The house is even more gorgeous than the pictures Justin had shown me.
An all-white shingled outside, like those fancy Kennedy houses on the Cape of Massachusetts, with columns up the front leading to an austere balcony wrapping around the second floor of the house. The gardens are filled with fragrant flowers, hydrangeas, and peonies. The lawn is expertly manicured, and you can hear the lap of the ocean waves even from the driveway.
The interior is even more stunning. Done in floral and striped blue and white, whoever decorated this place must have spent a pretty penny. It’s easily the most beautiful home I’ve ever stepped foot in, much less spent a day in. My stomach does a giddy backflip thinking about the fact that I get to spend the entire summer here.
With each new room I walk into, my jaw drops even farther. Beautiful hardwood floors, gleaming wood craftsmanship on the walls, glass vases and plush throw pillows on antique couches. Marble countertops, smooth pure white cabinets, king-sized beds with sheets that look like they cost more than my monthly rent. Every window overlooks the majestic Atlantic Ocean, that is, if your eyes don’t focus on the gorgeous swimming pool and hot tub conveniently located in the backyard.
The place is a palace, and as Smith Redfield just pointed out, I’m a peasant.
Why did he have to be standing on the driveway the moment I arrived? I was probably red-faced and sweating from lugging my broken suitcase around, and I hadn’t bothered to change out of my camp counselor clothes before boarding the Jitney. There is no doubt I look like some kind of baby bunny in an olive green polo, when he’s used to big-boobed, long-legged supermodels.
And my gosh, did he have to be that drop-dead gorgeous? Having looks like that isn’t even fair, by any standards. Smith is statuesque, at least a foot or more taller than my short five three. With long, muscular legs and a tapered waist leading up to broad pecs and shoulders, he’s built like the perfect specimen of a man. He’s hit that sweet spot with his physique, not body builder gross with his muscles, but just chiseled enough that it’s effortless sexy. And then there is his coloring, and his face. My God, his skin is that perfect Italian shade of olive, and I just know that it’ll tan in the sun this summer, making him even more irresistible. With a chiseled jaw, blue eyes that twinkle more than sapphire, and a mouth that seems to remain in a permanent devious smirk, Smith is … hot. I’m pretty sure if you looked up the definition of the word in the dictionary, his picture would be there.
Of course, I shouldn’t be thinking about him in this way. Not only because he hates me with the heat of a thousand suns, but because he is my ex-boyfriend’s best friend. It’s weird for me to ogle Justin’s closest childhood friend. And it’s not as if he’d ever look at me the same way. I’ve seen the girls he dates, and they’re so far from me it’s laughable.
“Why the hell would you put those there?” He lobs an insult my way as my hand freezes mid-air.
In it is a box of cereal, one I was about to place next to the four others that Jacinda had ordered with the groceries.
“I thought this would be a good spot. It’s in the pantry, but clear and in the line of sight because most people will reach for it in the morning …” I hate that my voice sounds unsure.
“Clearly you’ve never lived in a summer house.” He blows out an annoyed breath.
Seriously? He’s getting pissy over corn flakes? Is there nothing I can do right with this guy?
“No, I haven’t. If there is a system you usually put in place, please let me know.” I try to paste on a friendly face.
All he does is grimace at me. “You really don’t have to help in here, I got it.”
“I want to carry my weight around here, and I really don’t mind. I love to cook, so it’ll be good to familiarize myself with the kitchen.”
Smith’s back is to me as he places wineglasses onto a shelf, but I hear him mutter. “Yeah, since you won’t be carrying it financially.”
“What was that?” I snap, because I’ll put up with petty comments, not downright rude ones.
His T-shirt rides up, revealing a strip of smooth, olive back muscle, and I have to retain the anger that just flooded my body.
“I just know that Justin kept his money in the house, guess that’s a pretty good deal for you.” There is so much taunting and contempt in his voice.
My face burns with shame, and I wish so badly I could punch Smith and do some damage. If there is one thing I won’t tolerate, it’s someone being nasty about my career.
“Not all of us can make millions, but I love my job. I’m making a difference, and what’s more, I love watching my students succeed and believe in themselves. If that isn’t the type of thing that impresses you simply because I don’t make six or seven figures, then I’m perfectly fine with that. Believe me, I don’t need your approval as much as your overinflated ego might think, Smith.”
I must have smacked him with a two-by-four of knowledge he wasn’t expecting, because the look on his face when he turns around is a mix of shock, and possibly something like admiration.
“Hello?” I hear the front door open, and my best friend’s voice travels down the hall.
Oh thank God, saved by Heather. I take that as my chance to escape my scowling tall, dark and handsome enemy in the kitchen, and book it to the foyer.
“You’re here!” I cheer, throwing my arms around her.
She chuckles. “Are we ready to get this summer started off right?”
Backing up, she pulls an arm out from behind her back and pulls out a bottle of champagne. I clap like it’s Christmas morning. Then she pulls her other arm out and there is a bottle of orange juice.
