Crazy About Love: An All About Love Novel (23 page)

For Lenore

♥
♥

Thank you, Ron Weasley, for being my first book boyfriend and making me crazy about love.

Thank you, reader, for reading to this page and taking a chance on my words.

Thank you, Mommy, because you told me to include you in these acknowledgments because you “gave me life!”

Thank you, Sue, for luuuuuurving Alec ;) and for always ending your emails in hugs.

Thank you, Theresa, for letting me use your name.

Thank you, Cloud, for saving my work when I thought I’d lost every word.

Thank you, Sharon, for being quick as a whip with emails. The anxiety in me thanks you very much.

Thank you, Awesome Nerds, for sticking with me during my bad days and celebrating with me during my good days. #Maytheforcebewithyou.

Thank you, Loveswept, for giving Theresa and Alec a beautiful cover, for editing and perfecting the words I needed to tell their story, and for being the strong and enthusiastic foundation behind my brand. You rock, Loveswept.

Thank you, Lauren and Jolene, for saying you’d read this even though I sent it to you waaaay late.

Thank you, Beta Girls, for understanding why I’d lose my mind without you.

Thank you, Target Bargain Bins, for providing me with an outline calendar.

Thank you, Lenore, and please look at the dedication, love.

Thank you, Liz, Landon, Jace, Shay, Alec, and Theresa, for making this series so much fun and my favorite thus far. Also, a shout-out to Rian and Jackson. I have every belief you kids will work it out. ;)

Thank you, children, for not telling the doctor how much screen time you actually have per day.

And always, thank you, hubby, for being crazy about me.

Doing It for Love

No Interest in Love

Crazy About Love

Friday Night Alibi

Switched

The Real Thing

Flirty Thirty
(coming soon)

PHOTO: ERIN SUMMERILL

C
ASSIE
M
AE
(who dons the name Becca Ann on occasion) is the author of a few hundred…okay, maybe not
that
many…books. Some of which became popular for their quirky titles, characters, and stories. She likes writing about nerds, geeks, the awkward, the fluffy, the short, the shy, the loud, the fun.

Since publishing her bestselling debut,
Reasons I Fell for the Funny Fat Friend
, she has published and sold books to Random House and Swoon Romance. She is the founder and lead formatter of CookieLynn Publishing Services. She has a favorite of all her babies, but no, she won’t tell you what it is. (Mainly because it changes depending on the day.)

Along with writing, Cassie likes to binge watch
Teen Wolf
and
The Big Bang Theory
. She can quote Harry Potter lines quick as a whip. And she likes kissing her hubby, but only if his facial hair is trimmed. She also likes cheesecake to a very obsessive degree.

You can stalk, talk, or send pictures of Dylan O’Brien to her on her Facebook page.

Want more from Cassie Mae?

cassiemaeauthor.wordpress.com

Facebook.com/cassiemaeauthor

@CassieCook2

Instagram.com/cassiemaeauthor

Pinterest.com/cassiemaecook

Looking for your next book boyfriend? I think I can help you out—check out these wonderful stories from Loveswept:

Something brand-new from Loveswept debut author Lynda Aicher,
The Harder He Falls.
Author Ellie Cahill releases a sexy, witty new adult story called
Just a Girl
. The first in the Bayard Hockey series comes from Kelly Jamieson, with
Shut Out.
New York Times
bestselling author Missy Johnson steams it up with
The Proposition.
The third story in Cassie Mae’s LOL All About Love romantic comedy series holds true to its name,
Crazy About Love
. Readers will fall
fast
and
hard
and clamor for the next in Tina Wainscott’s Florida-set Falling Fast series with
Falling Free
. Sharon Cullen’s Highland Pride series continues with
MacLean’s Passion,
as Scotland’s most reckless smuggler meets his match in a beautiful spitfire who arouses a renewed sense of duty, camaraderie, and passion in him.
New York Times
bestselling author L. P. Dover sets hearts on fire in
Defending Hayden,
where a damaged football star teams up with the only woman who can take away the pain. More from Lavinia Kent’s Bound and Determined series comes in the form of
Angel in Scarlet
. And I hope you’ll agree that there are never too many men in kilts: Ladies, meet the Wild Highland Guardians, new from Violetta Rand in
Her Highland Rogue
.

Be in the know—friend us and like us on Facebook and Twitter.

Facebook.com/thesmittenword

Twitter.com/thesmittenword

Until next month ~Happy Romance!

Gina Wachtel

Associate Publisher

by Cassie Mae

Available from Loveswept

“On this day, my thirtieth birthday, I propose that every subsequent Sunday until the end of my days, no apparel is allowed on the body from dawn until dusk. All in favor?”

