Doing It for Love (All About Love #1) (25 page)

Dedicated to anyone who is married to someone who leaves their socks on the floor, and you love them anyway.

Look, Mom! I wrote a book about what happens after the Happily Ever After. And it was kind of naughty. But like you told that lady in the middle of the Smith’s book section, you like that stuff. So I hope I didn’t make you blush too hard when you read about Liz’s adventures in Chocolateville.

My career would be nothing without my readers. To those of you who bought this book, thank you, and I hope that I made you laugh at least once.

And on the very long shot that she reads this book…Taylor Swift, you rock. I adore you. And I hope you don’t mind that I described Liz after your cute self.

My Awesome Nerds are the best people in the world. Not only do your reviews and enthusiasm get my butt off my couch and into my writing chair, but you always send me lots of pictures of hot guys in glasses. Mmmm…love those bespectacled men! You guys get me. *does Mockingjay salute*

There are many people who dug me out of the “THIS BOOK SUCKS!” hole that I constantly threw myself into during the drafting of this book. It would be wrong to not acknowledge their unbelievable patience and understanding with a crazy woman like me. Lenore, Theresa, Jolene, Rachel, Suzi, and Jessica…pretty sure you saved this book from going into the trash on a daily basis.

Shout-out to my critique partners and betas for reading this book in lightning speed because whenever I have a deadline, I cut it super close. Kelley, Jolene, Carol, and Ashlei, thank you for not laughing at all my little notes in the middle of sentences and for fixing whatever New York reference I had that made no sense. And an extra shout-out to Beth for coming up with the “delayed gratification” line that made it through every edit of this thing. (Because it was hilarious.)

I’m also a very lucky duck, because I get to work with the most AMAZING publishing team. Sue Grimshaw, you are the goddess of editors. To my publicist and my marketing gurus, you are absolutely kickbutt. And of course, my copy editors are the best ever. Can’t tell you how many times I accidentally wrote “boob” instead of “book.” Though…that might’ve worked in this one…

Special high fives to my super agent, Rachel Stout, who worked with me through many, many emails and is always enthusiastic…and a GIANT thank-you for saying the best thing ever about Landon when reading this book.

My sister Jenny is the greatest because not only does she read my books, she rereads them and calls me in the middle of the night to tell me how awesome I am. I bet she’s making up for all the tickling she did to me growing up.

My kids are a wonderful support. The oldest has taken the job of “Informer,” so every time I go to the office to write, he comes in with a handful of offenses his brother and sister have done since I left the room. My middle child is now the “Screamer” and has taken it upon himself to randomly scream his vocal cords into oblivion whenever I finally get a dose of inspiration. And my youngest, the “Dumper,” has decided that every time I sit down to write…she must poop. A very stinky poop. And then sit right next to me while I try to train my nose into thinking it’s imaginary. You guys are great at your jobs. Maybe find other talents for this next book. Like “The Mute.”

Don’t worry, I’m almost done…one more, and I’m gonna write it really fast so I don’t cry.

Hubby, you are the peanut butter to my jelly. (No, wait, I want to be the peanut butter. The chunky kind.) And I can honestly say that much of this book would not have been written if I had not experienced what happens after the happily ever after. We fight, we tease, we fall asleep in the middle of trying to get frisky, and you leave your dang socks on the floor
every day
. Our date nights consist of ignoring the pile of laundry and playing Marvel trivia games
.
I don’t remember the last time we showered together for any other reason but to save water and time. You clip your toenails in the living room, and I rarely shave my legs.

But you still tuck me into bed. You hold my hand in the car. You let me fall asleep on your lap. You buy me cheesecake on rough days. You tell me I’m beautiful. You rub my hairy legs when I’m cold. You do dishes, take the trash out, and always lift the lid.

You are my person, and thank you for teaching me what real love is, and not just so I can write about it.

*squeezes hand twice*

Friday Night Alibi

Switched

The Real Thing

Doing It for Love

No Interest in Love
(coming soon)

PHOTO: ERIN SUMMERILL OF SUMMERILL PHOTOGRAPHY

C
ASSIE
M
AE
(who dons the name Becca Ann on occasion) is the author of a few hundred…okay, maybe not
that
many…books. Some of which became popular for their quirky titles, characters, and stories. She likes writing about nerds, geeks, the awkward, the fluffy, the short, the shy, the loud, the fun.

