Crazy About Love: An All About Love Novel (5 page)

P
RESENT DAY

Rian said that she already knew, but by the look on her face, I don’t think she did.

“Shit. I ruined it.”

She quickly shakes her head. “No, no. I was thinking something along those lines, I was just taken aback by how you phrased it.”

“Is there another way?”

She shrugs, and I bite back an apology. She asked me to admit it, so I did. I’m not going to apologize for that.

“So who is she?” she asks, then gives me a slow grin. “Don’t tell me she’s your best friend.”

“Is that bad?”

Her small nose wrinkles up and she takes another bite of her steak. “It’s just so…
normal
.” She swallows. “Unrequited love is the most overused trope.”

Boy, do I agree with that. But it’s not my fault it’s one-sided. “Well, in my defense, best friend and love come hand in hand.” I point my beer at her. “You love your best friend, don’t you?”

“I would if I had one, yes. But you said
in
love. That’s different.”

“You don’t have a best friend?”

“It’s the age-old question, isn’t it?” She goes on like she didn’t hear me at all. “Can you be just friends with a person of the opposite sex? Assuming that you are attracted to the opposite sex.”

I think of Lizzie and immediately answer, “Yes.”

“You have other female friends?”

“I do.”

“So what makes this one different? Availability?”

“Even when she wasn’t single, I still…” I let the thought drift off into oblivion. When I first met Theresa she was dating someone. I was friends with her for years before I got the full story about her and her boyfriend, and I fell in love with her while she was with him. Granted, I had no idea just how messed-up that situation was.

“Hmm…So what came first?”

I gulp down the food in my mouth. “What do you mean?”

“Were you friends first?” she says, forking up a juicy slice of steak. “Or did you like her before that?”

I shake my head. “I don’t remember. It all blends. I like her because she’s my friend, but she’s my friend because I like her.”

She points the empty fork at me. “You said ‘like.’ ”

“
You
said ‘like.’ ”

“I meant you said ‘like’ as in the present tense.”

I don’t say anything. I also said “love” in the present tense.

She takes a sip of her beer, then sets it down, eyeing the modern design on the tablecloth. “I get it, you know. I’ve been bitten by the love bug a few times.”

“How’d you get over it?” She seems so put together. Comfortable and casual, not off her game, and definitely not as knotted up as I feel.

“Easy. When a guy I loved didn’t love me back, I didn’t see him anymore. Distance made me wonder if I ever loved him in the first place.” She flicks her gaze up. “How much distance do you have?”

I let out a humorless laugh. “None.”

“There’s your problem.” She stabs another piece of steak and slides it between her teeth. “How often do you see her?”

“Every day.”

“Every
day
?”

I nod. “Just about.”

Her small fingers wrap around her beer. “You co-workers?”

“No.”

“Roommates?”

“Not currently.” We were roommates for about a week. Theresa’s air-conditioning was on the fritz and I offered her a place to bunk. I refused to let her in my room, partly because it’d been a running joke with us that she’d known me for so long and had never seen my bedroom, but mostly because having her scent in my sheets and pillow would’ve been a nightly torture once her AC was fixed and I was once again living alone.

Rian throws her arms out in an amused and hilarious gesture that breaks the small amount of tension in the air. “Then why the hell would you see her every day?”

I chuckle, completely understanding her surprise. I don’t get why I see Theresa every day either. It’s like pleasure and torture all mixed together, and I never know which will win out on any given day. But I still dive in because I’m hoping for the one day that there is absolutely no torture and it’s all just
pleasure
.

“I can’t help it, I guess.”

“Did you see her today?”

Today she was wearing that knockout dress. That knockout smile. Today she took my breath away like always, but also a little bit differently too. Because I think…I mean, I’m pretty damn sure that I took her breath away too. I saw her eyes while I was dancing, and though her expression was amused and surprised, she also looked mesmerized. And I know it wasn’t just me, since Rian said she noticed it too.

“Wow,” Rian says before I can spit out an answer. “You don’t even have to say it.” She circles a finger at my heated face. “It’s just all right here.”

“Sorry,” I say, finally giving her that apology. Damn it, this was supposed to be a chance for me to get romantic with
her,
not fantasize over something that, in Jace’s very true words, isn’t going to happen.

“Forgive me for asking,” she says, folding her arms on the table. “But why volunteer for a bachelor auction when your heart is so obviously taken?”

“It’s not taken,” I tell her honestly. “I may have thrown it out there, but she didn’t
take
it.”