I set down my steaming cup of coffee, topped with my traditional birthday whipped cream and chocolate shavings, and raise my right hand to the square. Tom and Kat continue to lick their privates and in between their toes, their legs pointed to the ceiling.

“It’s unanimous!” I grin and place my hand back on my mug. “I hereby declare this the first official Naked Sunday.”

Tom yawns, finds the sunbeam that’s strewn across my brand-new area rug, and immediately crashes into his daytime sleep. Kat sniffs the air, just now noticing the aroma of my morning treat. I’d let her lick the bottom of the mug, but the last time that happened she tore up my bed canopy trying to mimic Jackie Chan.

Since my cats are my only roommates, I allow myself a tiny jump in celebration, my loosey-goosey larger-than-average chest nearly knocking me over without the brassierial support. How positively freeing that feels. I let a smile tilt up on my face as I take my mug and walk buck-A naked to the plush chair I keep in front of my seventy-inch TV.

There are moments in life when you just know you’ve got it good. This is my moment. Thirty years old, single, living in a house I own with things that are all mine, no kids to watch me walk around naked, looking out for number one, and enjoying the peace that comes with living alone. Nobody close to me understands just how perfect the scenario is.

My phone rings on my bare thigh as I scroll through my recorded
Ellen
s, and I hit pause to gaze at the number. Ah…case in point. My twin sister has sent me a birthday message along with a picture of a guy who knows her husband’s co-worker’s aunt, and she just knows we are meant to be! And she’s ready to set me up with him for this weekend.

Dating I can do. Sex I can do. Fun, fun, all good. But I am not ready to strap my chain to someone else’s ball for the rest of my life. Having seen the result of falling in love up close from not only my sister and brother-in-law but my brother and his wife, my best friend and her husband, and my partner and her husband, and their combined total of twelve kids, whom I’ve all babysat for, I’m quite content on spending my days alone with Tom and Kat, sitting naked and binge-watching the newest Netflix craze.

I quickly tap the picture to make it bigger and tilt my head to the side, considering. It’s been a couple of months since I’ve done a one-on-one, and he’s not too bad to look at. Kind eyes, good smile, strong chin, little round in the middle, but I’ve always kind of liked that. I snap a selfie with a squishy, funny face and send it back to her with a
Thanks!
and a
Let’s go for it!
If anything, it’ll get her off my back for a couple of weeks.

She chimes back with,
Are you naked???
And I laugh and tell her,
It’s my birthday! I’m dressing accordingly. ;)
When I don’t hear another chime right away, I hit play and watch
Ellen
, drink coffee, and plan out what other things I should do while in my birthday suit. I bet baking would be more fun without the worry of flour getting on any clothing. Cookies will be made today.

Kat nuzzles up against the back of my hand, and I grant her request and rub her butt as she turns and sticks her tail in the air. I’ve only had her for five months, but I already know what spots she doesn’t want scratched. The faded claw marks over my wrists bear witness to my failed attempts at cuddling.

Tom’s my lazier roommate—granted, he is nearing his fifties in cat years—so I usually get my cuddle time with him. Between the two of them and my giant family, I get all the company I could ever want or need. So I don’t think I’ll be meeting the future Mr. Maya Banks this weekend, no matter how much my sister wants it for me.

A commercial comes on for the postal service, and I let out a gurgled “Oh” around my coffee and whipped cream and hoist myself up from the chair. I forgot to grab the mail yesterday and I’m positive there’s a check in there for me. Oma always sends me a check for my birthday, but she’s starting to lose it, so I get four a year…one for every month ending in a
y
. I only cash the real one for myself. The rest go to my best friend, Gina, and her husband, Mike, because they’ve got more mouths to feed and less change to do it with.

Sighing at the fact that I will have to put something on to go outside on the first established Naked Sunday, I slip my arms into a ragged and worn hoodie that’s so large that it falls about mid-thigh. It belonged to an old boyfriend who, like all those who came before him, showed his true colors after only a few months of dating. Our relationship fell victim to what I’ve dubbed the Bore of More. The truth is, after the honeymoon stage, things got boring. There wasn’t much more to what we had outside of sex, and even that started to lose its appeal when there was no mystery around it.

But his clothes were very comfortable, and after a mutual breakup, he was nice enough to let me keep something from the Big and Tall store he shopped at.

I stuff my feet into a pair of slippers my mom uses when she stays over—the woman is never warm enough—and walk out with my hot coffee, a little nervous at the draft around my butt since I may be showing cheek. I reach around and hold the material down, doing a very sexy waddle/jog to the mailbox at the end of my walk.

My neighborhood is basically on the side of a mountain, my front door facing the valley below. The sun’s coming up behind me, casting a yellow glow on my mail as I pluck it from its resting place. I suppose I could’ve come outside naked and no one would know—Sunday mornings are quiet, and with my nearest neighbor a few acres away, there would be no one to call the cops with a lewd complaint.

