Love at First Fight

by Aarons, Carrie

  My head swivels between our housemates, and Molly is giggling into the crook of my shoulder. “I can’t believe you just did that.”

  “I knew it! I fucking told you!” Marta turns around to point a self-satisfied finger at Ray.

  “You were right.” He shrugs, as if he’s been hearing theories from her for a while.

  “What? What? What?” Heather keeps saying over and over again.

  I look down at Molly, a triumphant smile on my face, but my heart a little weary. “I hope that was okay.”

  “I was afraid if you didn’t do something soon, I was going to have to give you a stern talking to.” She presses up on her toes to plant a kiss on my cheek.

  “A stern talking to?” I chuckle, because this woman couldn’t be more adorable. “Most women would slap me in the face.”

  “Maybe I should still do that. Should we try? It would shock them even more.” She crooks an eyebrow at me.

  “Excuse me, what the hell is going on?” Jacinda walks right up to us, waving her arms frantically.

  “We’re together.” I shrug, as if this is all completely normal business.

  “I thought you hated her,” Peter deadpans.

  Molly bursts out laughing. “I thought so too, until he kissed me.”

  “He never hated her, he—” Marta is about to spill all the skeletons in my closet.

  “Ah, I … we connected while sharing the house. And started dating. And we really like each other. Well, I can’t speak for Molly, but I’m really enjoying her company.”

  “Likewise.” She grips my hand as she steps back, making us a unit.

  “This is so weird.” Heather shakes her head, still in disbelief.

  “Anyone have a problem with it? Actually, I don’t care.” I laugh.

  Marta kicks up sand as she runs over, flinging her arms around both of us. “I’m so happy.”

  Me too, I think as the three of us group hug.

  I know there will be a lot of questions, and maybe even some words from Peter about dating our best friend’s ex, but I just don’t care all that much.

  If it means I get to be with Molly, out in the open now, I’ll take whatever scrutiny comes my way.

  26

  Molly

  “Let’s make a toast!”

  Marta holds up her plastic cup, liquid sloshing over the edge.

  We all hold our cups up, though we have no idea what she’s toasting to. I giggle and sway, because we’re all too many drinks in. We decided to stay in at the beach house tonight, which led to one too many alcoholic beverages at dinner and then another too many after. We then went in the hot tub, which led to night swimming in the pool, and now we’re all huddled around the kitchen island, drinking drinks we don’t need to be drinking.

  “To Molly and Smith, for fucking behind all of our backs and being super loud about it!” Marta raises her glass even higher.

  Everyone busts out laughing, and some of them even take a drink to that, while I just blush like crazy and Smith flips her the bird.

  “You’re just jealous.” Smith’s eyes are hazy with liquor, and he looks adorable trying to defend his, or maybe my, honor.

  “I kind of am.” Marta chuckles, snuggling into Ray’s side. “That new relationship kind of sex is always the best. Not that you’re not totally hot, babe, but there is something about those early days that makes the other person seem very irresistible.”

  Smith’s eyes roam over my body and face. “She’s irresistible all right.”

  Peter wolf whistles. “I seriously can’t believe you two are banging. I’m still shocked.”

  “We’re not banging. We’re dating. Get your facts straight.” Smith sips from the neck of his beer bottle, and I swoon so hard at the labels he’s using.

  I guess I never realized how much of a romantic Smith is. Not only in his actions, but the way he says things. The first night we made love—and yes, I call it that because what happened in his bedroom was way more than sex—I was stunned speechless. Not only from how he professed his feelings in the hallway, but how cherished he made me feel in his arms.

  And then yesterday, when he stormed the beach and literally stormed my beach for the whole house to see … that made my heart fall into a blushing and stammering mess just thinking about it.

  “Even weirder. Though, I can kind of see it. You’ll make him a better man, Molly, that’s for sure. Cheers to Molly!” Peter toasts his cup in my direction.

  I haven’t said much tonight, choosing to just observe and laugh through most of it. Smith scooped me up in the pool and carried me around on his back, like we were flirty teenagers in high school or something. I just reveled in the carefree attitude of the group, sipping on my drinks and letting the buzz invade my veins.

