His hands are on my waist now, pulling me into his lap, sponge forgotten while he moves his mouth to mine. Blue paint from my cheek transfers to his skin, glints of orange from my neck stain his hands as he moves them across my body, expertly avoiding the off-limit areas.

I keep my butt planted firmly on his thighs, desperately wanting to slam into his hips, match the beat of the drums in the room, but I can’t. I can’t lose now. It’s starting to feel like strawberries and whipped cream, and if that happens within the first day, imagine what it’ll be like in five months.

His tongue slides over my bottom lip, and I know if I let him continue I’ll lose. I’m already inching on his lap. I can’t breathe, so I rip myself away to get air. I need air. Lovely, nonseductive air. But he’s still kissing and licking and devouring my skin, leaving me so hot and hungry and pained that I lose all sense and grab the first bowl of paint my fingers can reach…and dump it on his lap.

He jolts underneath me, completely breathless. His eyes drift to his pants now covered in bright green. A small laugh tumbles out of my mouth, and a wicked glint appears in his gaze. I jump off his lap just as he reaches for the red paint.

“I’m sorry!” I squeal, backing up with my hands raised. “I didn’t mean to.”

“Didn’t mean to?” He gestures at his green soaked pants. Dribbles pour down his legs when he stands. Laughter escapes me, and I know more than one bowl of paint will find itself on me.

I pause in my tracks, eyes flicking between the table and Landon. He better not start. We’ll wreck the entire club with bowls of paint. And I’m about to tell him that, but it happens in a flash of paint spatter and tangled limbs. I dive for the table, knocking over a chair and slamming into Landon’s torso. He pours the red paint down the front of my dress, sliding it in between my cleavage. I’m screaming and laughing as I plunge my fist into the pink bowl and manage a good swipe all over the right side of his face.

“Wait, wait!” he says, and I pause. Did I get it in his eye? But he just gives me a wicked grin, and I turn and run through the curtains. Mother-effing trickster! Cool paint splashes across my upper back as Landon chases, bowl of yellow in hand. I duck into another painting section and grab the pink from a very confused couple. Then I emerge and get Landon across his chest, splashing handprints all over his torso as he covers my shoulders and arms.

“Wait, wait!” I scream this time. Landon wraps his arms around my waist and laughs.

“Not falling for it,” he says, and pours the yellow down the back of my dress. I gasp and shiver, and then dump the bowl of pink over his head.

His arms tighten on my waist, and I’m lifted from my feet in a fit of giggles. He carries me over his shoulder to the paint balloon section, tickling the back of my knees as he does. Alec and Jace start cheering Landon’s name, and like a good best friend Theresa starts the girls chanting mine as he sets me down next to the balloon coolers. The pink paint dribbles from his smile lines, and he smashes a balloon against my stomach. I grapple for my own balloon and press it into the small of his back.

He takes another, pops it in his hand, and runs the paint over my neck. My laughter subsides, but my smile is permanent when he pulls me up, pressing his lips against mine. He tastes like paint and fun and laughter and forever.

A loud shout comes from the drum section, and when we part we both catch Theresa standing on top of a railing, shot glass raised high in the air.

“Cheers to the couple who found love when they’re just babies. May you guys last longer than a year!”

Laughter and cheers surround us along with a few jokes that should piss me off, but don’t because Landon takes my face in his hands again and looks into my eyes as if I’ve been plucked from the sun. His thumbs stroke my paint-stained cheeks, and he kisses me as if he can’t believe he’s caught this sundrop. But he has. He’s totally caught me, and I’m never letting him toss me back.

His hand runs down my neck, over my shoulder, down my arm, landing in my own hand.

He squeezes twice.

And I squeeze back once.

Chapter 6

When I fell in love with Landon, I was too afraid to tell him. We had just made love for the first time and there was this moment in his bed, staring at the moonlight across the ceiling, listening to his heartbeat and his heavy breathing when it almost fell out. But I didn’t want to say it first. It had only been a few weeks, and at the time, I had no idea if he was one of those guys who freaks out with the L-word or not.

But he squeezed my hand twice as I rested it on his chest. Out of instinct, I squeezed back once.

I started noticing the two-time hand squeeze after certain moments or looks he gave me. Once when I quoted Edward Scissorhands to him. Another when I stole one of his hats and wore it during our date. More squeezes when we’d say goodnight. One night I finally asked him about it.

“What?” he whispered in the dark. I tucked my cold toes up against his shin.

“You always squeeze my hand twice.”

“Yeah.” It’s all he said…at first. And we both drifted into sleep.

But at some point during the night, he woke me, hovering over me, looking as wide-awake as the moon. I asked what was wrong, and he took my face in his palms, rested his forehead against mine, and said, “Two squeezes mean I love you.”

His fingers snaked down my body, leaving chills in their wake. He grasped my hand and pumped it twice.

“I’ve been too afraid to say it,” he admitted with a small smile. “But I’ve been saying it to you for a long time now.”

I remember my heart pounding, my sleepy smile widening. And I squeezed back, saying, “I’ve been saying ‘I love you too’ for a long time now.”

It’s been our silent expression ever since. So when we’re in a crowded room, half asleep, or arguing, whenever he squeezes my hand twice I know he still loves me. I’ve always squeezed back.

I blink out of my daze, rubbing my hands under the shower stream. The paint mixture pours off my skin down to the drain, and I keep giving myself extra squeezes, imagining Landon’s hands around mine. Thank heavens I had the good sense to shower at Theresa’s. His wet body is tempting a few doors down; I can’t imagine what a hormonal mess I’d be if we washed off together.

After rinsing the neon from my nooks and crannies, I shut the shower off and grab at a ratty towel Theresa keeps under her sink. Her counter is completely cluttered with hair products, makeup, and perfumes. Long brown hair covers the floor, and I towel-dry my head, adding blond strands to the pile.

Landon takes longer showers than I do, so I take my time getting dressed, borrowing some of Theresa’s pajamas. She’s still at the club, probably completely wasted by now. She was maintaining a balanced buzz when I left, but that was an hour ago. I asked Jace to make sure she got a cab. Hopefully, he stays coherent enough to listen.

I make her bed because it drives me crazy that the comforter is hanging off the edge and the sheet is matted at the bottom. Just as I’m fluffing her pillows, I hear a key struggling to get in the lock.

Theresa giggles as the door creaks open. I tuck my phone in my back pocket with a laugh, ready to put her to bed and set some Advil on the nightstand for her in the morning, but a crash, thud, and low grunt stops me in the bedroom doorway.

My eyes bug out, staring at the hallway pictures, when I hear her say, “I want you in me.”

“Theresa,” a male voice answers. I think I know that voice. “You’re drunk.”