“Is that why, then? Or is it something else?”

I consider lying to her. Truth is, I did it because Theresa asked me to. But I’m done talking about Theresa. Rian said distance is what makes getting over someone easy. And while creating physical distance is doable, I’m not sure I can force my thoughts to create the emotional distance I need.

So I find another answer that is also the truth.

“Because I don’t want to be in love anymore. I want to find it…somewhere else.” I shake my head and look her in the eye. “Does that make me a jackass?”

She shakes her head. “Absolutely not.”

“Good.”

I grin, and she grins back, toying with her fork, barely touching her food anymore. She keeps hold of my eyes, and I let my gaze drop, not yet ready to look at someone so intently. The coughing bush next to us rustles; probably the wind again.

“Can I collect early?” she asks, then wets her thin lips.

“Huh?”

“My midnight kiss. I want it now.”

Figures—I ruined it. She’ll collect the kiss, then we’ll go our separate ways. Even when I try to move on, I fail at it.

“You want to see if you can get your money back?” I ask, plucking my napkin from my lap, wiping my mouth, then placing it on the table.

“Hell no.” She laughs, and her eyes narrow into seductive slits. “I want to help you ‘find it’ somewhere else.”

“You really want to kiss me after all this?” I say, somewhat chuckling at my pathetic, broken heart. She lifts one shoulder and bats a set of naturally long eyelashes.

“I kinda like you.”

“I’m tempted to say bullshit, but I think we’re done playing that game.”

“We are.” She sets her napkin down and pushes up out of her seat. “Like you said, you don’t remember what came first, friendship or attraction. I’m willing to like you based on your sex appeal.”

My breath washes from my lungs and I let my gaze drift to her open jacket, my heart suddenly laden with a sense of loss. “You want to help me move on, then?” I ask, voicing what I thought I wanted to happen—what I
need
to happen.

She tilts an eyebrow upward and gives me a wicked grin that makes the risotto in my stomach churn.

“I’m up for the challenge.”

She sets her hand on the center of the table, leaning in; I can feel her breath on my face. I should meet her halfway, close the distance between us, take advantage of the opportunity so plainly presented to me. Her eyes are closed, but mine are searching her face, wondering if this is the face of the woman who will erase the face of the woman I’ve wanted for nearly half a decade. I thought that if I ever met that woman, it would be obvious; there would be no question in my mind. That Theresa would be a distant memory, a fond one, not one riddled with pain. Maybe that’s all a load, because I’ve met several women and none of them fit that bill.

But Rian is willing to try, and I search deep inside me for red-blooded male desire. My eyes close, and I find the back of her neck with my palm. Suddenly she jerks under my hand and lets out a tiny squeak as if she’s falling. And something very wet and gooey lands in my lap.

“Shit, shit,” I say, standing upright too fast. My head slams into Rian’s nose, and her neck flies back. Every article of food that had been on the table is now on the ground, minus the seafood risotto, which conveniently found its way into my lap.

“Did I do that?” she says from behind the hand covering her nose. I resist rubbing my throbbing head and tilt her chin up to inspect her face. No blood, thank heavens.

“Wasn’t me,” I say with a laugh, staring at the food that is now decorating my lower half. She must’ve gotten caught on the tablecloth somewhere, or knocked over one thing, causing a domino effect. A riptide of laughter rolls out from me as I wave the waiter over. I see her smile, her fingers still on her nose. A small giggle pops out, and she reaches for me with her free hand. “Come on. I know a good place to get cleaned up.”

18 MONTHS, 18 DAYS AGO

S
ATURDAY 10:23
A.M.

You remember when we invented a word for an unknown stain on your jeans? Well, there’s a mystery mark on my jeans.

S
UNDAY 2:59
P.M.

Walking Dead tonight!!!! You on? I have a feeling that there will be no casualties tonight. Wanna take me up on that bet?

M
ONDAY 7:18
A.M.

Petitioning for work to start at eleven on Mondays. Just text back your name, or even just a letter, to support this very important cause.

M
ONDAY 5:52
P.M.

You still at work? Want me to pick you up some dinner?

W
EDNESDAY 9:42
P.M.

I’ll take Radio Silence for two hundred, Alec.

W
EDNESDAY 11:48
P.M.

*Goodnight sweetheart, well, it’s time to go…(do do dee do)* I really did sing that. And if you haven’t seen Three Men and a Baby, that’s what we’re watching next movie night.

F
RIDAY 12:22
P.M.

