Page 7 of Crazy About Love (All About Love)

Chapter 2

PRESENT DAY

“Fifteen minutes! I need all the bachelors lined up here. If you don’t have a number, come get it!”

Imagine a meat factory and the cattle have no clue what’s happening, so they don’t give a shit about lining up. Theresa shuffles around the room, trying to get all us yahoos in the right order, but most of the guys are sneaking peeks at the sizable turnout of hot girls in the audience. Theresa runs a hand through her frizzing, freshly cut hair. It used to go all the way past her ass—I remember the reddish, curly strands tickling my knuckles when we danced together at Landon and Liz’s wedding. She said she was thinking of cutting it then, but it took her a year to finally do it. She said she didn’t have the face for short hair, which is bullshit. Her face is perfect for any type of anything, even the frizzed-out mess it is now.

Damn it. My goal of finding a new woman to serve as a palate cleanser seems completely absurd, since just the sight of her new hairdo renders me catatonic.

I shake it off and weave my way through the other greased-up bachelors, trying (and very much failing) to keep my eyes off the neckline of Theresa’s purple party dress.

“You said something about a number?” I ask in her ear. The small sharp intake of breath and cascade of goose bumps that rise on her skin are not lost on me. She turns her head, one of her earrings brushing her bare shoulder. I give her a completely platonic grin—the one I’ve mastered since she told me that was all she wanted from me.

“You’re here!” She breathes a sigh of relief. Then she fully turns, throwing her arms around my neck. She tucks a finger underneath the collar of the jacket I’m wearing, and suddenly I can feel her heart pound against mine through our clothing. Granted, my shirt’s pretty thin, and, well, her dress doesn’t start until halfway down her chest.

My mouth becomes dry as hell. I have to resist the urge to hold her tighter, hold herforever. I place one hand on the small of her back and squeeze before quickly letting go. Another thing I’ve mastered.

She stands back, a bright but frazzled smile on her pink lips. “You are saving my life right now.”

“I don’t know about that,” I say, pulling out the note card I was told to fill out. It’s still empty. “What the hell am I supposed to write?”

“How great a catch you are.”

She’s on something, and I think I want some of it. “If it’s dead quiet during the bidding, start bribing some of the girls, ’kay? Preferably a blonde. Long hair.” Yeah, I purposely pick her opposite so that I won’t be trying to turn the girl into Theresa in my mind all night.

Theresa’s eyes cut to mine, and I feel my brow furrow at her hard expression. It’s not hostile, exactly—I’m familiar with Theresa’s hostile side—but something’s going on behind those dark brown eyes that I can’t quite pinpoint. I feel a niggle of annoyance because I’m normally so good at reading her mind, but I push it away. It’s good that I’m losing touch. Maybe it means I’m starting to move on.

She lets out a soft breath and plucks the note card from my hand. “I’ll take care of it.” She folds it in half and slides it between her boobs. For barely a second I glance at her chest before forcing my eyes up to the colored lights that highlight the runway outside the curtain.

“The bribing part?” I say with a smirk. If it’s nothing but crickets when I’m onstage, I hope she’ll run to the nearest bidder and give her at least $20 for a pity bid.

Her made-up eyes flick up to mine, and again I’m caught off guard. What’s running through that pretty head?

No, no…I don’t care.

“Alec, I guarantee you’ll get at least one bid tonight.” Her eyes then drop from mine, giving me a deep look up and down. I suddenly feel bare-ass naked in this skintight strip-show wardrobe, even with the nice jacket covering most of my upper half.

“At least,”she emphasizes. The corner of her mouth twitches up, and a piece of her frizzed hair falls from its halfway updo. Just like that, I forget that I’m on a mission to fall out of love with her. I want to tuck that piece back behind her ear, lean in, kiss her full on the mouth, tangle my tongue with hers, find a hard surface to press her against, feel her hands slide my jacket off, cradle her face, run my thumbs over the soft skin of her jaw, tell her I love her, that I still love her, that I’ve never stopped, and finally hear her say the words ba—

“Theresa!”

I jerk back, blinking out of my daze, and glance over Theresa’s shoulder at a woman in a green tank and tight jeans parting the sea of testosterone.

“Two minutes,” she says, playing with her chunky necklace. Her eyes dance between me and Theresa. “Get ’em in line.”

Theresa takes a pen from her hair that I never would’ve seen if she hadn’t pulled it out in front of me. “You’re second to last, Alec. Thank you so much again.” She squeezes my hand before slithering through the crowded backstage. I turn around to try to find my spot, only to feel a soft hand on my shoulder turn me back around.

“You look good,” she says, slowly drawing her hand back. “I forgot how much I love seeing you in red.” Then, with a fresh blush on her cheeks, she spins around and disappears behind the curtain before I can even tell her thanks.

I stare pretty stupidly at where she disappeared for probably much longer than I should, only vaguely aware of some of the conversation going on around me. When one of the other bachelors accidentally knocks into me and apologizes, I finally shake myself out of it and find my spot in the lineup. The two guys in front of me are talking about some business transaction—bachelor number eighteen just sold his boating company to someone in bachelor number seventeen’s family, and apparently they’re both making enough money to afford long days of doing absolute shit and will probably take on a hobby like tennis or something to fill up their time. Oh, to be on the A-list. I pulled an eighteen-hour shift yesterday and then, in my “spare time,” had to practice for my audition today.

It seems everyone in New York but me has found some sort of monetary success. Even my best friends are raking it in now. Landon’s Hollywood bound, and Jace lives on the road (in his massive RV) with his soon-to-be fiancée.

The thud of a microphone quiets the backstage conversations.

“Hi, ladies! Who’s ready to start this auction?”

The screams from the women on the other side of the curtain shake the backstage area so much I start to fear for my life.

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