I bring my coffee to my lips, the whipped cream creating a mustache that I swipe away with the back of my hand. Junk mail, junk, junk…thank heavens I went to paperless billing, because I’m almost positive those would be next. No card from Oma yet.

The mailbox flumps as I close it back up and stretch. I’ve always loved being a spring baby. Nine times out of ten I get a breezy seventy degrees and a great view from my front porch to greet the day. You know, before I spend it in front of the TV.

I take a great big inhale and soak up the mountain morning scent before I go in and celebrate in my own naked way, and as the deep breath leaves my slightly parted mouth, I catch a morning jogger heading down my street.

Speaking of great views and spring weather, hello abdominal muscles. Haven’t seen those in a long while. Winter doesn’t exactly boast its appeal for shirtless runners, and my dating record hasn’t included many cut and fit men. I’m not complaining, of course. I enjoy men of all sizes—and my own muscles are hidden under about ten pounds of pooch.

I’m not one to deprive themselves of free eye candy, so I casually pretend to take in the morning view and sip on my chocolaty treat as he gets closer and closer.

Hmm…don’t know him. And this neighborhood prides itself on privacy, but at least we know who lives where. However, there are new lots available for purchase a few blocks away on the upper side of the mountain. I’ve been selling them off to clients I feel like I can live with being so near.

He’s close now, close enough that I can hear his calculated breathing. The wires of his white earbuds dangle down from his ears across his chest, ending somewhere below the belt line. I lose concentration around his midsection, completely distracted by the droplets of sweat taking a ride down the cuts of his stomach. Mercy be on my soul for the thoughts that start running through my head to the soundtrack of Marvin Gaye.

It’s getting to the point where I’m most likely standing with my tongue curled somewhere by my feet, so I shake my head and rip my eyes up to his, which, not surprisingly, are already looking at mine. I feel the cheesiest smile form on my lips and I squeak out an overly cheerful, “Good morning!” I plan to smack my forehead when I head back inside.

The only acknowledgment I get from him is a tilt of his lips as he passes, showing me parts of his white teeth and creasing his cheek with smile lines that indicate he is most likely in his married years with kids in school and a dog in the backyard. Good on him for maintaining a twenty-year-old’s body. I lost that at twenty-two when my love for donuts became an obsessive affair.

I let out a little laugh at myself for being so Anastasia Steele, hoping that in my three seconds of eye sex I didn’t bite my lip.

He stops midjog at the end of my property line. I watch his back rise and fall with his labored breathing, enjoy the sight of another drop of sweat rolling down the line of his spine, and then suddenly he’s turning and running back toward me.

My eyes widen, my heart jumps from quiet and steady to loud and terrified, and my feet are glued to the grass underneath them. In less than a second he’s gone from attractive possible new neighbor to scary man who can outrun me. My hand tightens on my mug, knuckles turning white.

He stops in front of me, eyes locked on mine. The blues of his irises are so dark in color that I think they’ll be haunting my REM phase tonight—if I make it to a REM phase.

He plucks the earbud from his right ear, grinning at me again, but he’s so not putting off the father-of-the-year vibe anymore, so I’m unsure what to think. I can’t think at all with my heart pounding so loudly.

“Good morning,” he says, his voice lighter and more cheerful than I expected. He reaches out, and I flinch, my feet still not getting the hint to run. The pad of his thumb runs over my nose, and my brow furrows deep until I see the dollop of whipped cream he collected from my skin.

I let out a shaky laugh. “That’s not embarrassing.”

He smirks as he wipes it off on the waistband of his steel-gray jogging shorts. “I’d call it cute.”

Okay, maybe he’s flirting with me. I should tell him not to charge a woman before attempting a flirtatious endeavor. But before I can get a word in edgewise, both his hands find my cheeks and then he’s…kissing me.

There’s no response time. No time for a slap or a moment of weakness to actually consider kissing back. No time at all it seems. One second I’m being kissed by a shirtless stranger and the next he’s off my lawn and down the street. I watch his blond head bob out of view, my arms stuck out to my side like a complete fool, coffee in one hand, mail in the other. My mouth is frozen in a puckered position, lips tingling like they may have had action but aren’t exactly sure yet. The very faint morning breeze is blowing up my overlarge hoodie, cooling my lady nethers and making me slowly wake up from the bizarre exchange.

My feet finally start listening to my brain, and I fumble my way back inside. Tom looks up from his spot on the floor, the sun making his black fur look glossy. He blinks, and I let out a confused laugh.

“Well, that’s a new one.”

And then I flick my dead bolt.