Crazy About Love: An All About Love Novel (10 page)

“Hot chocolate?” Grandma Carver offers to me.

“Thank you, ma’am.” I haven’t had hot chocolate since I was about ten. The smell of the powder alone is bringing me back to my own grandmother’s house.

“Ma’am,” Grandma Carver says, holding out a piping hot mug. “You hear that, Jace? Manners.”

“Do I get any?” he asks.

“What do you say?”

“You are the most gorgeous woman in my life,” he answers with his hand over his heart, only to receive a massive eye roll. But Grandma Carver still hands over a mug

“Okay, kids. I have my own Christmas tradition to attend to. Stay as long as you’d like.” She pats Theresa and me on our cheeks, kisses Jace, and wanders out of the room. Theresa’s smile fades a little, and she gives Jace a questioning glance.

“Lots of prayer and talking to my parents,” he explains. “She likes to tell them how worried she is that I haven’t found a wife.” He laughs, but it sounds a little off. He doesn’t take a sip of his drink before he puts it down and walks to the foyer. “You guys can stay. I’m just heading out for a minute.”

“You okay?” I ask.

“Yep. Just my own tradition—shovel and salt the walk. The landlord doesn’t think it takes priority.”

“I’ll help.”

“One shovel.” He shrugs on his coat. “Don’t worry about it. I like doing it.”

He steps outside into the light snowfall, putting up his hood. The room is eerily quiet without the two noisiest people in the house. There’s also the fact that I can feel the hurt and anger rolling off Theresa in waves—all directed toward me.

She lets out a long sigh and shuffles into the living room with heavy feet. Her mouth is pressed in an adorably frustrated straight line as she puts her mug down on a coaster and flumps onto the plastic-covered couch. I discreetly fish around in my coat pocket before following.

“Nice Christmas,” I say, sitting next to her. The fire from the fireplace is dancing in her very narrowed eyes.

“Yep,” she says, clipping the word. I pretend to ignore it.

“I liked that card Grandma Carver gave us.” I blow across my mug of hot chocolate. “Pretty hilarious.”

“Yeah, the apple didn’t fall far from the tree in that family.”

“It sure didn’t.”

Silence descends on us, except for the crackling of the fire and Theresa muttering softly under her breath. She always talks, even when there’s nothing to say, and it’s not a bad thing. Not at all.

“And they remember presents,” she says after a few long seconds. She turns her eyes on me, and I meet them, playing the innocent, clueless male. “It’s nice to know that someone’s thinking about you when you have to spend Christmas away from your family. That’s a good friend right there.”

She puts her mug to her lips, and I can’t help but let my smile break through.

“You’re mad.”

Her glare is so damn cute. “What do you think, Alec? Of course I’m mad.” She puts down her mug, probably so hot chocolate doesn’t get thrown anywhere. “Not only did someone who’s practically a stranger think to give me a gift, but one of my closest friends just thinks, ‘no thanks.’ And I know it’s selfish and stupid, but I spent
forever
searching for the right present for you because I thought we’d finally gotten to a place in our friendship where we could actually
be
friends again. Even Jace, the ignoramus, got me something. And you didn’t have to do anything big. I just wanted you to give me—”

I settle the rectangular box in her lap. It’s wrapped (pretty well, mind you, for someone who can’t wrap well) in
Walking Dead
paper with a dark red bow. A wiseass grin hits my lips as she finishes in a whisper, “Something.”

“I didn’t want to give it to you in front of everyone.”

Her shoulders droop, and the corners of her mouth turn into an uncontrolled grin. “Great, make me feel like shit.”

“You did that yourself,” I say with a laugh as she eagerly tears into it. I’ve always loved that about her. She’s not one to be careful with wrapping paper.

“It’s jewelry.” Her lovely brown eyes turn my way. “
Heart-shaped
jewelry.”

“It’s butt-shaped.”