It was strawberry frosting! The source of the mystery mark source has been found. PS…there’s cake in my fridge.

F
RIDAY 8:08
P.M.

It’s been over a week since your audition and I haven’t heard from you. I know you’re alive, so I’m not too worried. (Not about your well-being, anyway. You bet your ass I’m worried about what the hell’s going on.) At least tell me if you got the part.

F
RIDAY 11:56
P.M.

*crickets chirping*

S
ATURDAY 2:00
A.M.

It’s weird not talking to you. Or seeing you. But I get it. I’ll be here when you’re ready.

S
ATURDAY 3:02
A.M.

Already breaking my promise…but just heard Landon and Liz are engaged! Party for them tonight. I’ll let you know when and where as soon as I figure it out. But for now…sweet, sweet sleep.

I let my phone slip out of my hand and onto the couch, where I’ve parked my ass all night. Damn it. I thought going cold turkey from Theresa would make it easier for me to get over my proclamation (and swift rejection) of love. Instead I’ve turned into the walking dead myself.

I put a foot up on my crowded and messy coffee table and flick through my recorded shows. Sleep would be nice, but it’s not happening. Every night I lie down and think about how she might’ve been next to me if things had gone differently.

Now that Landon proposed (I knew that was inevitable, but I didn’t think it was going down
tonight
), I can kiss that cold turkey idea goodbye and throw it out the window with the rest of my dumbass ideas. Because I know I’ll be Landon’s best man, Theresa’s going to be the maid of honor, and we’ll all have to act like everything is fine because no one even knows about the two of us.

Not that there ever was a “two of us.”

I reach for my beer, but the bottle’s already empty.

P
RESENT DAY

“You can answer that,” Rian says, nodding at my constantly vibrating (and still very rice-covered) jeans. My phone’s been going off nearly the entire time we’ve been walking. I don’t know where she’s taking me, but this is the same stretch of sidewalk that I took every night when I was performing in
Arsenic and Old Lace.
It was a fun one. Opening night had a few critics in the audience and they gave me great reviews…so great, in fact, that my name was whispered and tossed around between some of the big-rig Broadway guys. But of course, with my luck, the night they came to see me I came down with a wicked cold and couldn’t hit the F5. My understudy stepped in, and those whispers disappeared into oblivion.

I smirk at Rian, who’s still eyeing my buzzing pocket. “This is a date.”

“A man with manners.” She lifts an eyebrow and tugs on her collar. My pants weren’t the only casualty during dinner—her jacket has an unknown stain across her left side.

Theresa and I have a word for that, and I almost say it out loud, but I catch myself before it rolls off my tongue.

My pocket vibrates again, and Rian laughs at the sky. “Seriously. Someone could be dying.”

I shake my head, pulling my phone out and seeing that there were fifteen missed calls and nine new texts from Landon. I scroll to the most recent ones, really expecting horrible news.

You busy?

Only in town for a few days, man…

If you’re with a girl, bring her over. Liz and I don’t mind.

My brow furrows, and I check the name at the top. Yeah…from Landon. But it doesn’t sound like him. If he knew I was with a girl, he wouldn’t bug me. Bro code, est. 2005.

“See?” I tell her, showing my texts. “Alive and well, though maybe not for long if he keeps it up.” I laugh, expecting Rian to at least give me a pity laugh too, but she’s still looking at my screen, head tilted slightly to the side.

“Who’s Landon?”

“Friend.”

“And Liz?”

“His wife. Also my friend.”

Her eyes flick up to meet mine. “I wouldn’t mind meeting them.” A slow grin forms on her lips. “If we have time.”

“Are we going to tag some more buildings?”

She does her one-shoulder shrug, then stops in front of a black building with paint sprayed across the front doors and neon lights in the windows. The bouncer fist-bumps her and then opens the door, letting the thumping music float out onto the street.

“You up for it?”

“Thought we were getting some clothes.” I point to my rice-covered crotch.

The wind ruffles her purple hair, and she slaps a hand on the collar of my shirt and tugs me in.

“We are.”

Okay, so this isn’t a club. Or
just
a club. First thing I see is a clothing section that looks like the airport souvenir shop, if the airport was in a punk town. Then there’s a tattoo parlor, a dance floor, a bar, and…

“You ever been to a paint club?” Rian shouts over the music, pointing to the painted bodies melding together on the dance floor. The sight triggers a memory that nearly knocks me over: flashes of neon paint, tangled limbs, hands sliding over pink and orange skin…that one night so long ago when Theresa gave me an in, and I didn’t take it.

