Crazy About Love: An All About Love Novel (6 page)

17 MONTHS, 29 DAYS AGO: 8:59
P.M.

I’ve gotta hand it to her—Theresa sure knows how to pull a party out of thin air. My only job is to keep my mouth shut about it all day while Lizzie’s at work, and trust me, it’s not that difficult. I think even if I do let something slip, Lizzie wouldn’t notice. She’s off kissing broom handles and falling on top of the display mattresses and lost in some newly-engaged-girl world every time she stares at her hand. After I catch her using a Sharpie to graffiti the boxes in the back, I send her home with a laugh and close up shop myself.

When I walk through the club doors, I’m not expecting to be immediately bombarded by the girl who unknowingly shattered my heart, but I am. And all I can see is the shiny white of her teeth and her glowing bracelet that says
O
VER 21
.

“Hey!” Theresa says like I haven’t been ignoring her for over a week, then throws her arms around my shoulders. I breathe in and can’t help the sudden takeoff in my chest from her scent. My arms and fingers twitch, and again, I just can’t help the way they glide over her upper back, squeezing with gentle pressure to feel all of her toned and not-so-toned skin just under this thin piece of fabric. It’s an aching reminder of how much I love this girl, and how much she
doesn’t
love me. I jerk back as if my gut has been punched by an iron fist.

“So, I’ve got an extra shirt if you need it.” She grins when she pulls away. “Wasn’t sure if you got my text about it being a paint party, since you
never responded
.” She laughs like it’s not a big deal, and the fact that it isn’t a big deal sends that iron fist hurling back into my stomach.

“I’m good,” I tell her, then scan the club for something, some
one
, other than her. The room is full of painted bodies and tangled couples. Jace is over at the bar, and I nod like an idiot, pretending he’s waving me over. “I’ll catch you later.”

Her eyebrows pull together slightly, but she shakes it off as more people float in.

I ignore her. It sucks.

“Here, dude,” Jace says when I flump onto the barstool next to him. Being the good friend that he is, he pushes some numbing juice in my direction. He’s the only one who knows about the night I had a massive brain fart and told Theresa I loved her. It’s good of him, and normally I’d take it. But I push the glass back, the neon light dancing off the bar top. Not tonight. I want to feel something tonight: excitement for Lizzie and Landon (Landon’s been carrying that ring around for weeks now); joy from getting off work; having a good time dancing; pain. Yeah, I’d even take feeling pain tonight. Maybe the sooner I let myself feel it, the faster it’ll go away.

I push myself off the barstool and head over to the paint drums. A pretty girl with a nice smile hands me a drumstick and pours some neon blue and green on top of the taut fabric. I twirl the drumstick in my hand before crashing it into the paint. The thud of the bass drum rumbles up through my arm as the paint splatters all over my gray shirt. A laugh picks up from my gut, and I hit the drum again and again and again, until I’m covered, and the girl next to me is covered, and the guy next to her is covered, and I decide this is just as good as getting drunk.

“The engaged couple’s here!” a voice calls out. I pull the paint goggles from my face and watch as Theresa points us all to the front door.

My best friend and his fiancée are unmistakable, dressed in white from top to bottom, and when congratulations are yelled from every direction in the club, Lizzie jumps back with a large surprised grin on her face, bumping into Landon.

I’ve known Landon nearly my whole life. He was my best bro growing up, and we’ve gone through different girls and relationships. But the way he looks at Liz as he catches her and kisses her cheek, and even when she gets pulled into the crowd by all the girls in the place to ogle the ring he gave her, I just…I’ve never seen that look on him for anyone else. Makes me think that maybe there is that one person for each of us. Just have to find her.

My eyes subconsciously drift to Theresa, who’s admiring Lizzie’s ring, cheek painted with a pink streak. I wonder if I have “the look” when I gaze at Theresa, or if I haven’t found the girl to give “the look” to yet.

After a good internal scolding and a shake of my head, I hand the drumsticks over to the pretty paint girl and make my way to Landon. Tonight is not about me.

“Hey, finally did it,” I tell him with a pat on the shoulder, staining his blindingly white T-shirt with blue paint. He downs what I assume is the first of many congratulatory shots, then wipes his lips with the back of his hand and throws me a smile.