She silently chuckles and pulls the necklace from the box. I can tell she’s unsure how to react, unsure of the intention behind it. My fingers find the back of my neck and I scratch even though there is no itch.

“I know you’re scared about things changing.” Her eyes flick to mine, suddenly scared, and I quickly clarify. “With Lizzie.”

The lines around her mouth crease with her smile. “Things
will
change with Liz.”

I nod. “I know guys don’t get sentimental about this, but…I’m losing my best friend too. I mean, at times I feel like I’ve already been replaced, but I know with the marriage, it will have to be that way. It
should
be that way. They are good for each other.”

She nods, then looks back at the necklace, thumb tumbling over the silver heart.

“I wanted you to know that you’re not alone.”

Her hands drop to her lap, and she looks at me the way I’ve always wanted her to look at me: with wide eyes so full and open that I can see into her mind, her thoughts. Suddenly the feelings and the words come back with a vengeance.
I love you
. They’re right there again, sitting on my tongue, wanting to be said, but not wanting to be heard. I press my lips together, begging them to keep those words and feelings secret—to keep them only for me.

She puts her hand on mine and it’s almost my undoing. “You are off-the-charts charming, you know.”

I clear my throat, begging my voice to say the right thing. “Charming?”

“Some days.” She hands me the necklace, then turns, lifting her long, wavy hair so I can snap the clasp. My clumsy thumbs take a bit to get it closed, but when I do, I give her shoulder a tiny squeeze so she knows I’m done. I’m tempted to press my lips there too, but thankfully I defeat the impulse.

“Thank you,” she says in a hushed, warm tone that goes straight to my head. “Sorry for being so impatient.”

I laugh. “Hope it was worth the wait.”

She looks down at it, her fingers gliding over the heart. Without answering, she slides her arms around my shoulders. Her face burrows into the crook of my neck, and I turn my head, inhale the Christmas pine scent of her hair, and hold her close to me for as long as she allows. And she allows me more than my fair share of time, yet it still doesn’t seem long enough.

“Now I feel like my present to you was crap.” She waves a hand at the tie around my neck.

“I did do so much better.”

A soft hand pushes my shoulder, and her smile hits even the darkest parts inside of me.

“I’ll play for you,” she offers, her eyes landing on the piano in the corner. She pushes off the couch, fingers toying with the heart around her neck. I bend down, grab the Christmas book from Grandma Carver, and flip to “Deck the Halls.”

“This one good?” I ask over the piano with a smirk.

She shakes her head and settles the music in front of her.

“See?” she says, playing the first note. “Charming.”

P
RESENT DAY

“You showed me your world,” I say into Rian’s ear, turning her toward the giant billboards and illuminated signs. “This is mine.”

The wind picks up, sending some of Rian’s hair into my face. I can feel her eyes on me, but I don’t meet them. This is the place I soak up as much as I can: the lights, the sounds…but not really the smell, because midtown New York often smells of ass.

“Times Square is your world?” she asks, skepticism in her tone.

I point her toward a large theater. “Just that part right there.” For more than half of my life my dream has been a Broadway stage. I’m so close to it I can taste it on the tip of my tongue, feel it with my fingertips; a small part of me believes that if I can reach that, I can reach anything. Even things I’ve given up all hope of having.

I scratch an invisible itch on the back of my neck, shaking my head free of the what-could-have-beens, and focus on Rian. She swings her arm out dramatically at the theater’s marquee with a large grin on her face.

“
Annie
on Broadway,” she recites. “Starring Alex with a
c
as Mr. What’s-his-face—you know, the rich guy.”

“The
Playbill
will phrase it just like that.”

“I like it.” She drops her arm and steps close to me. “So, have you ever performed there?”

I shake my head. “Someday. Maybe soon.” I grin at her tilted eyebrow. “I auditioned today.”

“Busy day for you,” she lilts. “Auditions, strip dances, auctions…”

“Well, the auction was last-minute. And the strip was alcohol-induced.” If you count the one drink I had before the show.

