Doing It for Love (All About Love #1) (11 page)

Her big eyes widen with equal amusement and confusion. She looks to Theresa, who’s laughing her ass off and I don’t know why.

“You’ll have to forgive the bride-to-be. She’s a little
on edge.
”

The lady chuckles. “Yes, I remember what it was like.” She wiggles her ring finger at me, and sitting next to her engagement diamond is a wedding band. My stance relaxes, I blink, then I’m diving in to hug this woman I don’t know just because I’ve done near lost my mind…and I’m still talking and thinking in a thick Southern accent I haven’t used since I was in
Gone with the Wind
my freshman year at NYU.

“Thank you, ma’am. You’ve saved my awful day, you have.”

As soon as I let her go, she sputters out a “You’re welcome” and shuffles off. I turn to Theresa with a squeal.

“First duty for you as maid of honor…we are going to do nightly voodoo rituals, pray our brains out, participate in rain dances or chants, or whatever we can to make this
my
dress. We
will
get it during that sale!”

“You got it, boss.” She laughs and helps me back up on the pedestal. I twist and turn in the mirror, feeling lighter than I have all day. Theresa steps up next to me, wrapping an arm around my waist. “Even though I don’t ever want to get married…I’m pretty jealous of you right now.”

“Because you haven’t found your Landon yet?”

She shakes her head and leans it against my temple. “Because you look happy. It’s adorable.”

“It’s the dress.” I clutch onto her waist. “Let’s go find yours!”

“Do you even know what colors you’re going with?”

“Nope. But if I get this dress, probably red and black.” I pause, letting the image of those colors sink into my wedding fantasies. Red and black drapes, white accents, snow falling outside big windows. I could have a red rose bouquet with black lilies…oh! And tiny jeweled snowflakes spread in the flowers.

“That’d be gorgeous,” she says, and I wonder how much of my fantasy I said out loud.

“Okay, so red bridesmaid dress it is.” I hop down from the pedestal, lift the dress, and start walking to the racks.

“You’re not going to change?”

“I’m going to stay in this thing as long as possible.”

But it turns out you’re not allowed to just walk around in the dress unless you plan on putting a deposit down or walking out the door with it. To my dismay, I have to strip out of the best thing to ever drape itself over my body and back into my jeans and off-shoulder tee. I’m pouty again until I see Theresa in a hilarious number that makes her look like a cupcake from a Tim Burton movie. Landon would love it, but she threatens to announce in her maid-of-honor speech that I have a regrettable tattoo that says
YOLO
right by my crotch. Only she, Landon, and my ob-gyn know about that tattoo, and I’d like to keep it that way, so I let her try on something else.

After several dresses, and none that are awesome enough to even think about, I try on THE dress one more time, dance around, take pictures, and act out vows until they kick us out to close up. I eat half my Symphony Bar on the way back to the apartment. The other half I wait to start shoveling down till after I’ve thanked Theresa for excelling in her MOH duties for the day and she’s inside her door.

“Oh, sweet balls,” I say to the candy. Hershey, you know exactly what buttons to press. I lick the melted stuff from my fingers and dance in the hallway and unlock the door. Theresa was right. All I needed was some chocolate, orgasm cheesecake, and dress shopping. Sex is the last thing on my mi—

“Hey, babe.” Landon’s voice comes out with a slight musical tune, and I stay frozen in the doorway, staring at his bare chest, his flexed abs, his V, down his hips to his one pair of boxer briefs. He’s sporting a giant bulge, and the ruling lord over the Land of Liz peeks from the waistband as if to say “Hey, babe” as well.

As beautiful as Landon’s body is, it’s not the almost nakedness of him that has me clutching my Symphony Bar. It’s the basket of folded laundry on the table, the smell of cleanser emanating from the bathroom, and the spotless sink he’s currently wiping with a rag.

The Land of Liz should expect a rainy forecast.

“How was your day?” he asks with a wide grin. Damn him, damn him, damn him! I fumble with the chocolate wrapping, shove a large wedge into my mouth, and muffle out a “Great!” Ugh, this candy is doing nothing. I quickly move my gaze and try to find something to turn me off, get me mad, do
something,
but there aren’t any socks on the floor.

No socks.

Where are his socks?

“Liz?”

“Yearmmhuh?”

“I ordered dinner. I hope that’s all right.”

Dinner. Sweet. Oh so sweet. Clean apartment. Dinner. Half-naked fiancé.

I shove another piece of chocolate in my mouth.

Dinner. Money. Dinner equals money. Money we don’t have. Money. Yes. That’s bad. Bad Landon. He’s not sexy at all. Nope.

The water in the sink shuts off. I hear him move closer to me. Back off, you animal!

“I got a deal from the guy who usually caters for the set. Hope that’s okay. I spent less than ten for delivery, and I checked the account to make sure we won’t overdraft.”

There is not enough chocolate in the world for this.

Strong hands hover over my waist but don’t touch. Minty breath cascades across the skin on my neck.