“Accidentally.”

“How do you mean?”

“It sorta came out when we were in the shower.”

I bolt out a laugh. “And she still said yes?”

He shrugs and gives knuckles to one of his buddies from his movie set as he passes. “Guess I didn’t need to drop a paycheck for a suit.”

I shake my head, remembering the day when Landon said he was going to propose to Lizzie at an outdoor restaurant (what is it about those places?) and he needed a suit. The cheapest one we found was in the back of Jace’s closet—but the legs didn’t cover Landon’s socks, and the shoulders on the jacket were so bulky it looked like he didn’t have a neck.

“Unless you count your tux,” I say, dismissing the shot that’s being offered to me by Jaycee, another one of Landon’s movie people. He takes it, shoots it back, and then returns the empty glass to her.

“All right, I’m gonna go stop that,” he says, nodding across the crowded room at Jace, who’s currently spinning Lizzie around in a dizzying circle. I pat him on the back again as he leaves, and Jaycee gives me a wide grin.

“Feel like dancing?” she asks, setting down the empty shot glasses on a nearby table. I take one look at the dance floor and immediately spot Theresa going wild out there. Wilder than usual. She probably has a few shots in her as well. A twinge of regret hits my chest, and I wonder if I should drink tonight after all, but I quickly shake myself out of it.

“I could be persuaded,” I tell Jaycee, and she grabs me by the arm and tugs me out onto the floor.

Hours later, Landon and Lizzie are getting ready to jet out, Jace is pretty smashed, Theresa is
incredibly
smashed, and I’m still having a hell of a time pounding on those drums and alternating between a few dance partners.

“Hey, gotta talk to you for a second,” Jace says to me as I’m dancing with the pretty paint girl. Her name’s Kendra, and so far all I’ve learned about her is that she’s a single mom trying to make ends meet by working here. I really hope the tips are good. She seems nice.

“What’s up?” I ask over my shoulder. His unfocused eyes roll, and he waves me toward him. I excuse myself as politely as I can and follow him toward the black curtains where all the couples are painting each other.

“Um, dude, I love you, but I’m not painting anything on your body.”

“Smartass.” He shakes his head, a drop of paint falling from one of his ears onto his shirt. “I need you to take Theresa home.”

I jerk back, shooting my gaze around the room to find her. “She okay?”

“Wasted. And if you can’t tell, I’m not exactly the best chaperone at the moment.”

“Get her a cab.”

“Liz said to make sure she gets home. Tuck her in. You know, that type of shit.”

I take another glance around the room, finally spotting her at a table, head in her hands. She’s laughing at something—probably herself, because there isn’t anyone with her.

“I…”
Can’t.
I want to say I can’t. I won’t. It’s too damn hard, and I’d been doing really well avoiding her all night, but then I remember promising her that things wouldn’t change and I’d still be there for her, and how I’ve failed on an epic level. My eyes meet Jace’s somewhat drunk ones, and he grins at me as if he already knows that I’m going to give in.

“Thanks, man.” He pats my shoulder a little harder than I think he means to.

“You’re getting a cab tonight, right?”

“You bet your ass.”

I let out a sigh and give him a goodbye nod. Then I head out into the painted crowd to put my arm around the girl that I’m crazy in love with.

“Your face is so adorable,” Theresa tells me when we’re in the car. She leans up from the backseat and her very fruity breath warms up my shoulder. “Look at this dimple.” Her finger jabs into my cheek, but slips and goes right into my mouth. Her nail scrapes against the inside of my cheek, and I grab her wrist and push her back with a laugh.

“Driving, here,” I say as she dissolves into a fit of drunk giggles. The backseat rocks and I hear shuffles and thuds, so I flick my eyes to the rearview mirror just in time to catch her trying to take off her strappy high-heeled shoes.

“I’ll help you with those.”

“You’re driving.”

“When we park.”

“You want to take off my shoes?”

“You aren’t going to sleep in them, are you?”

She leans up again, and I watch her eyebrow tilt in the way it always does when she thinks she’s being cute. (She is.)

“I’m not sleeping in this dress either,” she whispers into my ear, and the small hairs along the back of my neck stand on end. I’m glad I’m at a red light because I probably would’ve swerved if my foot was on the accelerator. “So…are you going to help me out of that?”

