“I think I’d look better as the groom,” Landon murmurs low in Jasmine’s ear, and the way her neck flushes—slow and pink like a creeping blush—makes my lips part on instinct. I take a slow breath through my nose.
Oh.
She turns, pokes him on the nose without missing a beat, and winks at me over her shoulder like she didn’t just short-circuit my central nervous system.
“Nope,” she says, voice sweet and teasing.
I grip my milkshake and take a long, steadying sip to cool myself down.
She’s right.
Every second Sunday, I go to church with Timothy Keiths, all pearls and fake smiles, just to keep my parents' illusions intact. Three hours of scripture, southern guilt, and pretending I don’t dream of sin.
But a Landon-Jasmine sandwich?
That would besinful.
I’d love to watch him toy with her, slow and cruel, while she fights not to give in. I’ddieto watch her squirm, her lips parted in half-begged moans while he draws her out, while I edge myself watching her fall apart.
The thought alone makes me clench my thighs beneath the table.
“So…” I say carefully, pointing my straw at the two of them, “how long hasthisbeen going on?”
Jasmine smirks, flicking her eyes toward Landon with barely concealed amusement. “Yeah, Landon. How long have you beenstalkingme?”
“Stalking?” I choke, some of my milkshake spitting onto the table as I cough.
Landon snorts like a bastard while I scramble for napkins, trying to mop up the evidence with the leftover ones from our greasy cheeseburgers.
“About five months, then,” he shrugs, casually brushing a strand of hair off Jasmine’s shoulder like he owns it.
“I’m sorry, why is no one else alarmed by this?” I snap, looking between them like I’m the only one who hasn’t been handed a script.
Jasmine just chuckles, eyes glinting with that usual mischief.
“Trust me, I was pissed.Furious.But then…” She shrugs. “He kind of grew on me.”
“Aww,” Landon says mock-sweetly, “because youlikeme.”
“Nah,” she deadpans, not missing a beat. “Because you’re fucking fungus. And I can’t afford enough antibiotics to get rid of you.”
Landon clutches his chest like she shot him. “Peach, how dare you? I thought we were getting along.”
I sit back, watching them volley insults like foreplay and wondering how the hell I got lucky enough to land a front-row seat. Then Jasmine turns to me, brows furrowed in that way she does when she’s trying to read between the lines.
“Why are you so comfortable with this?” she asks, leaning forward just enough that Landon can’t reach her hair anymore. “You said my complicated situation was, and I quote--perfect.What gives?”
I take a massive gulp of my cookies and cream milkshake, stalling as my eyes flick around the diner—linoleum floors, too-bright lights, half-eaten burgers—before landing back on both of them. They’re both staring at me now, suspicious.
“I’m not out of the closet.” The words fall out before I can stop them.
Shame and anxiety crawl up my throat as Jasmine’s eyes widen like I just told her something dangerous.
“You came on to me,” she says slowly, like she’s trying to piece the whole thing together—but her body reacts faster. She jerks away like she’s done something wrong.
“And you two were making out in the middle of the quad,” Landon adds dryly. “I think you’re out, or sorry to tell you but the closet is transparent.”
I try to laugh. It doesn’t stick.
