Doing It for Love (All About Love #1)

“I want you. Just you.” His arms drop, and he plays with the back of his hat, the only clothing he’s still wearing. His eyes are desperately focused on mine, like it’s taking so much effort not to stare directly at my boobs. “I want you to be happy.” His voice is soft now. “And I want to give you what you want in life.”

  “Then do it.” My arms fall to my sides, hitting my hips. “But don’t give up anything for yourself in the process. Whatever you want, I want that for you. It would suck if we look back twenty years from now and you resented me because the world was at your fingertips and then you got married.”

  “Same goes for you.” There’s a tiny twitch in the corner of his mouth, so small I wouldn’t have noticed it if the light wasn’t hitting him in the right spot. He pulls one foot out of his clothing, followed by the other as he steps toward me. My heart makes itself known again, lighter now, drumming an unsteady beat in my chest. He’s closer, and I don’t know what I’ll do if he completely closes the distance. I’m still royally pissed. But I can’t seem to care.

  Landon stops a breath away. “My dream is unrealistic. It’s never going anywhere, I’m never going to make money off it, and if I don’t get my ass a steady job we’ll live in this apartment forever and you won’t get that house in the suburbs. Whatever kids we have we’ll be struggling to feed. I can’t force you to wait for something that won’t happen.”

  “It will—”

  “Becoming a director?” He cuts me off with a short laugh. “Making movies? Living in Hollywood, going to premieres, doing interviews on television? How unrealistic does that sound? It doesn’t happen to normal people.”

  “You’re not normal.” I push my fingers against his, slowly interlocking them, and squeeze twice at the exact time he does. “You’re extraordinary. And I will not let you give up.”

  The twitch of his smile grows. “So…we’re basically arguing over who gets to be more selfless in this marriage.”

  I smile, too. “Basically.”

  He shakes his head with a small laugh and pulls me by the back of my neck up to his lips. I pull his baseball cap off, tossing it with the rest of our clothes. Damn, I’ve missed him, even though he didn’t deserve to have been missed. Yet I open my mouth wider, invite him in, press against his warm chest, and drown in the reunion.

  He’s very careful to keep his hands off the goods as he rubs them down my sides, over my hips, and to my upper thighs to coax me on his waist. I resist a little, because as sweet as it is to have him home, and as much as I love him, I’m still upset he felt the need to leave in the first place.

  I hop into his arms anyway.

  He braces himself on the mattress as he lowers us onto the comforter, still kissing me with the deepest of kisses, both of us gasping for air every time we part. I’m thinking Yes! We still got it. But I’m also thinking I need to hear words before we go anywhere. I need the “sorry”s and the “I love you”s and “I’ll never do this again.” And it bugs me that he’s not saying anything.

  Sex used to be an apology all in itself. Now has it become a reward? Why is it not good enough for me anymore?

  “Liz?”

  “Mmm?” I lilt, hoping an apology is forthcoming.

  He gives me a strained grin, then falls into the sheets.

  “Iwannayousarewonmumph.”

  “What was that?” I laugh, coaxing his head up.

  “I want to use our one-a-month.”

  My eyebrows rise. “It hasn’t been a month.”

  “True, but last time was in November,” he says matter-of-factly. “It’s December now.”

  “Is that how this works?”

  “Mmmhmm,” he mumbles before kissing my shoulder.

  “I’m…I’m still mad at you,” I struggle to say as my body ignites against his. My hips press upward, my nails drag down the toned skin of his back, and my eyelids flutter as every nerve ending pulsates.

  “I know,” he says through another kiss. “But I’m not sorry.”

  Just like that, my completely revved-up body retreats into itself. If I could cross my legs, I would. The garage is closed; no one’s getting in without the code. The urge to push him off and bolt straight out the door makes my hands and knees twitch.

  “Excuse me?”

  He pushes himself up, hovering, but not touching. Perhaps he senses that his parts are in danger. “I’m not sorry for why I left.”

  “You don’t have to be sorry about that,” I bite out. “But you should be sorry for not talking to me.”

