Page 4 of Crazy About Love (All About Love)

Chapter 1

PRESENT DAY

Someone messed with my ringtones. I never programmed them when I upgraded, but I know that “Call Me Maybe” doesn’t come Samsung standard.

I stop trying to wave down a taxi from the corner of 46th and Broadway and reach into my pocket instead, giving an awkward smile at the woman who’s obviously judging me on my taste in music as she walks by.

Theresa’s name and cute-as-all-hell profile picture flash on my screen, and I force back the whoop in my gut thatdoescome standard when it comes to her.

Theresa is, in a word, complicated. She’s also a lot of other things, but I’m gonna go with that. I never know what to expect when she calls (or drops by my apartment or shows up at one of my performances), so I’m tentative when I answer.

“Hey…?”

“Defcon five crisis. I need you…liketonight.”

A large lump rises in my throat and I gulp it back, choking myself a bit. This request wouldn’t sound abnormal if it wasn’t for the last night we spent together. Because I told her right before I let her “need” me that it wasn’t going to mean anything, I’ve been trying to keep to my word. But I’m not sure I can handle another unattached evening.

“More information, please,” I say.

“One of my bachelors got disqualified. Turns out he’s still married. I need an available, sexy, and looks-good-in-a-tux James Bond type, and—”

“Jace is taken?” I say with a grin, finally getting a taxi to stop for me. Theresa’s been coordinating this Valentine’s Day charity auction since the first of the year, and told me herself that Jace probably would’ve been the top-dollar bachelor if he hadn’t gone and fallen in love with his film agent.

“I meantyou,” she huffs, and I envision her loose brown locks blowing around her face, how the sun angling through her apartment window is probably highlighting the little bit of red in her hair. She’s most likely pacing, toying with the bottom of her shirt—which is probably black, sleeveless, and flowy. That particular shirt feels good against bare skin, something both she and I have attested to.

Ah, damn it.I blink, shaking my head, and remember I’m supposed to give an address to the cabbie. I stop my thoughts before they go too far, and say, “Train station.”

“No, wait, don’t get on the train,” Theresa says in the phone. “I need you to be the replacement bachelor. Will you, could you, pretty please? I’ll cook you anything you want.”

I snort into the phone. “Can you guarantee it’ll be edible?”

She hesitates. “I willorderyou anything you want.”

A laugh rocks my body, and I watch the fare tick up on the cab’s meter. I guess I could; it’s not like I have anything going on tonight. Single on Valentine’s Day doesn’t mean I have a lot of plans, even with Landon back in town. He and Lizzie flew in from their new house in L.A. to pick up some extra stuff they couldn’t get during the first move. It’s been nice, since Landon has been here to balance out the XY-to-XX ratio. While Theresa and Lizzie have been stressing over just about everything having to do with this auction, Landon was able to convince a high-profile actor to participate. It was a much calmer week after that.

“Wait a second,” I say, sitting upright. “Aren’t the bachelors supposed to be, you know, successful and shit? What’s my bio going to say?”

“Six-pack abs?” she offers.

“More like a four-pack.”

“Knows how to have a good time.”

“Oh yeah…spending every waking hour managing a Bed Bath & Beyond and auditioning for off-off Broadway plays is sure to get the bid up.”

“Has a sense of humor.”

“I don’t even have a witty comeback for that.”

“Alec…,” she growls in her half-amused voice, and I refuse to let my mind wander back to her hair or what shirt she’s most likely wearing. “You’re a damn catch. Please say you will?”

The cab turns a corner, nearing the train station. There’s probably not much Theresa would ask of me that I wouldn’t do for her. But still, I’m not sure I’d exactly help bring in money for the charity. Maybe a buck or two. And I’m gonna need a sweeter deal for that humiliation.

“You’re going to need to bribe me with a lot more than takeout.”

“Name it,” she says without hesitation, and I know I shouldn’t—it’s counterproductive in my attempt to move on, but the words come out anyway.

“Play for me?”

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