  It was one of those perfect summer nights that you never wanted to end. Though, I would call time whenever Smith wanted to, because I’d very much like to crawl into bed and use the confidence the alcohol is giving me.

  “Can we order pizza? I’m starving!” Heather complains, hopping up on the counter to sulk in her bikini.

  “Perfect idea!” Ray seconds, grabbing the menu from the drawer. “What should we get?”

  “Meat lovers!” Peter snickers, and we all roll our eyes.

  “You’re a fucking child.” Smith punches him in the bicep. “What about a large pepperoni and then a large mushroom?”

  Jacinda walks over to Ray, glancing down at the menu. “I’m good with pepperoni, but mushroom is gross. No. Can we add mozzarella sticks? I love those.”

  “Um, why would you order mozzarella sticks with pizza? It’s basically just another form of pizza. Cheese, with red sauce.” Heather cocks her head to the side, confused about why we’d order the appetizer.

  “I’m only in if we can get white pizza,” Marta throws her two cents into the ring.

  Smith makes a gagging noise. “Ew no, get out of here with your disgusting taste. White pizza is not even pizza.”

  “It is, too!” Marta’s eyebrows slant angrily together.

  “Yeah, it’s so good. All that garlic, and especially when you put ricotta on it.” Heather licks her lips.

  Jacinda is shaking her head across the kitchen. “Uh-uh, I vote that it’s not pizza. It’s basically glorified garlic bread.”

  “What? You people are insane. Let’s take a vote. Who thinks white pizza is real pizza?” Marta’s head swivels around, trying to count hands while very drunk.

  She, Heather, and Ray all have their hands raised, though I think Ray may only have his raised because he’s worried about his girlfriend chopping off his balls if he doesn’t agree.

  “And who votes that it’s glorified garlic bread?” Smith shoots his hand in the air.

  Jacinda and Peter follow, and everyone looks around. The room is tied, and my best friend points at me accusingly.

  “Hey, you didn’t vote, you little abstainer!” Heather shrieks.

  I get booed with a chorus of you must vote, cheater and break the tie.

  “Okay, okay!” I hold my hands up in surrender. “I think it’s …”

  I pause, not just for dramatic effect, but to really consider it. I love a good piece of pizza and don’t usually mind what’s on it.

  “White pizza is definitely pizza.” I nod my head, as if I’m giving a final answer on Who Wants to Be a Millionaire?

  A bunch of boos and cheers mix, the room thrown into victory and loss, while Heather jumps down and scoops me up into a hug.

  “Take that, motherfuckers! We’re ordering it!” She points at Jacinda, Peter, and Smith.

  Smith steals me away, pulling me into his bare torso and damp bathing suit. “You should have sided with me. There would have been rewards.”

  I chuckle and melt at the same time, because he’s almost licking my earlobe with his tongue. “I have a feeling I’ll get rewards no matter what.”

  His hands slide down to my butt, squeezing one of the cheeks. “You’re not wrong.”

  �
�Hey, hey, get a room you two!” Marta yells, pretending to be grossed out at our PDA.

  Smith hauls me into the air, so that I have no choice but to wrap my legs around his waist. “Maybe we will.”

  “But I want pizza.” Drunk me realizes that the whole white pizza debate left me very hungry.

  “Fine, we’ll wait for pizza, but then I get you for dessert.” Smith nuzzles his mouth into my neck.

  “Oh my God, you guys are such hornballs. I love it.” Jacinda cackles. “You know what? I think you’re perfect together.”

  Her words make my lips break out in a goofy, huge smile. It feels like we’ve been covering things up for a while, afraid of what everyone else will think, and it’s comforting to know that they’re in support of this.

  “I do, too,” Smith whispers in my ear, for only me to hear.

  And that? That makes my heart break into a goofy, huge smile.

  27

  Molly

  My lip is in between my teeth when Smith smoothly swipes a thumb over my jaw, jostling me from my thoughts.