  “I told you I was okay.”

  “In what world is that enough to ease my mind? I thought you were calling off the wedding.”

  “Why would you ever think that?” His voice rises. “After everything I’ve said to you, after the years we’ve been together, after our date—”

  “You mean the date you tucked me in, didn’t come to bed, and then left without a word the next day? I was out of my mind. You didn’t answer your phone, you wouldn’t text me, and the only thing I get is something from Alec and Jace saying you’re spending the night at their places. How would you feel if I did that to you?”

  “I was doing it for you.”

  I roll my eyes and cover my chest. He does not get to see boobs right now.

  “Just say you’re sorry.”

  “Fine. I’m sorry.”

  He doesn’t sound it at all, and he starts kissing my cheeks and whispering things, but I can’t breathe. I feel too confined, too claustrophobic, and I don’t want him on me anymore. Not if he’s going to be a major asshole.

  “Get up.”

  “What?”

  “I don’t want to anymore.”

  I roll out from under him, and he sits up, reaching out to me. “No, wait, Liz. I…I was going to…I mean, I was going to give up.”

  “What?” I mumble, searching for clothing.

  “You can have the Bahamas. I’m done. Tossing in the towel. You’ve made your point. And I am sorry.” He stands up and presses his forehead to mine while I grapple for a pillow so I can fall asleep on the couch watching fantasy guys who apologize in the third act and mean it. “I promise you, I’m sorry.”

  His hand wraps around mine and he squeezes twice, and I love him, I do, but I’m so confused about our future, what we want for each other and what we want for ourselves, and the fact that he left without a word and that it feels like he’s only sorry because I don’t want to have sex. And what does that mean in the long run? I’m just scared and upset and tired, and I want a night to think.

  So it takes me a long time to squeeze his hand back.

  But I do.

  “I can’t tonight, okay? I need…I don’t know, a break.”

  “We just spent two nights away from each other. You really want a third?”

  I get a hold of the pillow and pull it up against my chest. “Those two nights were your choice. This one is mine.”

  Then I leave him to the bed, wondering if this is what our marriage will be like and if there is any chocolate in the cupboard.

  Chapter 27

  The Hurdles of Getting Married Surviving Engagement

  1. Don’t get cold feet over one argument.

  2. Don’t get cold feet over ten thousand arguments.

  I slam my face into the throw pillow and roar. My poor laptop is in danger of being thrown across the room. These Hurdles are impossible. I think I’m more suited for the thirty-yard sprint.

  I could’ve won. We could be cuddling in the bedroom, naked and warm, after the greatest sex of all—make-up sex—but how can it be make-up sex when I don’t know if we’re going to make up? He doesn’t know how incredibly wrong it was to have left like that. And he is wrong. Totally wrong. I’m right, damn it.

  Groaning into the pillow again, I twist and turn, buck naked on the couch. The only thing we’ve discovered with the no-sex experiment is that we’re both incredibly unbearable without it. What will happen when I’m pregnant and I don’t want him touching me for fear that I’ll
puke all over him? Or say one of us gets paralyzed from the waist down? Or what happens when we have kids and there’s no time? Or when I go through menopause? Will what we have outside our physical relationship be enough to sustain a marriage? Will we even be able to stand one another? Will life become…boring?

  My fingers tighten in the pillow, and I press farther into the feathers, wanting to chase those ridiculous thoughts from my brain. But I can’t. We are forever peas and carrots.

  I grab at the throw blanket on the back of the couch, knocking down a picture from the collage wall. It’s too dark to search behind the couch for it, and I’m too mad to care, so I slump into the cushions, wrap the blanket tight around my shoulders, and burrow my feet into the cracks.

  I miss Landon’s warm legs, and I hate myself for it.

  —

  I’m completely splayed out on the couch when I wake up, legs wide open and arms high over my head. A beautiful trail of drool drips on my shoulder, and I lazily wipe it away. A pang in my back makes me wince when I sit up. My laptop is open on the coffee table, with a steaming mug next to it.