“It’s been a while.” I tear my eyes away from the paint and look down at Rian’s empty hand dangling next to mine. She’s wearing a ring that rests on her thumb and hooks to another ring on her forefinger by a silver chain. I want to like this girl. I want to feel something with her. I want it so much I can practically taste the desperation.

Like ten-years-ago Alec would’ve done, I suck in a large breath and hold it before sliding my fingers down the inside of her arm. They get caught in the crease of her wrist, and I tickle the skin there lightly, playfully, wanting to feel something like victory or joy or just
anything
, but even when I lace our fingers together, the air feels the same around us.

Instead of letting her take the lead this time, I drag her across the room and into the punk shop.

“I’ll buy your pants, you buy my shirt?” she suggests with a cute bat of her eyes.

“You really like games, don’t you?”

“I like surprises.”

My eyebrows rise, and I make a daring move by pulling our linked hands up to my lips. I kiss every one of her knuckles, keeping eye contact, trying to chase away the feeling of not feeling anything. And Rian takes a step closer, drops our hands, and rises on her tiptoes.

That’s right. She wants her midnight kiss early. And I shouldn’t mind giving it to her. I’m available. A bachelor. She paid for a night with me.

Then why do I feel so damn guilty for even thinking about it?

My eyes break from hers for literally less than a second, but it’s enough to make her back away and just tap my nose with her finger.

“Let’s shop.” She plops her heels back down. “I don’t like brown.”

“And I’m cool with just blue jeans,” I say in front of a rack of brightly colored pants. She automatically reaches for a pair, but I tickle her until she detours to the much better pants choices.

Twenty minutes later I’m in a pair of brand-new jeans that have holes and frayed edges but are better than the construction-orange pair Rian tried to get me to put on. She only relented after I shoved an ugly-ass brown jacket at her.

And clearly I can’t shop for a girl, because I kept picking the first thing I saw and handing it over, and the responses I got were “That’s insanely big” or “I’m not a fifteen-year-old” or “That’s a skirt, Alex with a
c
.”

She finally approved the jacket she’s wearing now. It’s deep red and black plaid that really showcases all the ink across her chest when she leaves it unbuttoned.

“Are you staring at my breasts, Magic Mike?”

“The tattoos.” With a grin I tear my eyes away and look out at the dance floor.

“Yeah…I believe you,” she teases, then grabs my shirt and pulls me into the crowd. Rian sure likes to tug me around. I wonder if she’s got a dog.

“So this one here—” she says, pointing at her collarbone before putting her hand on my ass and slamming us together. I gulp, clear my throat, and start moving with her to the beat. I’m not nervous, which is something I usually am when I’m dancing with a near stranger. It’s more like a guilty pang, something I’ve been trying to ignore all night.

“—I designed it myself,” she continues. It’s too dark for me to see the tattoo properly, so I set my hands on her hips and gently pull her closer. The dancing lights run across her skin, and I get a good look at a bleeding flower. No, wait…it’s not bleeding.

“I like to incorporate water into everything.” She reaches for my hand, laces our fingers, and brings them to her chest. She covers my hand, pushing with gentle pressure so my fingertips skim her skin. “The China lily…it’s crying,” she says, pushing up again on her tiptoes to whisper it in my ear. “Do you like it?”

I raise an eyebrow. Honestly, I don’t get it. But I should probably say that I like it, or kiss her, or something. She’s obviously trying with me, while I’m…I’m still numb.

What in the hell is wrong with me? I have a girl grinding against me, whispering in my ear, willing to help me get over someone else, and I just can’t
feel anything
.

Scratch that. I feel something. It wraps around my heart, encases it in rock-hard cement, and seals it closed with a lock and chain. And a big fat stamp slams onto the hard shell, the words
PROPERTY OF THERESA
marked there in bright red ink.

My heart is
afraid
to feel.

I stare down at Rian. She’s a beautiful woman. As far as I can tell, she’s fun and confident—two things I’m highly attracted to. Maybe attraction will be enough right now.

My hand moves up, and even though she doesn’t have hair long enough to push back, I smooth my palm over her cheek as if it is.

That’s what all this is about, right? Not big moves, but little ones. It’s the little ones that pull people together. I don’t feel a pull yet, but with enough little moves, it’ll happen. It has before.

Rian drops her gaze and laughs. I quickly move my hand back to her hip.

