Nothing Less (Landon Gibson 2)

“I’ll come back to you,” she promises, although it sounds awfully ominous.

When she walks out of my room, I lie back on my bed and close my eyes. What the hell did I get myself into with this woman?

Chapter Fifteen

Nora

THE SIDEWALK IS HARD under my feet, and each step on the pavement brings another memory of Landon. The crinkle by his eyes when he smiles that sweet, shy smile. The way his hands feel on me.

I’ve made such a mess. Why do I always make a mess everywhere I go?

The last few weeks have made me feel things I’d forgotten how to feel. I’ve felt happy. It sounds simple, to feel happy, but it’s an accomplishment for someone like me. Living my life for other people, living in a prison of worry and deference, made me forget how it feels to be simply happy.

“Hey!” a woman’s voice shouts behind me. The familiarity of the voice creeps through me, and my scalp prickles.

I turn around to see Dakota near the window of an art-supply store. Her curly hair is pulled back from her face, and she’s dressed like she’s going to a funeral. Her black skirt hits just above her knees, and her navy blazer is too big on her small frame. It’s odd to see her in these clothes when I’m used to seeing her in gym or ballet clothes.

I don’t have time to deal with her, not today. I don’t have the energy to waste on her. “I’m on my way somewhere,” I say as she approaches me. I look up to Landon’s building, to be sure he didn’t follow me. The idiotic part of my heart wanted him to, even though it wouldn’t have ended well if he did.

“So am I. We need to talk.”

I shake my head and push past her. We definitely don’t need to do that. “We have nothing to talk about, Dakota.”

“You know that’s not true.” A hint of a threat is in her tone.

I whirl around to face her. I raise my hands in the air in frustration. “What? What do you want to talk about?”

“You just came from Landon’s apartment. I thought we had an agreement.”

I roll my eyes and drop my head back. She can’t be serious. I’m too old to play this game with an immature brat who wants to dominate a toy she’s already thrown away.

“Are you kidding me? We are fucking grown, Dakota. I’m twenty-five years old. I’m too old to play these games with you. Landon is old enough to make his own choices, in life and love.” The last word tastes weird in my mouth.

I should have just walked away from her when I saw her, yet I couldn’t.

“Love?” she chokes out. “Love? You think that Landon loves you?”

I shake my head. No, I don’t think that. I know he doesn’t love me. We won’t get that far before everything explodes in my face.

“Good. Because he doesn’t. You can’t come into his life and weasel your way in. He’s too good for you.” Dakota pushes her hand out and rests it on her hip.

I step toward her, keeping my face neutral. “I don’t care.”

If she thinks I don’t care, maybe she will go away?

Dakota’s lips turn into a fake smile. She’s tiny, but she scares me a little sometimes. Like the night she came back to the apartment with liquor on her breath and wild eyes. She kept asking for my phone to call her brother, saying she needed to see him. She never opened up to me enough to tell me how he died, but that night I knew better than she did that he wouldn’t be answering that call. She was out of it. Gone. She cried and cried in the kitchen, hiding under the table. She screamed at me when I tried to give her a glass of water and threw the glass across the kitchen.