Read Online Crazy About Love: An All About Love Novel by Cassie Mae - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Cassie Mae
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feel something. It wraps around my heart, encases it in rock-hard cement, and seals it closed with a lock and chain. And a big fat stamp slams onto the hard shell, the words PROPERTY OF THERESA marked there in bright red ink.
My heart is
afraid
to feel.
I stare down at Rian. She’s a beautiful woman. As far as I can tell, she’s fun and confident—two things I’m highly attracted to. Maybe attraction will be enough right now.
My hand moves up, and even though she doesn’t have hair long enough to push back, I smooth my palm over her cheek as if it is.
That’s what all this is about, right? Not big moves, but little ones. It’s the little ones that pull people together. I don’t feel a pull yet, but with enough little moves, it’ll happen. It has before.
Rian drops her gaze and laughs. I quickly move my hand back to her hip.
“Am I really that bad at this?” I tease. Her eyes flick up to mine.
“You’re being so serious.
Relax.
I’m feeling this.” She wiggles her finger between the two of us, and I wonder if what she’s feeling is contagious, because I’d like to catch it. “So in case I haven’t been obvious, you can kiss me whenever you want.” She tugs me down with a wicked gleam in her eyes. “Even in the middle of a sen—”
And my vision completely disappears. I don’t mean that she gives me a kiss so staggering it makes the lights metaphorically go out. I mean the lights
actually
go out. The music cuts off, and now the only noise is all the dancers and clubbers and shoppers and tattooists hollering and whooping. I let out a laugh, not realizing how equally frustrated and
relieved
it would sound.
Rian’s chin rests on my shoulder, and I feel her lip-glossed lips against my ear.
“Guess this means we’re ready for stop number three.”
I chuckle against her. “You know the way out?”
“Not knowing makes it fun.”
“Unless you run into one of those tattoo guns.”
“Shush.” She laughs, and I let her do her tugging thing.
“Sorry,” I say as I ram into some unknown dancer. I feel a soft brush of hair against my wrist, and that tiny bit of contact sends an unexplained sensation through my chest. My imagination must be running wild for a random woman in the dark crowd to remind me of Theresa.
I’m yanked forward and run into another dancer, this one definitely male. “Oh, shit…dude, sorry.”
Rian’s laughter filters through the chaotic sounds of the blacked-out club, and as my face goes right into something that feels a lot like a pole, I curse and tug her back to me.
“You’re fired.”
“Think you can do better?”
“Stand behind me.” I swing her around and hook her fingers in my back belt loops. Another small thing, I realize. I only did it to free my hands up. If she asks, though, I’ll pretend I did it on purpose.
The place is pitch-black, but the best part about being a singer is that you know the space around you by the sounds, the echoes. Back when I was a teenager I did one of those glow-light performances. Sure, we could see stuff the audience couldn’t, but not much.
“Hold on,” I tell Rian, then stick my hands out and listen to the crowd around us. Two steps forward. Three. Four. Ten. Twenty. And neither of us has kissed a pole.
I think we’re out of the dance floor. It’s more open, with less sweaty air around us. Rian’s fingers unhook from my belt loops and wrap around my waist, her face pressing into my spine. My cement heart thuds into my stomach.
I like this,
I hear in my head. Rian’s hand runs over my abs, but it’s Theresa’s voice I’m hearing.
I like the feel of you.
My breath gets caught in my throat. I can feel her nails along my skin, over my shoulders, along my jaw. Here in the dark, I can feel it as if it’s really happening, though the logical part of my brain knows it’s not. That it’s just a memory.
“Redo,” I whisper, realizing too late that I’ve spoken the word out loud. My lucky stars are working,
My heart is
afraid
to feel.
I stare down at Rian. She’s a beautiful woman. As far as I can tell, she’s fun and confident—two things I’m highly attracted to. Maybe attraction will be enough right now.
My hand moves up, and even though she doesn’t have hair long enough to push back, I smooth my palm over her cheek as if it is.
That’s what all this is about, right? Not big moves, but little ones. It’s the little ones that pull people together. I don’t feel a pull yet, but with enough little moves, it’ll happen. It has before.
Rian drops her gaze and laughs. I quickly move my hand back to her hip.
“Am I really that bad at this?” I tease. Her eyes flick up to mine.
“You’re being so serious.
Relax.
I’m feeling this.” She wiggles her finger between the two of us, and I wonder if what she’s feeling is contagious, because I’d like to catch it. “So in case I haven’t been obvious, you can kiss me whenever you want.” She tugs me down with a wicked gleam in her eyes. “Even in the middle of a sen—”
And my vision completely disappears. I don’t mean that she gives me a kiss so staggering it makes the lights metaphorically go out. I mean the lights
actually
go out. The music cuts off, and now the only noise is all the dancers and clubbers and shoppers and tattooists hollering and whooping. I let out a laugh, not realizing how equally frustrated and
relieved
it would sound.
Rian’s chin rests on my shoulder, and I feel her lip-glossed lips against my ear.
“Guess this means we’re ready for stop number three.”
I chuckle against her. “You know the way out?”
“Not knowing makes it fun.”
“Unless you run into one of those tattoo guns.”
“Shush.” She laughs, and I let her do her tugging thing.
“Sorry,” I say as I ram into some unknown dancer. I feel a soft brush of hair against my wrist, and that tiny bit of contact sends an unexplained sensation through my chest. My imagination must be running wild for a random woman in the dark crowd to remind me of Theresa.
I’m yanked forward and run into another dancer, this one definitely male. “Oh, shit…dude, sorry.”
Rian’s laughter filters through the chaotic sounds of the blacked-out club, and as my face goes right into something that feels a lot like a pole, I curse and tug her back to me.
“You’re fired.”
“Think you can do better?”
“Stand behind me.” I swing her around and hook her fingers in my back belt loops. Another small thing, I realize. I only did it to free my hands up. If she asks, though, I’ll pretend I did it on purpose.
The place is pitch-black, but the best part about being a singer is that you know the space around you by the sounds, the echoes. Back when I was a teenager I did one of those glow-light performances. Sure, we could see stuff the audience couldn’t, but not much.
“Hold on,” I tell Rian, then stick my hands out and listen to the crowd around us. Two steps forward. Three. Four. Ten. Twenty. And neither of us has kissed a pole.
I think we’re out of the dance floor. It’s more open, with less sweaty air around us. Rian’s fingers unhook from my belt loops and wrap around my waist, her face pressing into my spine. My cement heart thuds into my stomach.
I like this,
I hear in my head. Rian’s hand runs over my abs, but it’s Theresa’s voice I’m hearing.
I like the feel of you.
My breath gets caught in my throat. I can feel her nails along my skin, over my shoulders, along my jaw. Here in the dark, I can feel it as if it’s really happening, though the logical part of my brain knows it’s not. That it’s just a memory.
“Redo,” I whisper, realizing too late that I’ve spoken the word out loud. My lucky stars are working,
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