Page 1 of Crazy About Love (All About Love)

Part One

Alec

18 MONTHS, 24 DAYS AGO: 10:12P.M.

“I think I might love you.”

Imagine a wrecking ball made of words crashing through an apartment kitchen, knocking into the side of the most gorgeous person you’ve ever laid eyes on, and that’s where I’m at. I don’t let words like that just fall out willy-nilly. I’ve felt love before. Several times. ButI think I might love youisn’t something you tell one of your best friends. Relationship 101.

“I mean…,” I mutter, trying my best to backpedal this whole thing. “Well, yeah. I think I love you.”

There they go again. Spilling from some bright red door in my brain that I usually keep locked and guarded. What in the bloody hell?

My eyes drift to my right hand, fingers clutching an empty shot glass.

Oh…right.

Holding my liquor isn’t my strong suit. If it weren’t for Lizzie, out of all our group of friends I’d be considered the lightweight. They all love to get a kick out of getting me wasted, because the very few times it happened, I ended up confessing a lot of things. This confession, however, is one that I was able to keep locked up in my mind, so it’s a bit surprising that it’s making an appearance now, after only a couple of tip-backs.

I shove the shot glass across the kitchen bar and bury my head in my hands. “I’m drunk,” I say through a muffled laugh. “Drunk and stupid and don’t pay any attention to me.”

Theresa pushes her own glass so it rests against my abandoned one, her nails lightly scratching across the countertop. I don’t dare look up at her face. I prefer the inside of my hands.

“Usually drunk people are honest.”

“I’m a damn liar when I’m drunk.”

It’s complete bullshit. She knows it. I’m not a liarin general,come to think of it. Maybe I should consider the way of deception, because lying just now felt pretty good. Avoidance will be my new goal in life.

Theresa laughs—and understand that when this woman laughs, the entire world stops turning on its axis, throwing my ass off balance and making me want to say those wrecking-ball words all over again. My jaw clenches so tightly I’m in fear of cracking a molar.

She grabs our shot glasses, a bottle of tequila, and then my hand. I know I’m an adult and I’m not supposed to insta-sweat when a woman touches me, but that’s all my body knows how to do when it comes to her.

She pushes my ass into the couch cushion and plops down beside me. I smell cookies and booze. Not a bad combination.

“I hope you’re not too drunk,” she says, blowing off my confession. I play it cool, half grateful and half confused, but drunk enough not to care. “This episode is supposed to be intense.”

I smirk at her—what I think is a sexy smirk, but since my body is barely functioning the way I want it to, who knows—and she swings her legs up onto my lap.

These legs…they are part of the reason I’m in love with her. Not for the normal reasons (well, those too) but mainly because these are the legs that dance around in the kitchen to some classic rock song. They’re the legs that bounce under the table when she gets nervous. They’re the legs that always find themselves kicked up somewhere—on the dash of my car, on my coffee table, on my lap…

I clear my throat and move my gaze to the TV. “Aren’t they all intense?” I ask as the opening music forThe Walking Deadcomes on. My best friend, Landon, got me hooked on the damn show when he decided to write and direct a parody of it. I also give him credit for the Sunday nights I have with Theresaalone. Because there’ve always been five of us: Landon and Lizzie, Jace, Theresa, and me. When Landon and Lizzie are off doing couple stuff, it leaves the three of us. Not that Jace isn’t awesome or anything; we get along fine. It’s just…he’s the funny one, and I can’t say it doesn’t gut me every time Theresa laughs that world-stopping laugh at his jokes.

Now that Landon’s started filming on Sunday nights and, as luck would have it, Jace has the lead role, Lizzie takes advantage of having her place to herself, and Theresa and I take advantage of watchingThe Walking Deadtogether without having someone talk through the whole thing.

Theresa presses pause and throws the remote at me. “Okay, let’s get it out now.”

A small laugh pushes from my throat. Because this is our thing: without our chatty friends around, neither of us says a damn word while the show is running, so we get all our conversation out ahead of time. If one of us does say something, that person has to massage the other’s feet, calves, and/or shoulders for the remainder of the show. Sometimes I cheat and open my mouth just to have an excuse to put my hand on her leg.

“I think I’m good,” I say. I’ve already said what I didn’t want said and I’m not saying it aga—

“Are you really drunk?” she asks. Her eyes stay on mine, and I hold her gaze because I love her. That simple. I love her, so I want to look into her eyes. Other girls, I never really look at their eyes and stay; I drop my glance or look somewhere else. Theresa never drops her eyes from mine either, and maybe that’s why I feel a little lucky tonight.

Lucky…but not brave enough to repeat myself.

“I’m coherent,” I promise her, though I’m not sure if it’s entirely the truth. I hide my uncertainty with a grin. “You can hide in my ribs when it gets too intense for ya,” I tease.

Her pink lips part in a small gasp, and I brace myself for the punch I know is coming. Theresa is proud of her ability to handle blood and guts without a shoulder to duck behind. So yeah, seconds later her fist connects with my arm. It’s not hard. It’s a flirt punch. I don’t get as many as Jace does, or even Landon, but when I do get them, especially fromher,I feel like the king of the world.

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