“Remind me to pour you some champagne when we get back to the limo.” She nudges me in the shoulder. “You weren’t doing the auction already?”

“Favor for a friend.”

“What friend?”

What a simple question with several different answers. A best friend. A complicated friend. The friend I’m in love with. The friend I’d promised everything to, only to take it back the second things got too painful. The friend who, after all we’ve been through, still manages to be exactly that for me—a friend.

“A good friend,” I say, settling on an answer that in no way blankets how I feel about Theresa.

Rian’s smile relaxes. “Your girl?”

I wince, the implication that Theresa’s mine cutting me in the chest. “She’s not my girl.”

“Was your girl there tonight?”

“She’s not my girl,” I repeat.

“How long has it been since she was your girl?” Rian presses. If I was a grade-A douche, I’d probably walk away.

“She’s never been my girl.”

“I don’t believe that for a second.” She laughs.

“Why not?”

“Because you’re a horrible liar.” She gestures to my bullshit face. “When was the last time the two of you kissed?”

My eyes narrow. “Kissing her does not make her mine.”

“Answer the question.”

I grin at her stubborn stance, the adorable know-it-all expression. I realize that I think it’s cute, but I still have yet to feel anything spectacular about it. Not like how a simple glance from She-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named would explode every possible nerve ending.

“Three weeks,” I admit, and a victorious smile hits Rian’s lips. “But like I said, that doesn’t make her mine.”

“Well, no wonder you can’t move on,” she says, relaxing her stance and turning back toward the beauty of the Broadway marquee. “The wound is so fresh it’s still bleeding.”

“It’s not…it was…but there wasn’t…” Damn it, I’m bumbling around, trying but failing to find a viable explanation for that night. There isn’t one. Rian’s seen through me yet again.

I sigh and shake my head at the ground. “It was just one friend comforting another.”

“You said you didn’t want to be in love anymore,” she says. “Why? What’s so wrong with love?”

“It hurts.” My heart thuds thick in my chest, a reminder of all the times I used the word “love,” even in casual conversation. “Hurts like a bitch,” I say with a laugh. My hand is up on my chest, and I don’t remember putting it there. I suppose I’m subconsciously trying to ease the pain. I quickly jam it back into my pocket.

Her eyes flick over to me. “But doesn’t it also feel…amazing?”

I smirk. “Maybe.”

“I think
definitely
amazing,” she says, leaning into me. “Otherwise you wouldn’t be holding on to it so hard.”

“Were you also a psych major?”

She lets out a small chuckle. “It’s kind of funny. You need help forgetting love, and I need help remembering it exists.”

I raise an eyebrow. “Is that what you were looking for tonight?”

She pushes her lips together in thoughtful repose. “No. I was looking for…a night.”

“Care to elaborate on what kind of night?”

She grins at my obvious hesitation regarding intimacy at this point in the evening. It’s ridiculous, really. I should want a night as well, but in my experience, sex doesn’t make you forget a damn thing. In fact, I think it intensifies
every
thing
.

“A night to be different,” she says. “A night away from life.”

I snort. “Oh, geez. I think I owe you a massive apology, then.”

“Why?”

I wave a hand. “Because tonight was…I mean, a blackout, a flat tire, a nosebleed, and food spills all sound like life.”

“Not mine.”

“Lucky.”

“You know what my life is?” she asks, and I shake my head. “My life is nothing. It’s absolutely nothing. I paint and sleep. All I have is my art and me. So I welcome flat tires, food in my lap, and balls to my face.”

A laugh barrels through my stomach, and she grabs my arms and pulls them around her waist. Her back settles against my chest, and I stand stone-still, listening to her slow breathing, as the lights dance in front of us. We probably look like a couple, though I don’t
feel
like we’re one. I wish I could just appreciate the small fact that a woman wants
me
to hold her like this.

