Doing It for Love (All About Love #1)

  “Are you pregnant?”

  “No.”

  “You swear it.”

  “I swear on Nana Gomomo’s grave.”

  It’s quiet, and I count twelve Mississippis before she talks again.

  “Your father and I need to meet him.”

  “I know.” I turn the phone on speaker and flick to my calendar, knowing she’s doing the same thing. “Landon’s booked with his movie for a couple of months, but he should be done by mid- to late October.”

  She makes a clucking noise with her tongue, and I find myself involuntarily doing it with her. “I’m showing houses until after Halloween. Were you planning on coming home for Thanksgiving?”

  “I don’t think we can afford it. Especially now that we’re going to save up for the honeymoon.”

  “How soon are you planning the wedding?” she asks. My stomach gets a nasty twist in it because I know what her reaction will be.

  “January.”

  “This January?”

  “Yeah.”

  She does that pause again, getting my insides all jacked up. I hold on to Landon’s pillow so I don’t give in to whatever she has to say. This is my decision. I want to marry Landon, and I want to do it in January.

  “Have you…I mean, you really want this right now? You’re so young.”

  “I love him, Mom.”

  “What about college? I thought you were planning on picking a backup this semester.”

  I click off speaker and put the phone to my ear. “I’m not sure if college is for me.” I check the doorway, because I haven’t exactly told Landon this either.

  “Why not?”

  “I have no idea what I want to do, and it’s kind of a waste of money until I figure it out. We’re still paying off Landon’s loans, and we kind of need us both working right now.”

  “You’re just going to drop what you want for what he wants? You’re prepared to keep doing that?”

  “I want him to be successful. I have no idea what I want for myself yet.” It’s not completely untrue. What I want is Landon, but I know my mom will want me to have something other than a guy. I should be more than someone’s wife. I’m not up for the lecture.

  She takes a deep breath. “Well, maybe your father and I should fly out there. I’ll help with wedding plans and save you some money.”

  It’s probably the best I’m going to get. “Sounds good.”

  “I’ll email you my calendar.” Her nails clack against what must be her keyboard. I yawn and sink farther into my sheets.

  “Love you, Mom, but I was up late…”

  “This conversation isn’t over.” She says it with a tone that’s half teasing, like she knows how trite she’s being. “And I love you, too. Talk soon.”

  I hang up and toss my phone back onto the nightstand. Before I can overthink or worry about defending my decisions, I stuff my face into my pillow and drift back to sleep.

  —

  If I thought being sick made my apartment a complete hole, being a blissed-out, airheaded mess for the first week of my engagement made it a million times worse.

  Landon’s been working all day every day. If not at his job that actually pays us, he’s on the movie set. He comes home totally beat after midnight, then crawls out of bed at six in the morning to head to work.

  I think even if we didn’t bet on no sex, it wouldn’t be happening anyway. And forget my Hurdle List. I haven’t had time to jump over any of them.

  I start up my vacuum after taking out the very full trash. Every dish is clean. Every item of clothing folded. The pictures from the engagement party are up on our collage wall—an entire wall in our living room full of pictures we actually got printed—and I pinned up our wristbands and one of Landon’s painted shoelaces. I shake my hips to “Backstreet’s Back” while I vacuum, really proud that I’m finally back to normal. If I don’t clean the apartment, no one does. What’s it going to be like when I’m really pregnant? Or when I have a kid? I’ll be cleaning up even more, I guess. Landon’s uncleanliness must be a test.

  The door swings open and Landon rushes in, stripping out of his work clothes and leaving a trail on the way to the bedroom.

  “You get your ass back here and pick those up!” I shout over the vacuum. Good grief.

  “Sorry!” he calls from the room. “I got stuck on a call and I’ve gotta be on set in twenty.”

  I sigh and turn the vacuum off. Grumbling a few choice words under my breath, I swipe up the laundry and stuff it in the hamper.

  Half of Landon’s mouth lifts in the corner as he tugs on a fresh pair of jeans. “Did you just call me a manchild?”