He brushed his teeth. It’s five in the afternoon, and he brushed his teeth.

“It should be here soon,” he says. “I’m taking the night off from work, so you want to watch a movie with me? Or I could hook up the emulator and we can play old school Mario. I know you love that one.” I hear the smile in his voice, the tease, the flirt, and he’s not even saying anything erotic. But I’m melting into a puddle on our vacuumed floor.

I start licking the candy wrapper.

He laughs, and that’s when it clicks through the horny haze. He’s getting back at me for the prop room and playing dirty.

I pull my tongue from the wrapping and slowly turn around with narrowed eyes. There it is. His I-swear-I’m-innocent smile. My mouth pops open, no words form, but lots of obscenities are going on in my head. So he wants to play. Then play we shall.

His eyebrow rises, just slightly, and I echo his stance.

“Sure.” I toss the wrapper over his shoulder, aiming for the garbage can but seriously doubting I made it, and then I tuck my fingers in the hem of my shirt and pull it over my head. “But let me shower first.”

I give him the same “innocent” smile he’s giving me, widen it when I see his gaze drift over the push-up secret I share with Victoria, and make sure I get as close as I can without touching as I move around him.

“I’ll set stuff up,” he says after my retreating figure. His voice is steady, but it croaks on the last word when I shimmy my jeans off and reveal my thong. That’s right. Two can play, and I’m betting on the one who doesn’t have to spend all day cleaning to win.

3:12.

In the freaking morning. I haven’t had an ounce of sleep.

Landon shifts next to me, wheezing out a frustrated growl. He gives me the butt, twisting in the sheets. It’s hot in here. I toss the comforter off my upper body and kick and curse and fight the urge to smack Landon’s elbow when it just grazes my arm.

We don’t talk to each other, but we’ve both been awake since we crawled into bed. After playing a sexual battle all night, the striptease just the tip of the iceberg, we gave up and slumped down on the mattress. I don’t know about him, but I keep thinking of ways to sneak into Chocolateville without losing.

My fingers inch up my thigh. Stop that, you wicked things! I smack my hand, sit straight up, and jam them both under my ass. I bury my face in my knees and try to think of the least sexy things imaginable.

My parents. Talk of parents is
never
allowed in bed. Landon set that rule the first night I moved in. I had crawled under the sheets, he crawled under too, he was kissing my knees and biting up my thighs, and I said, “I can’t believe we’re living together.”

“Shh, no talking,” he teased from under the covers. I playfully trapped his head between my knees.

“This is monumental.
You
might have lived with the opposite sex before, but this is new to me.”

He chuckled. “If you mean my mom and my sister, then, yes, you would be correct.”

Something jerked in my brain with that, and I laughed to myself, getting extremely giddy as he nibbled his way to my inner thighs.

“My mom’s going to freak.”

He paused, and my mouth kept going.

“I don’t even know how to tell her I’m living with someone. She hasn’t
met
you. All she knows is I’m totally crazy about you. Are you telling your parents? Or is that not something you tell your parents? They’re bound to find out, right? What if they ‘pop in’? I know they live in Philadelphia, but still…they could show up and expect Jace, and whoops, it’s me instead. I’ll call my mom tomorrow even if I get shit for it and you talk to your—”

“Lizzie?” Landon said, peeking from the covers. He trapped my lips between two fingers. “Never talk about my parents in bed.”

“But—”

“No.”

“But—”

“Never.”

“But…you started it.”

He shook his head and let go of my lips. “I’m ending it, too.”

“Yes, Daddy,” I joked, and he proceeded to tickle me silly. No talk of parents ever crossed the bedsheets again. But I’m seriously considering it now.

“Botflies.”

“What?” I muffle into my pajama bottoms. Landon sits up next to me, the screen on his phone lit.

“We’re watching bot fly videos.”

He holds the phone out and hits play. Two seconds in I’m already cringing.

“Eww. Why—”

“Because I need some damn sleep.”

I flick my gaze to his face, dark circles in the light of his phone, bloodshot eyes, and hair an adorable mess. His shirt is twisted, and the waistband of his boxers is so wrinkled it looks as if he’s been fisting them all night just to keep his hands under control. A sleepy laugh pours from my mouth. I tuck under his arm, keep my hands to myself while he keeps his on his phone in front of us, and we watch disgusting bot fly YouTube videos until the sexual tension dissipates. Only thing is…I still want to touch him, even after the mood is broken.

Tomorrow I’ll get him to cave. But tonight, I’ll settle for the draw.

There’s dust on my exercise bike. I sigh, clap my hands, and pull it to the center of the room. I’m out of breath by the time I get it in front of the TV.

“Well, that’s enough exercise for me,” I say to myself and go to set up the rest of the room. I alternate between rolling out a yoga mat and eating my Butterfinger, putting out weights and eating my Butterfinger, and bouncing on my exercise ball and eating my Butterfinger. Now the final touches…the spray bottle to my face, neck, and stomach…and a fan to my nipples to make them perky. I’d use other ways to get them to stand out, but I’m no cheater.