I feel a pang in my chest and my cement heart starts to crack, but not enough. It’s a small fissure in an otherwise very strong structure. The last woman I held in my arms like this made the earth spin. She made the entire population of New York disappear, and the only sounds in the air were the notes of her voice, talking about her world, her fears, her hopes. She talked of her past, her future, her family, and her friends, and nothing she said was boring or uninteresting. It hit parts of me that made all the screws come loose in my brain.

Rian’s right. Love is
amazing
. And I don’t know how to feel it with anyone else, but I sure as hell am gonna try.

“You’re right,” I tell Rian over the bustle of the New York night. She tilts her head up to look at me, and I meet her eyes. “The wound…it’s still bleeding.”

“Well, I already fixed one bleeding body part.” She taps my nose, and it stings a bit from all the bangs it’s been through tonight. “I can try to fix the other one.”

6 MONTHS, 7 DAYS AGO: 8:49
P.M.

The clock on my dash reads 8:49, and I wince at the early getaway I just successfully pulled off. Jace—in a completely out-of-character maneuver—set me up on a blind date with one of the extras in the movie he’s shooting. I don’t know what possessed him to think of me when he’d normally just take the girl out himself (she’s more his type anyway), but I went with it since he did me a favor a few weeks ago.

I made no promises to make the date last longer than necessary, however. After an hourlong conversation on her political viewpoints, she dove into how she dresses her cats. When I realized the cat wardrobe was the most interesting subject we’d broached for the evening, I paid the bill and dropped her off without a nightcap. I reserve those for my best friend on occasions such as this.

I park in Theresa’s stall at her place since her main form of transportation is her own two feet, and then take the stairs two at a time to get to her. I’m too pumped to wait for an elevator. The last month or so has been pure adrenaline in her company. I don’t know if it’s her or if it’s me, but things are better than they ever have been. Yeah, I’m still in love with her, but it’s not so painful anymore. Maybe because she’s stopped looking at me like some wounded puppy.

I tap one knuckle against the door before pushing it open a crack. “You naked?”

Something clinks in the kitchen, and I hear Theresa’s laugh float through the air. “Maybe I should be. Might make cleaning more fun.”

After the all-clear I step inside and slide off my jacket. She’s elbow-deep in sink suds, cringing at something she can’t quite scrub off. The woman rarely cleans, so when she does it’s adorable and amusing to watch her attempt it.

I join her in the kitchen and roll my sleeves to my elbows. She looks at the clock on the oven behind her.

“Ooh, that bad, huh?” she asks.

“Bright side,” I say, pointing my finger at her, “I now have a better understanding of the Democratic Party.”

“Ew, she talked politics on a first date?”

“And cats. I also know too much about her cats.”

She raises an eyebrow. “How many does she have?”

“Five.”

“Their names are…?”

“Huey, Dewey, and Louie, and the twins are Mary-Kate and Ashley.”

“You lie.”

“I wish.”

She laughs and makes a
whomp whomp
sound effect.

“Still better than the worst date you’ve had,” I say, nudging her as I grab a hand towel.

“Getting puked on is hard to beat.”

I’d totally forgotten about that one. Tiny chuckles shake my shoulders, and she playfully nudges me back, splashing some water out of the sink and onto the counter.

“I was actually talking about the guy who robbed you,” I say.

“That one wasn’t
so
bad.” She hands me a wet plate to dry. “I did get a phenomenal kiss that night.”

My stomach jumps up into my throat, and I have to shove it back down where it belongs in order to speak properly.

“Phenomenal. This is true.”

She wrinkles her nose in a playful Eskimo-kiss way, and before I have a chance to ruin the repartee we have going with another declaration of love, a wave of soapy dishwater floods the countertop and the waistband of my pants. I shake my head at her and take a step back so I don’t get any wetter.

She starts singing under her breath, and instead of joining in this time I listen and think, wondering why she’d bring up the subject we are so used to sweeping under the very crowded rug. (Not that I don’t like hearing that the kiss we shared the night she was robbed was “phenomenal.” I’ve often described it that way in my head.) It was just brought up so casually. Guess time has done its healing thing. Either that or she’s moved on and hasn’t said anything. Maybe I’m feeling this closeness and pull toward her simply because she’s a pleasure to be around. No drama, no mess. Like another friend in our circle right now.