Since publishing her bestselling debut,
Reasons I Fell for the Funny Fat Friend,
she has published and sold books to Random House, Swoon Romance, and Tulip Romance. She has a favorite of all her babies, but no, she won’t tell you what it is. (Mainly because it changes depending on the day.)

Along with writing, Cassie Mae likes to binge-watch
Teen Wolf
and
The Big Bang Theory.
She can quote Harry Potter lines quick as a whip. And she likes kissing her hubby, but only if his facial hair is trimmed. She also likes cheesecake to a very obsessive degree.

You can stalk, talk, or send pictures of Dylan O’Brien to her on her Facebook page.

Facebook.com/cassiemaeauthor

@CassieCook2

As the seasonal colors change with the leaves on the trees, so does our lineup of new Loveswept romances…and we’re sure you’ll love them all!

Adore MC romances? You’ll love Rachael Johns’s,
Fire Me Up
. Sports fans won’t want to miss
New York Times
bestselling author Sawyer Bennett’s Cold Fury Hockey series continuing with
Ryker
and debut author Sophia Henry introduces her Pilot’s Hockey series with
Delayed Penalty
. Then it’s off the ice with Samantha Kane’s new NFL title,
Broken Play
. Baseball fans everywhere will want the next in the Boys of Summer series by Katie Rose,
The Heat of the Moment,
while readers who devour MMA stories will go for Loveswept debut author Sarah Robinson’s
Breaking a Legend
. And if your taste for fighters is not squelched just yet,
Raven
by Suzanne Ashley has a twist that will shock you and yet melt your heart—prepare yourself for an emotional ride.

For those sports enthusiasts who take to the slopes, Extreme Risk’s next installment,
Slashed,
by
New York Times
bestselling author Tracy Wolff is here! Fabulously fun and flirty author Cassie Mae begins a new series, All About Love, that will have you laughing out loud, then sniffling, maybe both at the same time with the first book,
Doing It for Love
. Lastly, a sexy regency historical novella from Lavinia Kent, part of her Bound and Determined series,
Sarah’s Surrender.

All affordably priced and found wherever eBooks are sold, Loveswepts are stories you’ll always remember and that can be easily stored on your digital shelves to be read over and over again. Until next time…

Happy Romance!

Gina Wachtel

Associate Publisher

by Cassie Mae

SUNDAY

8:30 P.M.

“It smells like ass in here.”

Shay wrinkles her tiny nose, pushing her red old-lady glasses up as she peers into the hotel room we regrettably have to share for the night. I inhale deep, noticing the assy scent, but even that can’t wipe the smile from my face.

Because I, Jace Carver, am getting laid by the end of the week.

“I call the left one,” I say, dragging my carry-on bag across the room and claiming the bed by the window. The hotel room isn’t much, but it was this or a motel, and that one letter makes a whole lot of difference.

“That’s the one I want.”

I knew she’d argue with me. So I tilt a suggestive eyebrow at her. I’m already pushing my shoes off with my toes. “We can share. I don’t mind.”

Her tiny nose wrinkles again. “How did I know that would be your response?”

She plops her giant purse on the right side bed and blows out a large sigh. Shaking my head, I reach for the strap and set it on the bed I clearly called dibs on.

“You can have it. I don’t want your mood to harsh my buzz.”

She crosses her arms over her high-collared blue shirt. Shay’s always tried to put off that she’s commanding and intimidating, when really, it’s hilarious as hell.

“How can you be happy right now? Our flight was delayed. We should be in Alabama schmoozing up to Carletta and the casting director.”

Ah…Carletta. That’s why I’m happy right now.

Carletta Ocean is famous, and not just for her acting. Rumor has it that she sleeps with every actor who plays opposite her, but just while shooting. She said in an interview once that it “helps create authentic chemistry.” Then, after however many months, it’s done. Clean-cut, no-mess sexual arrangement.

Those lucky bastards.

See, I haven’t been able to score with a woman in over…ah hell, I don’t even like to think it. Let’s just say it’s the driest of spells. It’s like the sandman has crash-landed in my shorts and he’s taking forever to recover. My balls have turned so blue, Smurfs look pale in comparison.

