Crazy About Love: An All About Love Novel (7 page)

Her lips are still fighting to get hold of mine, and they succeed a few times, but not for long. She giggles and makes noises that weaken my resolve as I unfold a towel and try to get it on the bed while she’s still in my arms. I end up falling to the mattress, taking her with me. Her body relaxes under my full weight, and…two seconds. Two seconds pass while I fight the temptation to stay right here, and it’s both the longest two seconds and the shortest two seconds of my life.

“Wait,” she says as I push up on my arms. Her knee slides up my thigh and rests against my hip.

“What?”

“It feels good,” she says, warm breath washing over my face. “You on top of me.”

“Theresa…” I want to tell her that she feels good under me. I almost do. But she leans up, and instead of fighting her off, I pull her in. I need a kiss between us that says everything I feel. I kiss her with passion and heat and conflict and confusion and words that I can’t say out loud because I’m terrified of getting hurt again. I know this won’t go anywhere, yet I kiss her anyway. She’s no match for my enthusiasm; in her drunken state she’s blissfully unaware of the repercussions this will have.

“Take them off.” Her hands have found my jeans, and she’s running her palm up and down. I beg some of the blood to come back to the brain in my head. Because this isn’t how I want to do this. And most important, if this did happen, things would change for the worse. I can see it all—her waking up naked beside me, confused and full of regret, while I’d feel like absolute shit for taking advantage of one of my best friends when I knew—I
know
she’s too drunk to do this right now.

“Theresa…,” I say, shaking my head and easing her hand away.

“Stay.”

I clench my jaw, push myself off her, and opt for sitting on the edge of the bed so I can tuck her in, prying her wandering hands off me.

“You need…you need to sleep.”

She lets out a long sigh and her arms grow lazy. Her body melts into the bedding and her eyelids start to droop. I quirk a half smile at her before planting a soft kiss on her forehead.

“I like this,” she says so softly I’m not even sure if I hear it. “I like the feel of…of you.”

My beating heart crashes behind the wall I’ve put up tonight, and I run my thumb over her cheek as her eyes fall all the way closed. The paint from my thumb stains her skin, which is beautiful and imperfect, just like she is. I’m tempted to lie down next to her, sleep in the same bed, and breathe in her scent and her everything before she wakes up and regrets what she’s done tonight.

Her chest rises and falls, her painted and curled hair tumbling over the pillow. I still love her, and I don’t know if I can ever stop loving her. Distance only makes the times when there is absolutely no distance that much harder. And I don’t want to just love her. I want to fall in love with her—dating her, kissing her, sleeping next to her, making love to her. I want to do all those things, and not just with anyone. I just wish she wanted those things too—when she’s sober.

Something creaks by the closet, breaking me out of my reverie. I reach over and click off Theresa’s light, letting her disappear into the blackness so that it makes it easier to leave. I lean down, tuck a pink-stained piece of hair behind her ear, and tell her what I can’t say when she’s awake.

“I like the feel of you too.”

P
RESENT DAY

There’s nothing but cashews. Landon told me once that he hated that it was cheaper to get mixed nuts when all he really wanted were the cashews. So he’d pick them all out and Lizzie would get pissed at him. And as I shake the can with nothing but cashews, I wonder if the limo Landon takes to movie premieres has these. Probably solved one of many hilarious marital arguments he gets in.

“Should I be concerned that you’re fascinated with the nuts?” Rian asks with a laugh, lying flat on her back across the seats perpendicular to me. Her legs dangle over the edge, and she pulls up the hem of her shirt and draws circles just under her belly button. It was pretty toasty once we hopped inside, so both our jackets are hanging out on the empty seat.

I set the nuts inside the limo’s minibar. “Which one’s the first?”

“The first nut?” she asks, confusion evident in her furrowed forehead.

“Tattoo.” I nod in the direction of her circling finger. “Which one did you get first?”

“This one.” She trails a nail to a hidden tattoo behind her ear. It’s a single raindrop. “You’re very interested in my ink.”

I’m interested in conversation. So far this night has been hot and cold, and I’m not sure if it’s just the chemistry (or lack thereof) between us or if it’s all in my head.

“You’re a freaking celebrity,” I say with a laugh. “And conversation starters aren’t my forte.”

“Hmm,” she hums thoughtfully, rotating her finger across her skin and staring at the limo’s closed sunroof above her head. “How about you ask me how I got into it?”

“I figured everyone asks you that.”

She turns her head to look at me. “Only people who are interested in getting to know me.”

“How’d you get into it?” I immediately ask, and she giggles. I
do
want to get to know her. All part of the plan, after all. And it’s not like I have a lot of questions to ask her stocked up in my brain.

When I moved from Pennsylvania to New York, I thought I had shoved away that part of me that has difficulty meeting people. I even read a book on how to socialize. Luckily I didn’t have to do much, since Landon has no difficulty talking for hours with someone he just met, and I was around him the majority of my time. Hell, he told me he fell in love with Lizzie after their first conversation.

I wonder how many conversations it’ll take for me to forget Theresa and start connecting with Rian (since I am determined to make that happen). Three? Four? A hundred? A thousand?

