Page 35 of Crazy About Love (All About Love)

Her eyelids shut instantly, and she slowly lifts her shoulder to wipe the spray from her face. We’re both laughing now, and it feels good and natural and I’m thinkingfinallyandmaybeandthis could be the start of somethingwhen Jackson drops the tire iron again, so loud this time that it clangs and echoes and takes us out of our moment.

“You sure you don’t need help, man?” I ask him. He shoots me a sour look over his shoulder and shakes his head.

“I got it. Might take me a minute, but I got it.”

His eyes move to Rian and undeniably soften. She bites her lip and grasps my wrist.

“Feel like walking for a bit?”

Jackson straightens up, clutching the tire iron in his hand and using his leg to balance the tire itself. “It won’t take long,” he protests, then raises his voice as if he’s shouting to someone across the street. “I think you should stay here.”

Rian’s grip slips on my wrist. “We’ll be fine.”

“It’s late,” he argues, flicking his gaze to me for the briefest of seconds. “You probably shouldn’t wander without me or TJ to keep the crazies off you.”

Rian grins up at me. “I think I’ll be safe with Alec around. He did take a basketball to the face for me.”

I chuckle, but it’s quickly chased away when Jackson says, “Yeah, I thought I heard some screaming up there.” He nods at my nose and smirks. “Must’ve hurt like a bitch.”

“Oh, that scream was me trying to catch the kid who threw it,” Rian says before I can say anything. Not that I would. Doesn’t seem worth it to get into a fight with someone I barely know over someone else I barely know. Rian’s hand drops from my wrist into my palm and she drags me to the limo. Jackson’s eyes widen a bit as she ducks inside and fumbles around for our jackets.

“Keep your phone on,” she tells Jackson as she hip-checks the door shut. “I’ll call if we need you.”

“I really don’t think you should—”

“I said I’ll call.”

The look they share is like that of two bulls in a standoff, and though Jackson has about sixty-plus pounds and a little over half a foot on her, Rian knows how to stand her own. After a few uncomfortable beats, Jackson huffs, his breath fogging the air, and then bends down to continue fixing the flat. Rian snags my hand again once we’ve got our jackets on and tugs me down the sidewalk.

“Is he okay here alone?” I say just loud enough to be a dick and make sure Jackson hears.

He lets out a hollow laugh as we pass, and the second Rian’s not looking he gives me the universal “up yours” gesture.

Once we round the corner, Rian drops my hand. She absentmindedly plays with the chain ring she has on her thumb and forefinger, and I notice her eyes moving over her shoulder a bit more than usual. I nearly tuck an arm around her shoulder in case she really is worried about walking around this late, but the second I finally do decide to make the gesture, she shakes her head and laughs at the ground, looping her arm through mine to keep warm. I can still feel her toying with that ring.

We walk mostly in silence. Damn silence. I start humming under my breath, and she pretends to turn up the volume on me so that I sing louder. But it just mostly makes me laugh and completely miss the upcoming note.

Rian suggests Central Park as our next stop, but I turn her around. She’s not giving up on this evening, and so neither am I. And it’s only fair that after she exposed so much of who she is underneath the fame and the eccentric appearance, I reciprocate.

“I thought this night was ladies’ choice,” she teases as I get us a cab.

“You’ve struck out so far.” I grin as I open the door for her. “Time to let me take the reins.”

Her teeth nip her bottom lip. “Lots of people love Central Park.”

“True,” I say, sliding in next to her and shutting us in the warm taxi. She’s finally stopped playing with her ring. “But I’m more of a bright-lights kind of guy.”

13 MONTHS, 20 DAYS AGO: 6:17P.M.

I blow out a breath, tucking the wrapped box in my coat. I hear Landon shuffling around my kitchen, searching for beer. Things have been tight moneywise for him and Lizzie, and he wanted a six-pack in the fridge for his future father-in-law. (He’d never ask for it, so I offered.)

“You sure you don’t want to stop by?” he calls from the depths of my refrigerator. I make sure there’s no wrapping or ribbon poking out of my pocket.

“As fun as that sounds, I think I’m going to steer clear of your parents until the wedding.” You know what’s even less fun than arguing with my parents on Christmas? Watching Landon’s mom insult everything in their apartment. I’ve bit my tongue for twenty-plus years. Not much more restraint left in me.

“I wish I had that option,” Landon says, setting the six-pack on the counter and kicking the fridge door shut. He eyes one like he’s ready to crack it open now.

A knock comes at the door, and Theresa pops her head in without waiting for me to answer.

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