Landon & Shay: Part Two (L&S Duet #2)(59)

“Are you clean?” I blurted out, turning his way. “I mean, like…have you been tested in a while? I’m on the pill, so there’s no worries for an unexpected pregnancy tabloid scandal, but I do know your reputation of being a manwhore. If you’re not clean and I need to get tested, let me know and I will. It was a stupid mistake on my part. I would’ve never slept with you without a condom if I wasn’t drinking. I mean, I probably wouldn’t have slept with you at all if I weren’t drinking.”

He frowned for a split second before pushing the grimace expression away. “I’m clean. I was tested a few months ago and haven’t slept with anyone since then. Contrary to popular belief, I’m not a manwhore.”

“That’s not what TMZ says.”

His jaw clenched and his hands gripped the steering wheel so hard I wouldn’t have been surprised if it snapped in half. “You shouldn’t believe everything you read on the internet.”

“So, what am I supposed to believe? You?”

“There was a time that you would’ve.”

“That was also a time when I was young and na?ve.”

His eyes glanced my way before moving back to the road. “You resent me.”

I did. I resented him for years for the way he ended things. I resented the pain he caused me. I resented the way he made me shut off my heart from the world, and I resented him for coming back out of nowhere, and making it start to beat again.

“Maybe we should just ride in silence, too,” I murmured, turning my back slightly to him and peering out of the window.

We pulled up to a five-star hotel and used a private entryway to get to the penthouse. Never in my life had I stepped foot inside of a penthouse, and Landon’s did not disappoint. It was beyond beautiful and lavish. The second we walked in, I swooned at the view. All the furniture was cream colored, and accents of blues and sea green filled the space. The décor was spot on, and it felt as if you’d walked directly into a Pottery Barn ad.

All you needed was a dog sitting on a rug to make it PB approved.

Just that second, a dog came trotting out of a back room, wagging his short tail back and forth with his tongue hanging out of his mouth.

“Hey, Rookie,” Landon said to his faithful companion. He bent down to pet the dog, Rookie, but instead his pup kept on trotting on over my way, wagging that tail and nudging me in the leg.

I couldn’t help but smile as I lowered myself down to pet his belly.

“Hey there, cutie. How are you doing?” I asked, giving him the best cuddles.

“I was just ditched by my dog for a woman.”

“You can’t help it that he has good taste.”

Landon gave me a crooked smile as he took off his coat and walked to the kitchen area. “Do you want a drink?”

I grimaced. “I think I’m going to hold off on drinking for the next few days. The thought of alcohol makes me want to gag.”

He laughed. “I mostly meant coffee or tea.”

Oh. Of course, because it was only ten in the morning. “If you have coffee, I won’t fight against it.”

“I thought you hated coffee.”

“I’m a complicated woman.”

He made me a cup the exact way I always loved it—with more creamer than coffee—and he even placed two cookies on a plate to go with it.

“Thank you,” I said, picking up the coffee and treats and moving over to the sofa to sit and drink. Rookie hurried over to my side and cuddled up closely.

“If he bothers you, you can shove him away.”

I’d never be the girl who pushed a dog away.

I smiled at Rookie as he laid his head down and fell asleep.

Landon brewed himself his own cup of coffee then moved over to the dining room table. He pulled out a notebook and began writing nonstop upon the sheets.

I couldn’t help but wonder what it was he was scribbling, but I knew better than to ask. I had told him to not talk to me, and it would’ve been rude to break my own rule.

He was scribbling so quickly, moving page to page as the words poured out of him. Every now and again, his lips would curve up, and once he finished one sheet, he’d fold it like a letter, and put it to the side.

The more letters he crafted, the more my anxiety began to build. Was that how he’d looked when he’d written his words to me in the notebooks from the past? Had he smiled a little and put in such thought?

“It broke my heart, you know,” I said.

He looked up to me with a bewildered look in his eyes. “What did?”

“When you stopped writing me the letters and never came back.”

He lowered his arm to the table and placed his pen down.

I knew I shouldn’t have been speaking about the past, because it had a way of opening old scars I’d worked hard to close, but I couldn’t help it as I watched him craft letters, the same type he used to make for me. “It hurt me so much when I saw you happy and healthy on television. I know it’s stupid, but it did.”

“It’s not stupid,” he disagreed.

I tried to smile but couldn’t force my mouth to turn up. “Who are you writing to?”

Where do your love letters go today?

His lips parted to tell me, but I held my hand up to halt him.

What am I doing?