“…and that’s how it all started,” she says, and I blink a few times. Did I mention that I also have a daydreaming problem? Guess that connection will have to wait for another conversation, since I didn’t pay attention to a damn word of this one.

She laughs at my blank stare and hoists herself up on the seat. “Usually people have some sort of reaction.”

“Uh…”

“It’s okay. Refreshing, actually.” She smiles and twists around to bang on the partition. “Hey, Jackson,” she says to the driver. I’m still detecting a weird tone in her voice when she says his name. Maybe they have history or something. Damn…is that how I sound to Theresa?

“Take us to the roof court,” Rian says, then faces me again. “I hope you’re not afraid of a little illegal activity.”

She does not read people as well as she claims to. I’ve never had so much as a detention.

“Such as…?”

“Trespassing.”

I suppose that’s not horrible as far as illegal activities go. “As long as we aren’t killing anyone, I’m in.”

Rian switches on the music. It’s not exactly my kind of thing, but music is music. I’ve learned from watching Lizzie and Landon’s relationship that you don’t have to be fans of the same sort of things to be compatible. And I’ve learned from Jace and Shay’s relationship that you can be polar opposites and still be crazy for each other.

It doesn’t take us long to get to whatever the roof court is. Jackson pulls over about five minutes later and I hurry out and hold the door for Rian before he can. Figure I may as well show her that I’m gentlemanly as shit, though I didn’t realize I’d get the look of death from the driver when she puts her hand in mine and says, “Thank you.”

She leads me to an abandoned building that is giving off major haunted vibes, and I try to find a street sign to see if we’re in the ghetto, but I’m pulled into an alleyway before I can read it. I get one more glance of Jackson getting into the limo, and I swear I see someone ducking down in the passenger seat. Brown hair. That’s what I catch, and a leap goes through my gut, which is absolutely ridiculous because over 50 percent of the girl population has brown hair. And on second glance there’s not even anyone there. So my damn mind is playing tricks on me.

“Watch out for the edges,” Rian says, pulling my attention back to her and her purple hair. Purple. That’s probably less than 1 percent of the girl population. Along with her millionaire status. I’m out with one of a freaking kind. So I shake myself out of it and give her a grin. She pulls the chain-link fence out where it’s cut, being careful not to slice herself on the sharp edges. I hold it for her, eyeing the
NO TRESPASSING
sign, adrenaline starting to bubble through my veins like when I was up on that stage. When she makes it through, I duck in after her.

“Where are we headed?” I ask in a hushed voice, crouching down so she can hear me. She lets out a giant laugh that makes me jump.

“No need to whisper.”

“Bullshit,” I hiss at her, pulling on the crook of her arm so she gets behind me. “This place has murder written all over it.”

She raises an eyebrow and pulls me in close. “I like you, Alex with a
c
. So protective.”

“I’d rather be in front than in the back,” I joke.

She laughs and snakes a hand around to tap a nail against my belt buckle. “I will remember that.”

My gut dips, and I try to tell myself it’s in an exciting way. Like hell yeah, sex implications! But when I say, “Damn, I meant I’d rather be in back,” and my voices trembles like it’s in a paint shaker, I think that maybe my gut is dipping in a very different, guilt-ridden way.

Rian giggles against me, and her breath warms my spine through my T-shirt. How is it that we have more chemistry when we’re not looking at each other than when we are?

“So…where are we headed?” I ask, since I’m now the one directing us.

“Up.”

“I forgot my wings tonight.”

I feel her smile against me. “Good thing I didn’t.” She ducks under my arm and nods at a fire escape that looks like a ninety-pound person could make it crumble into a million pieces.

“Uh…okay…”

She laughs. “I appreciate the attempted enthusiasm. But we should probably take the elevator.”

Phew. I’m all for taking risks tonight, but I’d rather not die on that thing. And I’m man enough to admit when I’m scared shitless—heights are not my thing. I know I’m not exactly winning any points tonight in the awesome date department, but screaming when I slip on the top rung of the fire escape ladder will probably kill the night entirely.

Rian sneaks around me, bumping a side door open with her hip. The building wails and moans, making another surge of adrenaline pump through my body. I grab her hand and pull her inside, enjoying the way her giggles sort of sound like hiccups.

It’s dark in here, and musty-smelling, but the moon shines through one of the broken windows and onto a giant wall that’s been tagged so much it’s more spray paint than interior paint.

Rian pushes a button to our right, and the chiming doors open up. The elevator reminds me of one I saw in a Leo DiCaprio movie (all right, it was
Titanic,
not
The Departed,
and I’m wondering how old this building really is). Rian mashes the button for the roof over and over until the doors close with a loud screech that makes me think maybe we should’ve dared the fire escape.

“Ever done it in an elevator?” she asks, taking me so off guard that I end up snorting so hard I hurt myself.

“Have you?”

“Do you count oral sex?” She leans against the cracked wooden railing nailed against each of the elevator’s four walls. I force my brain to stay in my head.

“I would, yeah.”

A slow, deliberate smile spreads across her face. “Then
not yet
.”