  “What’s going on up there?” he asks, sitting next to me in one of two Adirondack chairs on my balcony.

  Part of the reason I’d picked this room was for the balcony, I knew I’d like to sit and read out here some nights or mornings. The other housemates had been all for it, since every room in the house aside from our two has its own bathroom, and they preferred that luxury over this one.

  “Just thinking about my students.” I smile at him, lacing our hands together.

  “About what, lesson plans for the new year? When does school start, another month or so?” Smith asks, as if it was that simple.

  “Yeah, another few weeks. And I’ve gotten some lesson planning done already. But no, I worry more about how they’re doing, emotionally.”

  “What do you mean?” Smith’s eyebrows furrow together.

  I sigh, knowing this is heavy but also wanting to explain to Smith what I worry about.

  “A lot of my students … they have rough lives during the school year. Domestic abuse, volatile family situations, drugs, alcohol, homelessness, and that’s all just before they arrive at school and have to learn on very limited budgets with the system working against them. But at least during the school year, they get subsidized meals and teachers who are looking after their wellbeing. If I see bruising, if I hear about abuse, I can report it. But during the summer, they have no one looking out for them. A lot of these kids come back to school the next year in such bad shape, only for us to try to mediate some of that, and then they go into the next summer to more detriment. I worry every day about each one of my kids from last year, and about the ones I’ll receive in my classroom when September starts. It’s hard not to stress about them all the time. They’re just kids.”

  My voice breaks on the last sentence, betraying the emotion I’ve been holding back. My heart aches for these children, because they didn’t ask to be born into a world so harsh and cruel. I want to give them everything I can during the school year and still keep in touch with some through the summer. I do my best to make sure they’re in state-funded camps or nonprofit programs that can at least get them out of the house for a few hours from June to September, but there are always multiple who slip through the cracks.

  Smith shakes his head, looking out onto the ocean. “Jesus, I’m sorry. I didn’t realize. That’s a heavy burden to carry on your shoulders, but I wouldn’t expect any less from you. You’re a giver, a nurturer, and I’m grateful those children have you worrying about them. It tears me up that their own parents don’t do that sometimes, or can’t. It’s fucked up, this world. It shouldn’t be like this. But those kids are lucky to have someone thinking about them as much as you do.”

  I shrug, blinking back tears. “I just hate that they may be hungry, or in pain. That’s not how childhood should be. You’re right, it’s a fucked-up world.”

  I don’t curse often, but this seems as good a time as any.

  “You’ll be back with them soon. And you make a difference in their lives.” Smith squeezes my hand.

  It doesn’t really matter what he says, I’m just glad he’s sitting here listening.

  “Sometimes, I doubt if I do. If I hear one of them was arrested, or caught up in a gang bust, I just get sick to my stomach.”

  Smith reaches one of his big hands over to cup my face. “You’re doing everything you can. Sometimes, it’s not enough, but that’s not on you. That’s just on this shitty world. You’re the most giving person I know. Way better than me. Sometimes I wonder if I even deserve to breathe the same air as you.”

  I give him a look like that’s a ridiculous thing to say, and then we both look out over the ocean. For some reason, even though I was just worrying like heck over my kids, Justin pops into my head. Because if Smith, who I’ve found out is genuine and kind and grieving, thinks I’m too good for him then where does that put me with Justin?

  “Is it weird that I was with your best friend?” I ask him, though it may be an awkward topic.

  We don’t talk about it much, obviously, since it’s a weird subject between us. But now that we’re pretty much public, at least to the people who matter, I think it has to be addressed. I haven’t thought about Justin since, well, probably since the first night I was falling asleep in my room in the summer house. Truly thought about him, not just when I was confessing how strange our breakup was to Smith out on the porch downstairs. That night, I’d let my heart yearn one last time, and then it was truly over.

  I have formed genuine friendships with these people all on my own, and now I am falling in love with my ex’s best friend.

  There is a tic in Smith’s jaw, like he’s clenching it too hard, when I look over at him.

