I could really go for some peanut butter chocolate chip.

I text Mom the amount for the deposit on the dress—because I don’t feel like committing just yet to dress number 2, but I also don’t want to miss out on the sale—and check out of there before I’m forced to look at myself in any more mirrors.

Theresa does me a huge favor and doesn’t talk about the wedding pictures, THE dress, my parents, in-laws, or the lack of sex, and lets me listen to S Club 7 on volume 10 as she drives us back to our apartments.

“Do you want company?” she asks when we step onto our floor. “I can cancel on Greg tonight.”

“Cheesecake Factory guy?”

She nods, and I shake my head. I want to veg in my pjs and watch something funny.

“I’m good.”

We hug and I drag my butt down the hall, wishing I could eat the pack of M&M’s in my purse without feeling like a whale.

I open the door and pause…because Landon is doing a pull-up right in my face. He’s not wearing a shirt. Of course.

“You’re home,” I say. I could’ve sworn he said he was going to work on his movie tonight.

Landon nods, dropping from the bar. Sweat drips from his overgrown, dark hair. He needs a cut, but I know he hasn’t asked because of how anal I’ve been about the bank account.

“Jace said a girl was heading over.” He nods to my empty hands. “Where’s Theresa? Does she have your dress?”

I shake my head. “She has a date tonight.” I don’t say anything about the dress, completely tempted to cover my poochy stomach. I wonder if the no-sex thing is hard for him at all now that I’m spilling over my jeans.

“You mind if I watch a movie?” My eyes flick to the TV. I need a distraction. I need Family Guy or Big Bang or something with Jim Carrey. Anything to take my mind off of today.

“All yours,” Landon says. He dips down to grab his water bottle, his shorts loose on his waist enough to see his back dimples. Once he’s locked himself in the bathroom, I hurry to my dresser and swap my too-small jeans for stretchy yoga pants, and the shirt that doesn’t cover my love handles for one of his. I feel full of some type of thick liquid as I settle into the couch cushions in the living room, chocolate-free. But damn, do I feel like I need some as my eyes linger over the weight set, the pull-up bar, and the sweat towel Landon left on the exercise bike.

I shake my head, push back every ounce of frustration rolling behind my eyes, and snap the TV on.

Counting Crows plays softly out of the speakers. Of course I have to turn the TV on Cruel Intentions. And there’s Reese Witherspoon and Ryan Phillippe kissing deep in the airport, about to scene-switch to the bedroom.

My legs twitch, and I know I have to change the channel before I see it or I might just start humping the coffee table. My fingers fumble on the remote, which ends up falling to the floor. The tempo in the song increases while the scene changes, actor on top of actress, character on character, sweaty bodies and moist lips and—

“Liz, are there any towels in the dr—” Landon stops dead in the hallway, eyes locked on the screen. My mouth runs dry. Landon remains frozen, all but the one bead of sweat that inches its way down his temple. It’s crawling across the skin by his ear. It hits his jawline…that sharp, clenched jawline, and I blink. The clock ticks. Moans ripple from the sound on the TV, and that bead falls off his face…

“I’m going for a walk,” I all but shout as I push to my feet. Landon gives me one short nod before I head out the door without a jacket and let the brisk November air wash over me.

Chapter 20

“Eight more weeks. You made it eighteen years, Liz. You can handle eight weeks.”

I was ignorant those eighteen years. I didn’t know how amazing sex is.

“You can’t flake out. You never stick to anything. You can do this. He should be the one giving in. He’s a guy! He said it himself.”

It’s driving us both crazy. Maybe we should just do it and things’ll look up. Or at least I won’t be as stressed about it.

“Weddings are always hard. Sex won’t change the fact you can’t fit in your dress. It won’t change Landon’s hours. It won’t convince everyone that you’re ready for marriage.”

Honk!

I jolt back to the sidewalk, not even aware I’d left it. The guy in the blue Subaru that almost hit me flips me off as he passes. A girl hanging outside the coffeehouse to my right laughs and offers me a puff of her cigarette. I politely wave her a “no,” not only because I don’t smoke but because I won’t even share ChapStick because of my fear of herpes.

Though smoking, I’ve heard, helps with stress. And will help me lose weight. In a moment of complete confusion I make my way to the convenience store with a pack on my mind, but then I remember that not only will Landon be incredibly pissed if he smells smoke on me, it’s also a ridiculously expensive habit. And I have about two bucks till payday.

“Ugh!” I growl to myself as my feet switch direction and head back home. “Can you seriously not function without sex, Liz? It’s like you’re a chimp!”

“I’m sorry?” a lady on a bus bench asks, pulling her earbuds from her ears. “Are you talking to me?”

I shake my head and wave an apology, quickening my pace.

I am in engagement hell. If only I could convince Landon to cheat just a little bit, then maybe I could erase at least some of the tension. Even if it won’t solve a damn thing, I’d at least get my clitoris to stop yelling at me every time he says something romantic. Or smiles. Or exists.

Yeah, a little finger action should be doable. It’s not like we’re having sex sex. Just making it so we both get through hell with our heads.

I get to the elevator, talking to myself again, coming up with a way to say, “I need a trip to Chocolateville” without completely giving up on the bet. My mind is still blank by the time I reach my floor.

There’s a light mumbling as I open the door and Landon snaps his lips shut as if he’s been talking to himself too. His hair is a mess. A good mess. I want to mess it up more. Sweet Georgia pie, I’m never going to make it.

And damn I want pie.

“How…how was your walk?” he asks. The tension is so thick in the room I have to push myself a step forward.

“Fine. Yep, fine. Cold, but I’m fine.” I shiver, just realizing I forgot to bring a coat.

Landon nods. Scratches his elbow. His hair is wet from a shower, and a tiny suspicious thought flies through my head that he cheated in there, but the tension in his back, the flex of his jaw, the short, tight movements he makes chase that thought away.

“Are you still mad at me?” I blurt. He stops looking past me and looks right at me, taking cautious breaths, and he shakes his head.

“I just…damn it.”

He tears at his hair and starts pacing. Pacing, pacing, pacing, and I’m trying not to give in, trying not to attack, trying not to grab him and give him the ride of his life, all while yelling “Yee-haw!”

Then he looks at me, fire blazing in his eyes and shouts, “I just want to touch something!”

I’m struck dumb, watching him take two steps toward me, two steps back, and repeat it. My fingers twitch at my sides, and my brain tells them to stop it.

He lets out a long breath, drops his head, and starts talking to the floor. “Can I…can I have a hypothetical conversation with you?”

I nod.

“If we get back to the real reason why you want to take this break, it’s because you want our wedding night to be special, right?”

I nod.

“I do, too. But as it sits, if we make it, the night will be special for about ten seconds.”