I imagine sliding down the zipper, smearing paint from my skin onto hers as I smooth my hands over her shoulders. The dress pools at her feet as she steps lightly out of it. My eyes catch hers, hers look right back, and we both smile. I haven’t ever felt as alive and as terrified as I do now, with her naked and the bed right at the bend of her legs. I could simply ease her down and let her painted hair fall across the sheets and her pink-stained fingers reach for my belt—

“Is this a yes?” She laughs, her finger pointing directly to my suddenly tight paint-stained jeans, and I have to tell her to sit back again as I adjust myself. I’m coherent enough now to hear sounds as well, and the guy behind me isn’t too happy that I sat through a good portion of the light that turned green during the fantasy Theresa slipped inside my head.

“You stay back there.”

“Ooh, I like it when you get all serious.” Her lips squish together, and I chuckle, which completely makes my commanding tone moot. She giggles and burbles, and I wish I found it unattractive, but I find it adorable.

“Did you know I can put my leg behind my head?” she slurs, pulling on her ankle. “I used…
oof!
…to be able to do…
ouch, oh shit…
both legs. But now…”

“Put your feet back under you,” I say through a laugh. Then I hear a thunk as she knees herself in the jaw.

“Help! I’m wounded!”

There’s not a chance in hell I can help her while driving, so I put us in park alongside a curb and fight her flailing arms and legs.

“Jewelry,” she says when I get hold of her wrist. She twists the ring from her sort-of-boyfriend that she wears on occasion, which I’m relieved to say isn’t as often as it used to be. “One day you’re going to give a girl jewelry, Alec, and she’s gonna
die
over it.”

“I’m sure she will.”

Her dress bunches around her upper thighs, and I quickly tug it down for her before she flashes me another glimpse of the red lace underwear she’s wearing.

“I mean it.” The surprisingly hard pressure of her finger pushes against my bottom lip. “You’re gonna luver
soooo
much. And she’ll luvu back.”

I wrestle her leg down and look up at her. She gives me a very alcohol-induced smile and taps my lip again.

“I got jewelry once. It didn’t…it’s not going so well.”

My throat constricts, and I watch as her eyes drop to her finger on my mouth. I hear her breath catch, feel her relaxed body twitch. The desire to hold her, comfort her, and erase the sadness that’s creeping through her drunken stupor floods through me. I let go of her leg and hold her hand, being careful not to pull it from my lip because I like it there.

“I know,” I tell her, then drop a small kiss to her fingertip. Her eyes meet mine again, and whatever she sees there…she thinks is funny as hell. Her lips open and her stomach quivers with laughter. I let out a sigh and try to get her into a seatbelt; she doesn’t want to cooperate.

After finally getting her into a semi-normal position (she’s tucked her knees under her, ass up in the air and face stuffed into the upholstery), I pull back onto the road and try to get us home in one piece.

A very long twenty minutes later, I’m helping her into the elevator and down the hallway to her apartment. Her lips have become
really
friendly, kissing up my shoulder and neck and sliming up my ear, which I try to wipe off discreetly as Theresa attempts to get her key in her door. I eventually do it for her.

“Okay, do you need help getting into be—”

She lunges at me, her hands flopping over my shoulders, and I stagger backward, involuntarily slamming the apartment door shut. “I want you in me.”

“Theresa,” I manage to say around her eager mouth. “You’re drunk.”

“Yep.” She leans back and smiles at me. My entire world rocks underneath my feet with the realization that she’s just kissed me. That we basically had our first kiss and I’m not even sure if she knows it.

Her nails scratch the back of my neck and she pulls me in, I think to whisper in my ear, but the alcohol has taken her volume control.

“Take advantage,” she says, and there are several parts of me that want to take her up on it. “Because this won’t happen when I’m sober.”

And there it is. The sobering shot straight into the vein that makes me pull away from her advances, no matter how much I ache to accept them.

“Come on, drinky,” I
actually
whisper. She hangs on me willingly, and I’m not sure if it’s because she thinks I’m taking advantage or if she needs my support in order to stand upright. That’s the cold, hard truth of this night—there’s a good chance she won’t remember a thing tomorrow morning because she’s so blissfully unaware of anything right now.