She drops her eyes, intentionally eyeing my zipper. My brow furrows and I shift my weight. The unexpected sexual advances keep throwing me off balance. One moment we’re talking casually and perfectly on the surface, and the next she’s indicating an intimate exchange.

“Hmm,” I say, mostly because I haven’t decided on how to proceed with that kind of offer. I don’t know her, and I’m past the days of sleeping around. I want to move on with my heart, not just in bed. Guess I should’ve made that more clear.

The elevator creaks when I take a step toward her. I see her pulse jump in her neck, and I reach out and tuck my fingers between hers. Holding hands always helps for me—it’s the first step of many small ones that lead to something more. Her breath catches, and the seductive glance softens into something much sweeter. For the first time tonight, I can see potential in something new.

“I want to know something real,” I tell her, trying not to sound so damn desperate for a connection between us. I lock eyes with her for a second before I drop my gaze to our hands. “Tell me something real about you.”

Her hand twitches in mine. The air between us goes quiet, so the only sound is the eerie screech and squeal of the old elevator pulling us to the roof. She lets out an amused sigh, and I catch her eyes once again.

“Sex in an elevator is about as real as I get.”

The floor jumps underneath us and the door dings open, saving me from looking too disappointed in her answer.

“Welcome to my world,” Rian says, hopping off the elevator. The entire roof is fenced, minus a small portion next to the wobbly fire escape, and there’s a basketball hoop on the far end.

The ground is
covered
in graffiti art.

“Badass,” I say under my breath, stepping out onto the roof, tentative since I don’t want to stand on such amazing artwork, but there’s nowhere else
to
stand.

She makes her way to the basketball hoop. There’s a rack of basketballs hanging out in the corner of the roof lot, like this court is used often, though no one would ever guess from the state of the building. And like it knows I’m judging it, something clangs behind me. I whip around, but no one’s there. Must be that fire escape finally biting the dust.

“Ten years in the making.”

“Huh?” I ask, still surveying the area behind me. Rian laughs, and I turn back around.

“This one.” She taps the ground with her foot, and I ignore the ominous clanging and make my way over to her. “I know you can’t really see it.” She waves up at the burned-out roof lights and the very minimal moonlight we’re getting.

“Easily resolved,” I say, pulling my phone from my pocket. I ignore the notifications and turn the flashlight on to shine it at our feet. Dark blue paint mixes in with lighter blues in unbelievably realistic waves, yet the whole thing looks abstract at the same time. I follow the patterns, walking up and down the court. Rian stays where she’s at, rubbing her arms a little. I wish I’d taken my jacket just so I could offer it to her.

“This is incredible,” I tell her, and she gives me a small smile. Something that looks a lot like worry flashes across her expression, and she looks down at the ground just above my light.

I move my phone across the court. The blues and greens of the background meet the hard outline of a figure floating in the water—a small girl with colorful hair as long as her body. Her eyes are a piercing green, wide open, and her mouth is formed in an imperfect O. Starburst shapes cascade over her cheeks and hands and feet; her skin almost looks crystallized.

I crouch down, running my hand over the microscopic lines along the girl’s neck. They look a lot like…

“Gills,” Rian says, her breath warming my shoulder. She squats down next to me. “They’re small, to make you think that, from a distance, she’s going to die here. That she might already be dead. That she will be permanently stuck under the water.”

“That’s very morbid of you,” I say with a sideways glance.

The corner of her mouth twitches upward. “But if you look
real
close, you can see that…she’ll be okay.”

Damn. When people say stuff like that, the air shifts and folds and flops you around until you’re in that moment with them.
That’s
what I meant by something real. I find myself wanting to pull her closer, so I settle my hand in hers again.

“That’s morbidly beautiful,” I correct myself, and she shakes with silent laughter. “Who is she?”

“The girl?” she asks, and I nod. “Me. You. Everyone, I guess. We all have our challenges in life.”

“Like being in love with the wrong person?”

I mean to say it like it’s not a big deal, but I feel the air snap back to before her realism. Her hand feels foreign in mine. Like the artwork, I feel trapped underwater and I’m desperately searching for the same air Rian is breathing.

“I don’t think that’s accurate,” she says, pushing on her knees to stand upright. I follow after her.

“Which part?”

“The ‘wrong’ part. What makes you think she’s the wrong person? Because she doesn’t feel the same way?”

“Well…yeah,” I say with a laugh.

She shakes her head, smiling up at the starry sky. “There are a million people in the world. How many have you loved?”

“I don’t know. A fair amount.” But
in
love? I guess that’s an entirely different answer—one I don’t know. I always thought that for you to be in love, the other person had to love you back in the same way. Maybe I’m wrong about that; I’ve yet to experience a two-sided kind of love.

“Loving someone isn’t wrong,” she whispers, more to herself than to me. Her eyes drift down to the girl in the water briefly before she takes in a large breath and holds it, looking back at the sky.

A shadow moves across the court, but when I look to see the source of it there’s nothing there. Probably my mind playing games, since it seems to love doing that tonight. Trying to distract me, no doubt. Because it knows that my cement heart isn’t going to beat for someone else for a while.