The Los Angeles morning air was crisp and cool.
Heart fluttering with anticipation, Landon rounded the familiar bend.
Sure enough, just ahead, Cameron Diaz stood waiting with her two bodyguards.
Cameron wore a sapphire-blue sports tank and shorts that set off her healthy glow.
When she spotted Landon, a brilliant smile lit up her face.
"Morning, Landon! Gorgeous day!" she called, voice brimming with energy.
"Good morning, Cameron." Landon eased his pace, jogging up to fall in beside her.
The two guards followed a few steps behind, as usual.
Yesterday Landon had casually mentioned Jared Leto, but during today's run both tactfully avoided the subject.
After three laps, Landon slowed to a stop.
An idea had been circling his mind, and at last he voiced it: "Cameron, how would your bodyguards feel about a friendly match?"
Cameron's blue eyes widened in surprise and excitement. "Really? You want to spar with John and Maria?"
She glanced from the guards' solid builds to Landon, concern flickering. "They're pros… should we get some pads?"
Landon smiled. "No need for fuss, just a light exchange. Don't worry."
Landon was curious about this body of his. As a Stunt Actor he'd dabbled in everything combat-related—kung fu, boxing, Krav Maga, even wrestling. For some reason, though, this frame was far beyond ordinary in speed, strength, and reflex.
Cameron's curiosity blazed. "Great! There's a patch of lawn over there!"
The group moved to a flat stretch of grass nearby.
John, the hulking male guard, felt a surge of irritation.
An actor challenging him bruised professional pride; he meant to teach the kid a lesson.
He rolled his neck, stepped to the center, and struck a menacing pose—one fist pounding into a palm, shoulders bunching, eyes sharp.
Landon simply stood relaxed, feet apart, arms loose at his sides, chest slightly hollowed, spine lengthened.
"Watch yourself," John barked, lunging, right fist rocketing toward Landon's face.
Cameron clapped a hand over her mouth.
At the instant knuckles brushed the tip of his nose, Landon moved.
He pivoted on his spine, letting the punch skim past.
At the same instant his right hand brushed John's forearm, guiding and pulling.
John felt his own momentum hijacked, body pitching forward. Then a palm touched his back—light yet carrying a penetrating jolt.
"Crap!" Alarm bells clanged as he toppled face-first toward the grass, dew-tipped blades rushing up.
But the expected impact never came.
A powerful hand caught his shoulder just before his nose hit, halting the fall.
His face hovered centimeters above the turf.
With effortless strength the hand lifted him upright again.
John steadied himself, heart pounding, and stared at Landon—only now sensing the iron stability in the grip on his shoulder.
Every trace of scorn had vanished, replaced by shock.
If Landon had chosen to press instead of pull, John would be nursing a broken nose—or worse.
Cameron stood slack-jawed.
She was filming charlies angels with action director Yuen Woo-ping—known as "Eight Grand"—and had trained rigorously, so she knew good technique.
Landon's move had looked simple yet carried an elusive, almost Eastern finesse.
"That was incredible!" she gasped.
Landon gave John an easy smile.
Then he looked to Maria and John. "How about you two together? Let's test multi-directional attacks."
John and Maria exchanged glances—no hesitation or scorn this time.
They split, circling in from left and right, faces grave.
The "match" was brief.
Landon glided between them like a fish through reeds.
He pivoted, redirected, small motions dissipating every strike.
Their attacks felt like hitting a slick sphere—force spun aside and dissolved.
Within two minutes each had been "dropped" once, saved at the last instant from real impact.
Sparring done, Landon gauged his skill level.
The two professional guards now regarded him with awe.
Cameron's eyes blazed.
The rhythmic, almost beautiful combat, coupled with Landon's handsome face and upright bearing, exuded an irresistible magnetism.
"Oh God, Landon! You're amazing!" she shrieked, running over and leaping up, long legs locking around his waist as she clung to him.
Caught off guard, Landon instinctively cupped her firm backside to hold her.
Cameron flung her arms around his neck, gazing into his dark eyes, face glowing with worship and thrill.
Emboldened, she flushed and leaned in.
She peppered his cheek and brow with kisses, then found his lips.
After the first jolt Landon answered her fervor, hands tightening on her hips.
Breath mingled, tongues twined, lost on the empty morning lawn.
Only when Cameron felt dizzy did she pull back, breathless.
Their parting lips drew a glistening thread in the dawn light.
Cameron's cheeks blazed; her eyes were dazed.
Remembering the others, she glanced anxiously toward John and Maria.
The two guards had tactfully turned their backs, contemplating distant rooftops.
Relieved yet bashful, Cameron slid down.
She looked up at him, eyes brimming with unfinished desire, keen interest, and a playful you-can't-escape-now glint.
"See you tomorrow, Landon!" she said, voice still husky from the kiss.
With that she spun away and trotted off to John and Maria.
Landon stood watching her leave, her warm breath and faint lipstick sweetness lingering on his lips.
The morning breeze cooled his skin but couldn't quell the heat or the premonition rising inside.
America's sweetheart had surpassed every expectation of initiative and ardor.
Tomorrow, would it still be just a "simple" run together?