“Can I ask you a question without you laughing at me?” I ask, rotating the towel around the plate I’ve been drying for a solid three minutes. Any more and I’ll dry off the patterned hearts around the edges.

“I make no promises,” she teases. I take a deep breath and just blurt it out.

“Did you sleep with Jace?”

Uncontrollable rumbles of laughter roll out of her, one after the other, so much so that she has to clutch the kitchen sink to keep herself upright. Unbridled relief starts filling me up from toe to neck, grateful to get this reaction from her. Though it’s a bit ridiculous now that I say it out loud.

I feel my nose wrinkling up and I nod at the dish I’m drying. “Yes, thank you for answering that with so much sensitivity. I don’t feel like an idiot at all.”

“I’m sorry.” She gets hold of her laughter. “It’s just…what the hell made you think that?”

“Have you
seen
him lately?” The guy is practically shitting rainbows.

“Oh, yes, he’s definitely getting some from somewhere.” She flicks some suds on my shirt. Even cleaning up she makes a mess. “But why would you think of
me
? I told you I’m not ready for that.”

“But you…”

“But I what?”

I shake my head and get back to drying another dish. “Never mind.”

“No.” She spins around, crossing her sudsy arms and soaking the sides of her shirt. “Spit it out.”

“You said that to me so long ago. Seems like you could be ready since, you know…” God, how do I put it without sounding like a dick?

“Since I’ve slept with other guys?” she finishes for me.

“Well, yeah.” I shrug. Sex seems like “ready.” Then again, sex isn’t something casual for me. “Guess I don’t get it,” I admit.

“It never means anything,” she says, bringing her gaze up to meet mine. “It never has.”

“Sucks.”

“Yeah, well…” She shrugs. “You still didn’t answer my question.”

“I forgot it.”

“Why do you think
I’m
the one sleeping with Jace?”

I roll my head back and laugh at myself for even thinking it. “Because you’re happier too. Can’t help but notice it.”

“Hmm,” she hums thoughtfully, then turns back around to unplug the sink. Guess she’s washed all she wants to tonight, since there’s still a pile left.

“Can I tell you something without you laughing at me?” she asks, flicking her gaze over her shoulder.

“I make no promises,” I tease.

“I haven’t slept with anyone since the robbery.”

My shock almost causes me to break her favorite coffee mug in the middle of drying it. “Why not?”

“You asked me to do background checks. I’m too lazy for that.”

A small chuckle rises in my throat, but it’s caught somewhere before it truly comes out. I did ask her that, but I was only half serious. I was more or less just trying to get her to stop sleeping with men she barely knew, not only for selfish reasons, but also to protect her heart and her safety.

“But really…?” I press, knowing she has a real answer for me.

“But really,” she says, smile softening, “one-night stands weren’t healing my broken heart. So I had to find other ways to do it.” She slowly whips the towel in my direction. “My method is working. Hence the ‘happy.’ ” Her lips turn up for two seconds before her brow wrinkles and the corners of her mouth drop. “I do miss sex, though.”

I pop out a laugh. “Makes two of us.”

“I’d suggest we help each other out, but you know…”

“I know what?”

“With you, it would mean something.”

“Mean something to you?” I ask, pushing down the ray of hope that’s rising in my chest. “Or to me?”

She pushes back the red-brown hair dangling from her ponytail. “How would I know if it meant something to you?”

What a ludicrous question, so I answer with a somewhat arrogant smile.

“You’d know.”

And I swear I see her pulse jump in her neck, drying up my mouth and making me feel like there’s hope where it shouldn’t be. On second glance, I’m most likely imagining things, and like all other conversation that has the potential to lead this friendship into uncharted territory, it’s chased away by a joke and a shared laugh, and never spoken of again.