Page 27 of Crazy About Love (All About Love)

“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.

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