  My Hurdles List has been tampered with.

  I slide closer, wrapping the blanket around my buck-ass naked body, and squint to read the typing.

  The Hurdles of Getting Married Surviving Engagement Sleeping Alone

  1. Try not to miss Liz when you turn off the light.

  2. Try not to miss Liz when you pull the sheets up.

  3. Try not to miss Liz’s cold feet. (Her literal cold feet.)

  4. Try not to think about Liz getting metaphorical cold feet.

  5. Try not to miss Liz at midnight.

  6. Try not to miss Liz at one o’clock.

  7. Try not to miss Liz at two o’clock.

  8. Forget sleeping, just look at her naked body while you still have the chance.

  9. Try not to wake her up as you lie on the floor next to her.

  10. Hold her hand. Squeeze it twice.

  I just finish reading the last Hurdle when I smell Landon’s aftershave waft from the bathroom.

  “I’m sorry,” he says from behind me.

  I don’t turn around. “For what?”

  “Everything.”

  “Which is what?”

  He sighs, and I finally turn to look at him with an arched eyebrow. He needs to be specific so I know he won’t pull this shit again. His lips turn up slightly, and he settles his baseball cap on the back of the couch before leaning in.

  “I’m sorry for leaving for three days. I’m sorry for not calling you back, not texting you, and for acting like it wasn’t a big deal.”

  “Is that all?” It better not be all.

  “Uh…is it?”

  I shake my head, swivel in my seat, and take a sip of my steaming coffee.

  “Um…I’m sorry for…touching your computer?”

  “No.”

  “I’m sorry for leaving my socks on the floor?”

  “We both know you’ll do that again.”

  “I’m sorry for deleting your vampire show?”

  “You did what?”

  His silently laughs and slides onto the couch next to me.

  “I’m just tossing out shit. I don’t know what else there is—”

  “You should be sorry for not being sorry last night.”

  He tosses his hands in the air. “How in the hell was I supposed to figure that out?”

  “Landon…” I press, and he tugs on the ends of the blanket wrapped around my shoulders, pulling me in close.

  “I love you, and I’m sorry for not being sorry.” He rests his forehead against mine. “Did I pass now?”

  I nod my approval. “You had me at the Hurdle List.”

  “You devil woman.”

  “It was very romantic.”

  “Very out of character for me.”

  “You’re more romantic than you think.”

  Landon moves my ponytail off my shoulder as he shakes his head. It finally feels like us again, even with the engagement nearly at a close. My stomach belly-flops at the thought of the wedding being in a little over a month, but instead of getting worked up about it, I toss the blanket off. Landon’s gorgeous eyes bulge and don’t miss a beat drifting down.

  “You still want our one-a-month?”

  Chapter 28

  Even though I proposed our cheat, Landon didn’t take me up on it. Instead he went to work and asked to cash in later. But it’s been five weeks since the naked argument, and I haven’t seen Lord Landon since. The worst part? I haven’t really noticed. Not with all the Wedding Hurdles.

  Dress Hurdle…well, I finally gave up on the dress. It was enough to drive me to The Cheesecake Factory with my last ten bucks where I received a phone call from Satan my future mother-in-law to inform me that they’re coming in for Christmas.

  Cue in-law Hurdle.

  My mom and dad are already in New York and staying until the wedding, which means Landon and I need to stand united on the in-law warpath, but the closer the wedding date comes, the farther we drift apart, only half-murmuring “love you”s whenever we see each other. It makes me wonder if he’s just as terrified as I am that we’ll be husband and wife in less than a month.

  Cue the biggest Hurdle…don’t be scared of forever being the vegetables of lovemaking. Because after we were raisin bran, we went right back to peas and carrots. It’s inevitable.

  After I got off the phone with Landon’s mom, Theresa ordered me another piece of double raspberry, (enabler!), but I ended up staring at it with this weird eye twitch and so we packed it up and it’s been sitting in my fridge.