“Am I really that bad at this?” I tease. Her eyes flick up to mine.

“You’re being so serious.
Relax.
I’m feeling this.” She wiggles her finger between the two of us, and I wonder if what she’s feeling is contagious, because I’d like to catch it. “So in case I haven’t been obvious, you can kiss me whenever you want.” She tugs me down with a wicked gleam in her eyes. “Even in the middle of a sen—”

And my vision completely disappears. I don’t mean that she gives me a kiss so staggering it makes the lights metaphorically go out. I mean the lights
actually
go out. The music cuts off, and now the only noise is all the dancers and clubbers and shoppers and tattooists hollering and whooping. I let out a laugh, not realizing how equally frustrated and
relieved
it would sound.

Rian’s chin rests on my shoulder, and I feel her lip-glossed lips against my ear.

“Guess this means we’re ready for stop number three.”

I chuckle against her. “You know the way out?”

“Not knowing makes it fun.”

“Unless you run into one of those tattoo guns.”

“Shush.” She laughs, and I let her do her tugging thing.

“Sorry,” I say as I ram into some unknown dancer. I feel a soft brush of hair against my wrist, and that tiny bit of contact sends an unexplained sensation through my chest. My imagination must be running wild for a random woman in the dark crowd to remind me of Theresa.

I’m yanked forward and run into another dancer, this one definitely male. “Oh, shit…dude, sorry.”

Rian’s laughter filters through the chaotic sounds of the blacked-out club, and as my face goes right into something that feels a lot like a pole, I curse and tug her back to me.

“You’re fired.”

“Think you can do better?”

“Stand behind me.” I swing her around and hook her fingers in my back belt loops. Another small thing, I realize. I only did it to free my hands up. If she asks, though, I’ll pretend I did it on purpose.

The place is pitch-black, but the best part about being a singer is that you know the space around you by the sounds, the echoes. Back when I was a teenager I did one of those glow-light performances. Sure, we could see stuff the audience couldn’t, but not much.

“Hold on,” I tell Rian, then stick my hands out and listen to the crowd around us. Two steps forward. Three. Four. Ten. Twenty. And neither of us has kissed a pole.

I think we’re out of the dance floor. It’s more open, with less sweaty air around us. Rian’s fingers unhook from my belt loops and wrap around my waist, her face pressing into my spine. My cement heart thuds into my stomach.

I like this,
I hear in my head. Rian’s hand runs over my abs, but it’s Theresa’s voice I’m hearing.
I like the feel of you.

My breath gets caught in my throat. I can feel her nails along my skin, over my shoulders, along my jaw. Here in the dark, I can feel it as if it’s really happening, though the logical part of my brain knows it’s not. That it’s just a memory.

“Redo,” I whisper, realizing too late that I’ve spoken the word out loud. My lucky stars are working, though, ’cause Rian doesn’t hear. Or if she does, she doesn’t say anything.

Without another thought, I race toward where I think the door is. I’ve gotta get out of the darkness—get away from where I can hear her so clearly in my head that she’s
here
. And if she’s here, I can’t do what I’m supposed to do.

“Whoa!” Rian laughs behind me as I drag us through. I bump people out of my way, push us through, get us into an opening where I don’t feel or hear much of anyone, then—

Bam!

The front door flies open from the force of my face. A throbbing pain shoots through my nose, making my eyes tear up, but I push that back immediately. Rian swivels around on my waist as I bring my hands up.

“You
almost
had me thinking you had night vision goggles hidden in your pocket.” She tentatively taps the back of my knuckles. “How’s the damage?”

I drop my hand, and she doesn’t look too rattled by what she sees.

“Am I broken?”

“Not on the outside.” She winks, then takes out her phone. “I think it’s time for some TLC.”

I prod at the bridge of my nose while she talks to someone named Jackson. It’s not a long conversation, but I notice that there’s a different tone in her voice when she says, “I’ll…see you soon.”

She breathes in deep as she hangs up, then puts on a wide smile when she looks at me.

“Uh, you ditching me already?” I ask.

She slowly shakes her head, giving me that mysterious and slightly evil grin I’ve seen several times tonight already. I like that, usually; it’s confident and sexy. But I’m missing it on the set of lips I’m used to seeing it on.

She places her hand on my arm and turns me toward the corner of the street. “Wait for it,” she says.

Three seconds later a guy stumbles around the corner and pukes in the gutter. I give Rian a highly arched eyebrow.

“Not that.” She laughs, then nods at the corner.
“That.”