Crazy Stupid Love (Crazy Love #1) by Melissa Toppen
Sometimes falling in love is more than just crazy, it's downright stupid... Embrace the madness.
Prologue
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Decklan Screams, that’s all I can hear. The shrill cries of a woman that pierces my ears with so much intensity the ringing in my head becomes nearly unbearable, the pressure between my temples threatening to explode at any moment.
Distant voices filter into the chaos of white noise and random muffled tones seem to seep their way in from a distant place. I don’t recognize any of them. Except one...the screaming woman, her I know.
My body becomes weightless, lifting from the ground as if to float away.
Am I dying?
Am I already dead?
I can’t be...there’s too much pain. It radiates from everywhere. I can feel it coursing through my limbs, demanding to be felt.
Please make it stop.
I just want it to go away.
I can’t take it.
It’s too much.
Then I remember...
My eyes dart open, searching frantically. He’s here. He’s right here.
Where is he?
“Conner,” I manage to say, but my voice is broken and not audible over the bustle of unrecognizable people that seem to close in around me.
“Where’s Conner?” I try again, this time my voice managing to catch the attention of a man next to me, his face unrecognizable through my blurred, distorted vision.
“He’s responding.” I hear the voice say to another.
“We’ve got you, son.” Another voice.
“Conner,” I demand more forcefully, still too disoriented to know who I am speaking to.
“We’ve got you.” I hear again.
Why is no one answering me?
Where are they taking me?
My mind may not be able to process what is happening but somehow it already seems to know. Conner’s gone... I just know it. I can feel it; like losing a part of myself.
I want to scream, demand that I see him, but I’m a prisoner to this body. This damaged broken body that has no fight left in it.
I silently close my eyes and let the darkness take me.
It’s where I belong.
It’s where I’ve always belonged.
Chapter One
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Kimber
I knew I shouldn’t have come here tonight. I don’t know why I let my roommate and her crazy best friend drag me all the way to Portland, let alone dress me in this tight little cocktail dress that makes it feel difficult to breathe normally. I guess it’s my feeble attempt to feel like I’m a part of something; to fit in. But now as I sit here watching the two girls grind on any man within a ten-foot radius of them, it’s blindingly clear that fitting in is not something I am doing.
It’s been nearly two months since I moved to Oregon, and I still feel like such an outsider. Even still, I do my best not to seem too out of place sitting at a round high-top table all by myself in the back of a hopping bar, sipping virgin strawberry daiquiris like I am not the biggest loser in the world.
To say a bar named Deviants is out of my comfort zone is a major understatement. With dark walls, wild lights, and the most elaborate looking glass bar, I can honestly say I have never stepped foot inside of somewhere even remotely similar to this. Places like this don’t exist in the tiny town I grew up in, at least not that I was ever aware of. Of course, I had blinders on for most of my life, thanks to my overprotective parents who kept me, from what I am now learning, quite sheltered.
It wasn’t an easy decision leaving my home in West Virginia, let alone moving to the opposite side of the country, but I knew if I wanted any chance of becoming my own person I had to do it.
My parents’ were furious and while things are still not okay with us, we are at least on speaking terms again. Of course, they refused to pay for even one dime of my tuition. Luckily I worked my butt off in high school and graduated at the top of my class, earning myself quite a hefty Art scholarship to The University of Oregon. A far cry from the legal or medical degree my parents’ dreamed I would pursue.
I shake my head and hold up my drink when my roommate Harlee waves for me to join her on the dance floor. She rolls her eyes and throws me an annoyed glare but is quickly distracted when a dark-haired man steps up behind her and begins rubbing his crotch into her backside. I can’t help but cringe slightly. I don’t see the fun in having random sweaty strangers rub up all over you like that.
“Could you be any lamer?” Angel, Harlee’s wild-haired best friend startles me with her sudden presence.
“I’m not lame.” I huff. “I’m people watching.” I take a long sip of my icy drink, pushing my dark blonde waves behind my shoulders as I straighten my posture.
“Like I said, lame.” She jumps slightly when a man who looks to be at least thirty slides in behind her, setting a beer and a multicolored shot in front of her despite the fact that she’s not legally old enough to drink; none of us are.
Giving me a wicked smile, she raises the shot glass to her lips and tips it back, draining the liquid in seconds.
“Delicious,” she hisses, wiping her lips with the back of her hand before turning in the man’s arms.