  “No,” I lie, but my phone’s going off in my pocket so I don’t want to start an argument. My brow furrows as I look at the bank notification on the screen. “Hey, did you spend money?”

  “Yeah. We ran out of blood for the shoot yesterday.”

  “Landon…it overdrafted the checking account.”

  He pulls open his dresser drawer, unfolding everything I just folded as he digs for the one plain T-shirt he owns. “Sorry, babe. Can we cover it with savings?”

  “I can’t keep doing that.” I sigh as I transfer the money. “ ’Cause you know, pretty soon that bet won’t mean a damn thing because we won’t have any money for a honeymoon.”

  A long silence fills the room. I just watch him get ready, trying to pour cold water on the flames licking the back of my neck. This is argument three-thousand-eighty over our bank account. I took over finances when I moved in, because I’m anal about these things and it’ll be good for us—his words, not mine. And every few weeks it’s the same thing. He needs something, asks if we have the money. I say no, and he spends it anyway. In his defense, I’m frugal. I like a nice savings balance and a strict budget. But in my defense, we’re poor and we need a strict budget.

  Not to mention I always talk about my purchases with him before I make them. I want the same courtesy.

  Landon sighs and slips on his Beetlejuice cap. He turns around with a smile and kisses my nose.

  “I’m sorry. I’ll work overtime. Make it up.”

  I shake my head. “When? If you’re not at work you’re working on set.” I tuck my phone back in my pocket. “Maybe I can pick up some shifts.”

  “I’ll do it.” He reaches out, rubs my arms, and even though I don’t believe him, I let him think I do. “I gotta run. I love you. We can fight about this when I get home.”

  I roll my eyes, but a small laugh falls out. “Fine. But this conversation is not over.”

  Sweet mother, I sound like my sweet mother.

  He squeezes my arms and I hug him. We made a deal after our first argument that even if we’re mad, if the other person has somewhere to be, we put it on hold, say we love each other, and if the anger is still there when we’re together again, we deal with it. It’s hard sometimes, but my imagination always runs wild and I wonder what if he gets in an accident and I didn’t say I loved him?

  He cups my face and pulls me in for a kiss I’m not sure I want, but after a hard press of his lips, a gentle stroke of his tongue, I don’t want it to end. A surprise kiss…wow. Haven’t had one of these in a while. It’s nice, and for a second I forget I’m mad. Well played, Mr. Wangford.

  After he leaves, I pull out the laptop and start rearranging money in my budget plan folder. We have just over $1,500 in savings after I dropped a buttload on the venue, and if we keep spending money like we do it’s going to be long gone by January.

  O-town plays in the background as I look at all the negative numbers. Four twenty-dollar overdraft fees in the past three months. Way too much money being spent at the gas station, but I have no idea how to avoid that. Maybe I can ask Alec to drive me to work so Landon doesn’t have to take more trips picking me up and dropping me off. I’m not exactly on the way, but he might be up for it.

  And we eat out too much. Gotta break the habit.

  I open up a new Excel spreadsheet and label it “To Get
the Perfect Wedding.” Time to figure out how the heck we can afford everything I have on my Pinterest board.

  A knock comes at my door, and I shout a “Come in, Alec!” because he’s the only one of our friends who knocks. He caught Landon and me in a pretty compromising position once. Walked in and walked right back out.

  He’s in his Bed Bath & Beyond polo, dirty blond hair totally flat from the day’s work. He gives me a small grin and hands me an envelope. Ah! Answer to my prayers.

  “Payday!” I shout, ripping into the check. Alec goes to close the door, but a foot stops him.

  “Hey, Beth Ann,” Jace says, letting himself in. He’s covered in bloody makeup and shredded clothing and heads straight for my fridge.

  “I don’t have any more hot dogs,” I tell him, my heart dropping a little at the very small amount on my paycheck. I forgot about taking a few sick days when I thought there was a bun in the oven. Damn it. I don’t think I can put anything into savings this time.

  “Don’t need ’em,” Jace says, pulling out a carton of eggs. I sigh because I know he’s on a mission for gross products to pass off as body parts in Landon’s movie, but there goes my breakfast for the next week.

  “Tell him thanks for not using the card, I guess.”