  “Sometimes. Sometimes I wonder how you were drawn to a guy like him, but then I feel like a prick. Because it’s discounting your instincts, and it’s also discounting my best friend. Justin may look like a prick now, and Lord knows he has his flaws, but he was always a good friend to me growing up. I feel guilty sometimes, us being together, but it’s a fleeting feeling. What I have with you … I can’t speak for you, Molly, but it feels like so much more than I’ve ever had with someone else.”

  That raw answer is like a cupid’s arrow to my heart. “It feels that way for me, too. I often wonder if I’d held out, would I have met you instead? But then I have to thank that relationship, I guess, because it brought me here.”

  We’re both quiet a moment, just gazing at each other, and there are so many things I want to say but am too afraid to blurt out. It’s only been a few weeks, but Smith is right, whatever is between us feels so much bigger than whatever I shared with Justin.

  “Sometimes I get irrationally jealous. You’re sleeping in my bed, but I know that you were once in his.” Those blue eyes burn with envy.

  “It was nothing like your bed,” I mutter, unable to help myself.

  “What’s that?” Smith perks up.

  “Nothing.” I clamp my lips shut.

  “No, what did you say?” He leans forward.

  I sigh, embarrassment flaming my cheeks. “I shouldn’t even tell you this. It’s … I shouldn’t talk about this with you. It’s not kind.”

  “Molly.” Smith’s voice is a warning growl.

  “Justin was never exactly concerned with my needs.” I shrug sheepishly.

  Smith tilts his head, and I see it when the lightbulb in his brain goes on. “He never made you come.”

  It’s not a question, but I still answer. “No. He didn’t.”

  It’s not something I’m proud to admit, because I feel like a little bit of that is on me, too. I never made it known, what I needed, what I liked.

  “But, I also never said anything. I went along with our sex life as if nothing was wrong.”

  Smith’s eyebrows are angry slashes. “That is not your fault. Every man should make sure, guarantee, that the woman he’s sleeping with has an orgasm. Every. Single. Time.”

&nbs
p; He sinks down onto the planks of the balcony right in front of me, like some kind of orgasm white knight. A white hot blush creeps from the crown of my head to the tips of my toes, thinking about the way he’s made me come.

  “Well, I have to remedy that for my girl. You will never be left unsatisfied.”

  “Your girl, huh?” I smirk against my suddenly dry lips.

  I can’t think straight when Smith is giving me those bedroom eyes, like a panther stalking his prey. Me. Those large hands begin to uncross my legs and sneak up the dress I have on.

  “Smith, oh my God, not here.” I try to close my knees, but his strong arms are spreading me open.

  “Have I made you come every time we’ve been together?” His voice is raspy as he reaches up to my hips, his arms disappearing under my dress.

  I gulp, unable to stop him now as he slides my panties down. I simply lift, giving him the access to pull them over my hip bones and butt.

  “Yes.” The tone that comes out is breathy.

  “You better not be lying.” He quirks an eyebrow as he brings my panties up to his nose and sniffs.

  I swear, I’m staining my dress with my wetness. “I’m not.”

  “Good.” Smith lifts my dress, and his head disappears under it.

  It tents around the top of his raven-black waves, and my fingers white-knuckle grip the sides of the rocking chair in anticipation. I know that it’s likely no one can see us from up here, and the sound of the ocean will drown out any noise, but it’s still public. There is still that thrill that we’re doing something a little naughty, and that only makes my pleasure build. It feels so wrong, and so right.

  His hands wrap around my thighs from under me, holding me in place to the rocking chair. The minute I feel his hot breath against my wet slit, I’m bucking, a strangled moan swallowed in my throat.

  Smith’s tongue comes down on me, and I see white spots in my vision.

  “The sounds you make drive me crazy.” He growls, though I can’t see him.

  Not being able to watch, to see his next move, makes my orgasm build more quickly. His skilled tongue licks up my folds, swirling around and then nipping at my throbbing clit with his teeth. I wriggle against his strong grip, my breathing becoming more uneven.