My last conquest, Chantal, and I slept together the whole time we shot the low-budget movie. My best buddy, Landon, got a grant from a film festival he won a few years before that and he needed actors willing to work for pretty much nothing. I was for sure going to help out, but Chantal thought we should get something else out of all the hard work in case the movie didn’t sell to any studios. The terms were beautiful. No one was gonna find out, and we weren’t gonna keep it up when filming was over. It was the cleanest “breakup” I’ve ever had.

It was magnificent.

And Shay, my brilliant—yet pain-in-the-ass—agent, landed me an audition for the next Carletta movie.

“Hey, the audition’s not till Friday,” I say, plopping down on the bed closest to the door. I tuck my hands under my head. “We got time.”

She dives into her bag, the only luggage she packed. Her tablet catches a glare from the setting sun as she pulls it out, and it hits me right in the eyes.

“Please tell me you’re not going to make me work.”

Her face lights up as the screen turns on. “You can’t mess this up like you did the last audition.”

“That wasn’t my fault.”

“You mooned the casting director.”

“He wanted a butt double! What kind of messed-up shit is that?” I flip around. “Look at this ass. It’s glorious.”

She pushes her lips together, holding back her laugh. Her eyes are definitely checking out my ass, but she neither confirms nor denies its glory.

“I’m going to see if the front desk can print out the script.” She tries to shove the tablet into her back pocket, but it doesn’t fit. So she leaves quickly…probably so I don’t have the chance to make fun of her for it.

As soon as the door clicks behind her, I reach over and mash the remote till it hits something I’m interested in. The TV is always on no matter where I am. I call it research even though my friends call it laziness. I’m somewhat of an actor, though. I say it counts.

Neil Patrick Harris is first up on the entertainment news of the day, and I toast my coffee mug up to the acting god himself. It’s because of his genius character on
How I Met Your Mother
that I am…

wait for it…

…
awesome
.

I’ve taken what I call “The Stinson Approach” to all things in my life. Quick background: Barney Stinson is a character on that brilliant show who achieved the thing I didn’t know was possible. He went through his entire life sleeping around, different woman every night, rarely the same woman twice, and was easily the happiest character on the show. I majored in acting just to see if I could get a taste of what Barney could do with his elaborate schemes.

Well…turns out when you tell a woman that she’s your everything, that you can’t stop thinking about her, that she turns your world on its head—all in the name of acting—she doesn’t just give it away. In fact, most of the time she calls you out on your bullshit. Nope, it can’t be as easy as Barney makes it out to be.

All right, so my life might not be awesome right now. But it will be. I think I’m almost at that place where I can really embrace my inner Barney Stinson. See, Barney has one thing going for him that I don’t.

Money.

Struggling actor = broke.

Broke = fewer women.

Fewer women = can’t be picky.

So I thought, when I caught my big break, the women would flock to the cash flow. Then I realized that there was no cash flow, and what little I did make from the small-screen movie went straight into Grandma’s bank account for the house I’m trying to buy her.

The brunette hosting switches topics, and I sit up at the mention of Carletta.

“Turns out Carletta Ocean’s new film might be delayed, costing the studio a large sum of money. Up-and-coming actor Ian Ritter walked off set and away from his leading role playing opposite Carletta after a heated argument about the cat she kept on set. Ian’s highly allergic, and when Carletta refused to keep the feline in her trailer, Ian hit the road. Now producers are searching the globe for a leading man. The only qualification they seem to be looking for came from screenwriter and producer Killion Jacobs, who says, ‘He better be comfortable with partial nudity.’ Whether he’s talking about in the film or behind the scenes is another question.”

“Oh, I’m comfortable with it,” I tell the TV, grinning like a buffoon and grateful Shay has left the room. The brunette keeps talking about how open auditions will be held in Alabama next week, but she’s gotta check her sources. Because Shay called up the casting director this morning, sent in one of my tapes and the Syfy movie I was the lead in,
The Walking Stiff.
Not three hours later, Carletta was inviting me to an exclusive audition. Hells yeah.

“Prepare yourself, boys,” I say to the Smurfs out loud because I’m just that damn happy, “we’re in for a wild ride.”