  Speaking of our fridge, it was practically empty. And unless my family wants to have a box of baking soda and that teeny slice of cheesecake for Christmas dinner, I have to do something I know will piss Landon off.

  I have to ask for help.

  I don’t want to be a mooch. I get his mind-set when it comes to asking for help, but he has to understand where I’m coming from. All I want to do is ask Mom if she’d be willing to take some of the wedding money and put it into Christmas dinner. Landon and I have stretched the honeymoon fund to its limit. I have exactly enough for two plane tickets and a hotel for two nights. It’s not the longest honeymoon in the world, but it’s something. And if I use any more, we’ll be celebrating our marriage on our couch.

  I take a deep breath before knocking on our guest room door. Mom and Dad are noisy houseguests, so I have to knock a few times before the chatter stops and Dad finally opens up.

  “Oh, we weren’t expecting company,” he jokes, pretending to straighten his nonexistent hair. “Please, please, come in, but excuse the mess.”

  “Is the lady of the house in? I need to discuss an important matter with her.” I play along as Dad shoves the loose underwear under the bed. I try not to cringe, opting for looking at Mom paint her nails red and green. ’Tis the season and all.

  “Madam Fanning. A charming young woman requests your presence in the dining hall.” Dad gestures to the card table you can see peeking down the hallway. Mom rolls her eyes at the both of us when I curtsy, and he kisses my hand. She blows on her nails as we make our way to the “dining hall.”

  “So…how much money is in the wedding budget?” No point in beating around the bush.

  “Well, with the cost of your dress lowering, we have an extra few hundred. I was going to use it to cover the flowers, since Landon’s mother wasn’t too keen on helping with those.”

  “You talked to Landon’s mom?” I thought Landon said he’d do it…

  Mom nods, continuing to blow across her freshly painted nails. “They’ll take care of the groom’s attire.”

  “So his tux.”

  She nods again.

  “Mom…why didn’t you say anything?”

  “I didn’t want you to worry about it.”

  Now I feel like utter shit. I slump my shoulders and rest my chin in my palm. So much for a Christmas dinner. It’ll be Top Ramen Thanksgiving all o
ver again.

  “What was that?” Mom asks, pausing her nail drying.

  “Nothing.”

  “No…Elizabeth, you said something.”

  I huff out a breath and repeat the thought that must’ve escaped my mouth. “I don’t have any food for dinner tomorrow night, and Landon’s family is coming in. I was just hoping…but it’s okay. I’ll figure something out.” Bye-bye honeymoon money.

  Mom plucks up my chin, being careful not to ruin her nails. “Let’s go get a turkey.”

  “Mom…”

  “It’s a compromise. I’ll buy, you cook.”

  “I’ll probably poison everyone.”

  “I’ll supervise.”

  I sniff, not even realizing how hard it is to say okay until that moment. Now I really understand why Landon hates asking for help. I feel so pathetic. How am I supposed to get married if I can’t even…?

  I slam my eyes shut before I finish the thought.

  “Thank you, Mom.”

  And I hug her before she sees a single tear escape from my eyes.

  —

  “Most people use frames, but this is creative and you don’t have to worry about making the place look classy.”

  I force a polite smile at Mrs. Wangford as she gazes at our collage wall, and Landon moves the wine bottle away from me. He doesn’t have to worry about me getting drunk off my ass, though. My mom’s been firing the veiled insults right back at her—the comment about how Mrs. Wangford sure knows how to pull off gray hair almost had me pulling a super-mature high-five gesture. So I’ve been trying to busy myself with dinner so I don’t come off badly.

  Cooking is not my strong suit, but I followed the instructions on the turkey bag, and I pulled out that gross gizzard crap before sliding it in the oven. Now, five hours later, the aroma is making me feel like the best damn cook in the world…even though I’m microwaving the corn.

  Mom has taken it upon herself to make a wedding book, and currently she’s showing our very few choices for the invitations. They have to go out Monday, and after getting the pictures back from Helen the photographer, I basically handed that Hurdle to my mother because I couldn’t find one photo that satisfied me.