I make sure there’s plenty of “sweat sheen” along my hairline and cleavage, and then set the bottle down in the bathroom and grab the mini fan. I’m blowing my nipples to a point and chewing the last bite of my Butterfinger while sitting on the dusty exercise bike when I hear Landon’s key in the door.

Swallowing the chocolate, I chuck the wrapper across the room—miraculously making it in the garbage, move the fan to my face, and heave my breasts with fake labored breathing. Chocolateville, here I come!

Landon shuffles through the doorway, eyes tired and…red-rimmed. I instantly stop pretending to exercise.

“What’s wrong?”

He tosses his hoodie on the card table, shuts the door quietly behind him, and trudges over to the bike. His lips peck mine briefly, and it’s so lackluster and sad it feels as if someone stole his lunch money.

“Babe?” I prod, setting my hand on top of his.

“Been trying to get ahold of you,” he says, voice gravelly and low. I reach for my pocket, but my yoga pants don’t have any.

“Oh, sorry, I was…working out.” I frown at my lame answer, at the fact that it’s pretty much a lie, too. “What is it?”

He flips his palm under mine and pulls me from the bike. He plays with my fingers, with my ring, and I’m trying not to lose patience while he stays lost in thought. In the four years since I’ve known him, I’ve never seen him cry. I’ve seen him get frustrated, kick things, and walk away. I’ve seen him sad and he doesn’t shed a tear. He sits in silence, deep in thought or attempting not to think at all. I’ve seen him drop a bag of cans on his foot, slice his thumb with a knife, wrench his ankle into a brace…and not a drop fell from his eyes—but a whole lot of cursing tumbled from his lips.

He’s not crying now, but the redness of his eyes suggests he was recently. Did someone die? Did he hit a dog on the way home? Does he want to cancel the wedding? I step into him so he remembers I’m here, and I still know nothing.

“We had a meeting at work today.”

“Okay.”

“Things are getting slow.”

My heart thuds. “Did you…did they do layoffs?” I’m trying to keep my voice steady, but it’s pretty much useless. We’re already struggling, and Landon’s directing isn’t paying anything yet, and my hours at Bed Bath & Beyond are about as high as I can make them without living there. Suddenly even that dress at a discount seems out of my reach.

But then Landon shakes his head, and my tiny panic moment subsides a bit.

“Not yet. But they cut everyone’s hours to avoid layoffs.”

“How much?”

“Down to thirty-two a week, so we can still legally be full-time and keep our benefits.”

I let out a breath. That’s not bad. At least he still has a job.

His eyes close and his forehead plops down on mine. “I’m sorry. I should’ve worked more overtime when I could have. I should’ve rescheduled the trip to Philly. I should’ve given you my credit card, stopped spending money on dumb shit, I should’ve—”

“Stop. We’ll be okay.”

“Because of you. Because you know how to budget and work overtime and actually work for
money.
”

“You’ll get paid to direct, Landon. You just have to put in your dues.”

He shakes his head and lets out a breath of defeat. “What was I thinking?”

My heart breaks a little…at seeing him feel so helpless, like he’s failed somehow. But he has no idea how incredible he is.

I don’t think any words can help at this point. I could try to pacify him, tell him we’ll be okay, that we have a savings, I’ll keep working overtime, and at least I’m
not
pregnant right now…but I know it won’t help. It’ll probably make him feel worse…that I have to pick up his slack or something, even though this is a partnership. So instead of words, I slide my arms around his neck, hold him close, squeeze him tight, make him understand how important he is in my life.

His arms circle my waist, and our hearts beat with each other in our suddenly quiet world. I think the power of a hug is always underestimated until you’re in one. I know I should be worried. I’m pretty sure there are parts of me that are freaking out about not only bills and rent, but also about my dress, the cake, the tuxes, the wedding hall, and the
honeymoon.
But those parts are quiet, almost nonexistent in the arms of the man I love.

He squeezes my entire body twice. And I squeeze back once.

“You know what I think you need?” I say over his shoulder. A small laugh shakes his body and I know what he’s thinking, but neither of us says it out loud. “I think you need sleep.”

“Pretty sure you need that, too.”

I lean back, take his hand in mine, and pull him toward the bed. “Come on, then.”

He tucks me in on my side and stays on top of the blanket on his. We spoon, and I play with his rough hands, run my fingers over the hair on his arms, enjoy being close and hoping I’m helping him doze off.

“It’s working,” he says.

“Huh?”

“You’re shutting down my mind.”

“Good.”

He presses closer, letting his face fall into the crook of my neck. “And don’t think I don’t know what you were trying to do when I walked in.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“The bike wasn’t even on.”

“You have to turn it on?”

He silently chuckles. “You want me to help you put it back after our nap?”

“Yes, please.”

“I love you, Tumbles.”

“I love you, too.”

And I swear, two seconds later he’s out. I don’t drift off, but I also don’t mind lying next to him for as long as he sleeps.