracting me, but I steer my attention toward grabbing her a shirt from my drawer. I reach around her and blindly pull something out, only to find it’s my Adrian High School track shirt.
Of course it is, because we are in some mystical land where we can’t seem to outrun our past no matter what we do. Dakota snatches it from me and brings it to her chest. She lifts it up, smelling the worn-out fabric.
“This shirt, oh my God!” She seems genuinely happy, and I don’t think she notices when the talking in the living room quiets again. I do.
“We had sooo many good times in this shirt,” she muses, her tongue licking at her lips.
I look away from her bouncing body.
“Put me out of my misery and put it on, please,” I plead with her.
She giggles, thoroughly enjoying my compliments and admiration of her dancer’s body, as she should. She should always feel like this, beautiful and empowered. She’s still a little drunk, but she’s glowing at my words.
Which makes me want to be a little more wild.
“You are so beautiful, you know that?” I say, wanting her to bathe in my words, to wrap herself in the kind words she deserves to hear. I keep a straight face, experimenting. “You’re fucking smoking, and if you hadn’t gotten yourself drunk tonight, I would tear your little ass up.”
I sound like a damn idiot, but according to most erotic novels, this is what girls are into.
Dakota bursts into laughter. She holds one hand up and looks at me.
“You would tear my little ass up?” She cracks up. Her eyes are closed and I can’t help but join in.
“Hey!” I try to breathe, but my stomach aches from laughing so hard. “I read it in a book and wanted to see what it sounded like to say it.”
Dakota pauses and struggles to hold her laughter in. “Let’s just stick to the plain stuff that you’re good at and leave the sexy stuff to the books.” She covers her mouth and dips her head, snorting laughter.
Plain stuff I’m good at? Hey, I know we haven’t experimented very much, or ever, but that’s not because I wasn’t willing. She never brought it up, and once, after I tried to talk about porn to her, she broke up with me for three days. So if any of the things that I’m good at are “plain,” they’re not that way for my lack of trying.
“I’m not that plain,” I retort, defending my skills, but making sure to keep my voice down. I do not want Tessa or Nora to hear this.
I sit down on my bed. Dakota walks over, her mouth still turned up into a smile. She pulls the corner of her lip between her teeth. “Um, maybe now you aren’t, but you were with me.”
Maybe I’m being overly sensitive, but I feel like she’s diminishing every intimate time we’ve had together. Our sex was teenage sex, rushed and quiet, even though I was hopelessly in love with her. It’s not like I could’ve taken her any way that I wanted to with Carter in the next room, or her dad asleep downstairs. I never felt shortchanged with her, and I don’t remember feeling like anything was missing in our sex life. I thought we were active and happy and satisfied.
Apparently not.
Dakota sits down on the bed next to me and crosses her legs. She puts on a pair of my socks sometime between teasing and laughing at me.
She clears her throat. “How many girls have you been with since we broke up?”
When I look at her, she’s twirling a chunk of her hair between her thumb and forefinger.
“How many? None,” I scoff, trying to force a nonawkward laugh.
She raises her eyebrow at me and cocks her head. “Really? Come on, I know—”
“You have?” I interrupt.
If she’s acting this surprised that I haven’t slept with anyone, ho
w many people has she slept with?
Dakota shakes her head. “No. I haven’t, I just assumed you did.”
“Why would you assume that?”
And sitting here in the night, bringing all of these things up, I’m starting to think this woman doesn’t know me at all. Dakota doesn’t say anything, she just shrugs her shoulders and lies down with her head propped up against the headboard. She stares up at the ceiling before finally proclaiming, “Today was not fun.”
I should change the subject. I finally got her in bed and calm and mostly sober.
“It’s fine, it’s over anyway. It’s gotta be like two a.m. by now,” I tell her.
She smiles and I lie down and turn off the lamp.
“Thank you for everything, Landon. You’re always my safe place,” she whispers in the dark.
I can feel her eyes on me even though I can’t see them.
“Always,” I reply, and gently squeeze her hand.
Today wasn’t fun, she’s right. Today was stressful.
I started the day thinking I was going on a first-date-like thing with Nora, but then ended up with a drunk Dakota in my bed and Nora in my living room probably listening to every embarrassing word Dakota and I say in here. The hallway is short and the walls are thin.
Even worse, I feel guilty for leaving her at the lounge. I didn’t know what else to do. I’ve known Dakota half of my life. I’ve already gone through those terrible early stages of love with her. Together we made it through the awkward adolescent sex stage, where you can’t find where to put it and come almost instantly when you do. We worked out most of our kinks and already know each other’s backstory. We have no secrets, tell no lies. We’ve shared tragedy. I’ve already confessed my love for Dakota, and to start again would be daunting. Especially if she really has missed me as much as she says.
Just as I think Dakota is asleep, she jerks her hand from mine and brings it to her face. That’s when I notice the sounds of crying.