  Jace nods and heads back out, nearly knocking over Theresa in the doorway. I’d wonder if I sent out party invitations, if this wasn’t a normal thing.

  They share a really bizarre look and scoot around each other. When Jace is gone, Theresa’s smile spreads wide and she wiggles a case of wine coolers at me. “Is Alec going to help?”

  “Huh?”

  “Dress browsing, silly girl. You called me this morning…”

  Oh right! Where is my brain? “Yes…sorry. Been…” cleaning all day, worried about money, stressed to the max, and Landon isn’t home. “I’ve been distracted.” I turn to Alec. “You can stay if you want.”

  He wrinkles his nose. “And plan wedding stuff?”

  “We’ll order pizza,” Theresa says. Man, I really hope she’s paying.

  He shrugs and pulls his work polo over his head so he’s in just his white undershirt. I notice Theresa’s eyes linger on Alec’s stomach, but she shakes her head and pulls out her phone.

  “Okay, someone turn on music from this decade and I’ll get the food.”

  Chapter 8

  The Hurdles of Getting Married

  7. Find a song for you and Landon (because you just realized you don’t have one.)

  8. Write your vows.

  I tap on my keyboard and click out of my Hurdle List. Dress browsing was a bust. I don’t know what colors I want, so it’s pointless to look at bridesmaids’ dresses right now. Every gown I want is a billion dollars, and I ended up sipping on my cherry wine cooler and forcing back snotty tears. Alec is so bored he’s lying on his back, tossing a rubber ball into the air and singing, “If I were a rich man” under his breath. After he’s done I’ll start making requests. Alec is Broadway material. While Landon works backstage, he takes front and center.

  Theresa’s on her fourth cooler, and her eyes are getting that droopy look. I shake my head and nudge her back into the couch cushions. Pass out, my friend.

  Alec hits the last note, and I close my laptop and slump on the floor next to him. We take turns bouncing the ball off the wall to each other.

  “I get a kick out of you.”

  He grins, showing off his one dimple. “You always want that one.”

  I toss the ball, nearly hitting the clock that says it’s 11:28. “I miss him.”

  Alec elbows my arm after catching my toss. Then he starts singing, nearly putting Frank Sinatra to shame. I stop tossing the ball so I can hear the song without the thunk every two seconds. Three years ago, our theater class put on a production of Anything Goes, and as a requirement every guy had to sing “I Get a Kick Out of You,” no matter what part they wanted. Landon didn’t want a part, he wanted assistant director, but he auditioned anyway.

  He was so nervous. He kept opening his mouth, making some sort of croaking noise, then slamming his lips back together. It was pin-droppingly quiet in the room, and all I wanted was to jump up and save him.

  So I did. I stood on my chair in the back of the room and belted out the first line of the song. I wasn’t good. I was completely off key, tried to do a manly voice, and effed up the lyrics. But a smile broke out on his delicious face. He sang with me, then louder than me, then on his own while the class clapped and whooped. He was awful. He missed lines and notes and made up words, but he owned it.

  And I fell in love all over again.

  “It’s not going to be like this forever, you know,” Alec says, breaking into my thoughts. I don’t even know if he finished the song. Theresa shifts on the couch but doesn’t wake up.

  “This?”

  “Late nights, long hours, you being home alone…”

  I turn my head to look at him. “Yes it will. After this movie’s a success, he’ll get another grant, or even better, he’ll make it into the Indie Film Hall of Fame. He’s going places…big places. And it’ll be even longer hours, later nights.” I pause, and Alec turns to me. His brows pull in, and I like that he’s concerned. Not only is he Landon’s best friend, but he’s mine too. I give him a smile. “And I’m one-hundred-percent okay with it. It’s his dream.”

  The corner of his lip twitches upward. “Lucky bastard. He better keep ahold of you.” Alec’s eyes drift to Theresa on the couch. After a few beats he starts tossing the ball again. “You know, you should visit him on set.”

  “I don’t want to get in the way.” I never go to Landon’s shoots. He’s pretty passionate when he’s just editing at home. Whenever I try to talk to him, he half-listens or gets kinda cranky. I figure it’s best for me to support from a distance.

