Doing It for Love _1.jpg

Doing It for Love is a work of fiction. Names, places, and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

A Loveswept eBook Original

Copyright © 2015 by Cassie Mae

Excerpt from No Interest in Love by Cassie Mae copyright © 2015 by Cassie Mae

All rights reserved.

Published in the United States by Loveswept, an imprint of Random House, a division of Penguin Random House LLC, New York.

LOVESWEPT is a registered trademark and the LOVESWEPT colophon is a trademark of Penguin Random House LLC.

This book contains an excerpt from the forthcoming book No Interest in Love by Cassie Mae. This excerpt has been set for this edition only and may not reflect the final content of the forthcoming edition.

eBook ISBN 9781101885772

Cover design: Regina Wamba

Cover photograph: Nyul/Bigstock

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Contents

Cover

Title Page

Copyright

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Chapter 30

Chapter 31

Chapter 32

Chapter 33

Chapter 34

Chapter 35

Chapter 36

Chapter 37

Chapter 38

Epilogue

Dedication

Acknowledgments

By Cassie Mae

About the Author

The Editor’s Corner

Excerpt from No Interest in Love

Chapter 1

AUGUST

Not pregnant.

Praise Jesus.

I chuck the negative test in the bathroom trash with a shimmy and a shake. Pregnant at twenty-two was not what I pictured when I did my aptitude test seven years ago. Those results said I’d be some sort of performance artist. I pictured myself famous, in all the Broadway plays, living in my penthouse suite with my best friend, Theresa, and having weekend nookies with Chase Crawford. Kids were on the bucket list under: hell yes…when I’m married. Obviously, I was a dreamer at fifteen. Now that I’m more a realist, I’ve learned to be happy with whatever life has to offer me.

But I am happy that it decided not to offer me a baby right now.

I start the water on the shower because I feel like I peed all over myself when I attempted to aim on the stick. Aunt Flo is fourteen days late, and I’ve been avoiding Landon and his semen. Not that he’s noticed.

If sex was a three-course meal, Landon and I would be the peas and carrots. We’re good together, but we’re still the vegetables. Basically we do it when there’s a commercial on, when there is no food in the fridge, or it’s someone’s birthday. It’s okay…that’s what happens when you move past the honeymoon stage.

We used to be strawberries and whipped cream. Luxurious dessert, grinding on each other on public dance floors, car sex, kitchen sex, against the wall sex, balcony sex—which was an epic fail, by the way—and the always disastrous shower sex. Disaster because our bathtub is made for one person only, and so lying down ended with a faucet to the butthole and standing up made for slippery recoveries. But we were strawberries and whipped cream, so we’d laugh it off, not let it break the mood, jump into bed, and keep at it.

I refuse to think we’ve become raisin bran—the sex you have only because you have needs to take care of—despite what Theresa says. She’s permanently the palate cleanser between courses in her own sex life, and she’s not budging anytime soon. But she just hasn’t found her Landon yet.

Anyway, back to Landon not noticing the lack of sex. It’s because we’re so busy all the time. He works all day at a call center then he goes and films all night. He’s a director-in-training—got an award for his last movie and a grant to make the one he’s working on now. So he comes home smelling like sweaty socks—which he loves to leave on the floor in the living room. That’s what peas and carrots do, though.

It’s funny, for so long I wanted to know the story after the happy ending. What happens to the couple once they find each other, consummate their relationship, and get past their demons? Now that I’m in that story, I get why no one talks about it. I’m in love, so it pretty much trumps all the other crap. At least, it has so far. Despite Landon’s dirty laundry—literal—and his late nights—also literal—he makes me laugh. I’ve never had so much fun with another person. Even being vegetables, sex—when we have it—is fun. Probably why I wish we had it more.

Better check the effectiveness of my birth control first, though.

A hand whips back the shower curtain, and I scream like a banshee and chuck my washcloth at the attacker.

“Sweet mother,” I say, holding my heart. “What the hell?”

Landon slowly peels the washcloth from the bill of his The Nightmare Before Christmas hat. He’s wearing his matching graphic tee, a red stain on the upper right sleeve. Probably from the pizza he had to gobble between his job and his shoot this afternoon.

“Liz,” he says, holding the pregnancy test between two fingers. “What is this?”

“It’s a negative pee test. Don’t worry.”

“Did you think you were pregnant?” He chokes on the word.

“Yes, but I’m not.” I lean forward and kiss his shocked lips. “So don’t worry.”

He lets out this large breath, chucking the test back in the trash. “Fine, but you must promise on your precious iPod that you will tell me next time you think you are.”

I hold my hand to the square. “I vow to dispose of all my late-period secrets.” I drop my arm. “Now may I shower?”

“How long you going to be?”

“Normal.”

“So till the hot water is out.”

I put a finger to my nose, and he pulls his cap off. His shirt goes next.

“Joining me?” I ask, my lady nethers perking up. It’s not even my birthday. What a sexy surprise.

“Yeah, I won’t have time in the morning.”

“Oh.” Calm down, girls, it’s just one of those “saving water” things, and not because I’m naked, he’s naked, and we’re going to be wet and slippery.

His cold hand splays across my stomach when he steps in, and I refuse to let my nethers get their hopes up again.

“You okay?” he asks, scruff tickling my neck.

“Yeah, why?”

“Paint me paranoid,” he says, backing me into his chilled body. I move the water so he warms up. “But I think something’s wrong. And I’m not letting you out of this shower till you tell me.”

A twitch of a smile finds itself on my mouth. “I’m fine.”

“Good thing you’re naked.” He taps my ass. “Your pants wouldn’t stand a chance.”

I shake my head, biting back my laughter. “You’re a tease.”


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