It’s slightly faster than I have it written, but I like it. For the next twenty minutes, I force myself to keep my attention off Landry and on the band. It’s not easy, though, as a stray bit of sunlight streams over her shoulder, highlighting her creamy skin. I manage not to screw up too badly, and after the fifth song, I call for a break.
“You going to make it until she leaves?” Ian asks under his breath. “Because if being around her for a few hours turns you inside out, I’d hate to see what you’re going to be like in two months.”
“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” I mutter back.
He rolls his eyes. “If that’s the way you want to play it.”
“Are you all hungry?” Landry asks, drawing my attention away from Ian. She couldn’t hear us, I hope, but she senses a bit of tension and is instinctively trying to dispel it. “I could make dinner for us. Something light before you go onstage.”
“No way.” Davis jumps to his feet. “I’ll make it.”
“Seriously, Davis, I can make a salad or something.” Scowling, she hurries after Davis.
Rudd makes a gagging sound. I’m in full agreement. Lettuce isn’t my thing, either. But I set the guitar aside and follow the two siblings down to the tiny galley kitchen. My body doesn’t care what it eats if Landry’s cook
ing.
“What’s the problem? We’re not going to force Landry to cook if she doesn’t want to,” I say. She’s here to escape a bad situation, not to do chores for us assholes.
“She’s a terrible cook. If you want to miss our next show, then by all means, let her at the stove,” Davis says.
“Davis, I’m not that bad.” Landry punches her brother in the arm.
“You poisoned the family.”
Poison? I can’t help grinning. She gives an exasperated huff, blowing a lock of hair away from her face. Fuck, she’s adorable. “It was an accident.”
Davis looks over her head at me. “She nearly overdosed us on sodium. She put like half a bottle of table salt in a pan of water, forgot it and boiled it until it was nothing but a few drops of water and a hunk of salt. Then she dumped tomato sauce in it.” He shakes his head. “Face it, Landry, you’re too easily distracted to cook. I’ll make us something.”
The look she sends her brother’s way is murderous. I smother a chuckle behind the back of my hand.
“What’s so funny?” she asks indignantly, hands on her hips.
“I’ve heard of the saying ‘She doesn’t know how to boil water,’ but didn’t realize it could actually be true.” As she continues to glower at me, I add, “We’ve all got flaws.”
She purses her lips, the juicy lower one forming a very suckable bit of flesh. “Well, let’s hear yours.”
“How much time do we have?” I lean against the fridge.
“Two months,” she fires back.
“Not nearly enough time.”
“Now you’re stalling.”
No, I’m enjoying the hell out of sparring with you.
A bang of a pot against the stove has me straightening up. I’d forgotten that Davis was here. Hell, I think I forgot anyone else was here but me and Landry. She looks just as disconcerted, jerking away from the counter and backing up to sit in the banquette just beyond the stove.
Davis looks over his shoulder at me. I give him a bland smile. Just making friendly with the sister. Nothing to see here, I try to convey.
Ian wanders down, a shit-eating grin on his face. He knows me too well, the bastard. But he’s a friend, and he keeps his mouth shut as he slides into the booth next to Landry.
“What’re we talking about?” he asks, as if he wasn’t hanging out near the door listening to the entire conversation.
“Adam is going to list all his flaws for us,” she says.
Ian swivels around to face me. “Wow. Do we really have enough time?”