  “I don’t think he’d mind.”

  “Did he say something to you?”

  “Maybe.” He cracks a smile and tosses the ball again. “It’s funny, ’cause when he made that film in high school there was this girl who followed him around on every shoot. She would try to give advice to the actors and tell Landon which camera angle would be best or whatever. We thought she was trying to sneak a part until she kissed him.”

  “Yeah, he told me about her.”

  “I think as long as you’re not like that, you’re good.” Alec adjusts on the floor, resting his head on his palm. “I’m positive he wants you to visit. He’s pretty proud of this one, and he didn’t have a big support system before you.”

  “What about you?” I challenge.

  “I don’t count. I’m not family.”

  “Neither am I.”

  “But you will be.”

  My heart thumps extra hard, foreign butterflies taking off in the pit of my stomach. I eye the ring on my finger, finding an entirely new meaning in it.

  “His parents never supported him?” I whisper.

  “I don’t know if it’s that,” Alec says. “But Landon grew up in a house that argues.” He lets out a small laugh. “And they argue over the dumbest stuff. I remember one time his sister was trying to tell one of her boring-as-hell stories, and she said something about how she was eating Skittles, and Landon was like, no, you were eating Sixlets. I was eating Skittles. And they argued for twenty minutes over who ate what and I don’t even remember what she was trying to tell me in the first place. That’s just how they talk. Everything is a battle.”

  I raise my eyebrows and stare at our collage wall. There isn’t a single picture of Landon’s family up there.

  “His parents do this, too?”

  “Yeah. It’s messed.” Alec stretches out, cracking his neck. “Honestly, I thought he’d argue with whoever he ended up with.”

  “We do argue.” I laugh.

  “Nah. You may tease the hell out of each other. But you don’t fight over dumb shit. I even see him let stuff go when I know he thinks you’re wrong. I don’t think he wants that fighting crap for his future.”

 
And yet we had a fight right before he left for his movie shoot today.

  I twist to my stomach and pick at the carpet. Landon’s from Philadelphia, I’m from Georgia (go Falcons!). We grew up worlds apart and met in New York. Parental introductions seemed like something that would happen when we visited them or vice versa. I wonder…“Should I be worried?”

  “His parents argue every decision he makes.” Alec shrugs. “You’re something I don’t think he wants to argue about.”

  “Well, I’m awesome. Maybe they won’t want to argue this decision.” I point to my ring, and he shakes his head.

  “Don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

  I give him a dirty look and push on his head. Way to make me totally self-conscious. And here I thought it’d be my parents who’d be the problem.

  My phone buzzes with a text from Landon saying he’ll be home in an hour. I blow out a sigh and Alec pats my leg.

  “I’m gonna head out. See ya at work.”

  “Can I get a ride tomorrow?”

  “Sure.”

  I walk him to the elevator, give him a hug, and trudge back to my apartment. Theresa’s snuggled into the cushions, and I settle a blanket over her and clean up our food. Landon says an hour, but sometimes that means two. So I click off all the lights—minus the one over the oven—and curl up with Theresa on the other side of the couch in case she wakes up and doesn’t know where she is. She gets night terrors occasionally and almost hit Landon with a bat once when he came home at, like, three, and she had crashed on the couch. Best to have reinforcements.

  I stare at the collage wall, not really being able to see the pictures in detail, but I’m familiar with them enough to know what’s where. Me and my mom at the beach. Dad with Spider-Man in Times Square. My cousin with Theresa at prom so she didn’t have to go alone. All in all, a pretty awesome family, even if Mom passive-aggressively argues with me about marrying so young.

  Landon talks about his family like he loves them. I’ve asked about his sister, knew that he never got along with her, but that they had good times, too. He loves his dad to pieces. I know that because he talks wonders about his father. And he says his mom is crazy, totally losing her mind, and can’t remember things from yesterday, but he loves her, too. I feel like I know his family without ever meeting them. But I don’t. And I can’t help but freak out a little that my first meeting with them will be because I’m marrying Landon. Talk about pressure.