“You read my mind.” I smirk. “Not only could I use some vitamin D, but you just saved me from a hatefest in the kitchen.”
Heather peers around me. “Oh, is Smith here?”
“It’s been just us for the past hour, and needless to say, it’s been sufficiently hostile.” I can feel the worry lines forming on my forehead already.
She rolls her eyes. “I have no idea what Mr. Perfect has to be so pissed off about. He’s rich, hot as sin, and got that whole bad boy thing going on.”
A flash of guilt hits me square in the gut. “Heath, you know he hasn’t had it easy the past couple of months.”
My heart openly aches for him, even if he’s been nothing but a jerk since we stepped foot in the house.
“The guy was a shithead to you even before Stephanie passed, so that’s not the excuse. Whatever, he better behave himself this summer. And if not, we’ll ignore him. This is our summer of freedom, of taking back our self-worth!”
She pumps her fist in the air like she’s the cheerleader of this summer vacation and I should get on board with the pep squad. I have to admit, I’m so glad I decided to invite her when Justin said we needed an eighth person for the house. If I had still been in a relationship, it still would have been awesome to spend the summer with my best friend. We barely get to see each other in between work in the city these days, and I was looking forward to some girl time.
But now that I got dumped and was in a house consisting mainly of my ex’s crew, I am thanking my lucky stars that I decided to include her. I would never be able to survive the summer without her and am still doubting I’ll get through it in one piece. My head and my heart both feel like they’re being pulled in seventeen different directions, and I’m hoping that with some relaxation and lots of days spent on the sand, I’ll start to feel whole again.
“All right, let’s go pour some drinks. I could sure use one, and I know you definitely could use one.” She passes me, expecting me to follow her.
I do, breathing easier just having her in the house.
Plan for the summer? Spend as much time as possible cocktailing with Heather, and avoid Smith at all costs.
4
Smith
“Who’s ready for margaritas?” Peter booms as he walks in the door, his personality larger than life.
I was in one of the three
sitting rooms in the house, texting Campbell about some work on the bar area in the new restaurant, when my other best friend walks in the door. Shortly after I hear him, I see him walk into the room I’m in, carrying a massive frozen margarita machine.
“Cinda, you let him buy that?” I chuckle, surprised that his girlfriend let him spring for the thing he’d been talking about for months.
Not that he couldn’t afford it on his doctor’s salary, but she kept saying it was tacky.
Jacinda walks into the room, all gorgeous swathing skirts and Mother Earth energy, and rolls her eyes. “I admitted I’d like a strawberry daiquiri this summer, and next thing I knew he was one-clicking it on Amazon.”
“This place is incredible, man. Props to Justin, though he’ll be missing it.” Peter shrugs, his NYU T-shirt showing off his alma matter.
The three of us, Justin, Peter and I, grew up on the same street in Queens. We played street hockey until the streetlights came on, were the little shitheads toilet-papering people’s houses on mischief night, and started competing for the attention of girls the day we turned thirteen.
Justin was the most well-off of us all, which made him the stuck-up, cocky, financial guy of the group. He was the showboat, always self-assured and somewhat narcissistic. But the guy was the first one to come to your aid in a crisis, and for that I’d always be grateful. I was the quieter of us three, the loner in the group of best friends. I had the more creative brain, and never followed a traditional path.
Then there’s Peter, who became a doctor. I’m not surprised in the least, since he was the math and science club kid out of our group. He’s now one of the most successful orthopedists in midtown Manhattan and met his match in Jacinda four years ago. She’s the “mom” of our group, always organizing activities, cleaning up after us, and bossing us around. I love her like she’s family now, and soon she will be. I know Peter has an engagement ring in his suitcase that he’s planning to give her this summer.
“Anyone home?” Marta’s voice comes from the front door.
“In here, boo!” Jacinda calls from the living room.
Peter lopes off to unload the margarita machine into the kitchen, and Marta comes bounding into the room, hugging Jacinda’s neck. Her boyfriend, Ray, follows, smiling easily at me in greeting.
Marta and Ray kind of fell into the group naturally. Marta grew up with the three of us as well, but was best friends with my twin sister, Stephanie. When she …
I can’t even force myself to think the words, so I glaze over them in my brain. A couple years ago, Marta hung out with us guys more, and formed a friendship with Jacinda. Now, they were inseparable, and it just made sense once Marta met Ray two years ago that they’d mold into our crew.
Ray is nice enough, though he is about eight years older than the rest of us. He’s a doctor, too, a hand surgeon, so he and Peter get along. The guy is chill, much to my appreciation, and he is good to Marta, which is all I could ask for.
My twin sister’s best friend and I have a close relationship, almost as if she was another one of the Redfield brood, but we’d coped differently in the past six months. Marta wanted to talk about Stephanie all the time, remember her fondly, and I just couldn’t.
“How long have you been here?” Marta asks, bending to where I sit on the couch and kissing my cheek.
“About two, two and a half hours. Unloaded the shit ton of groceries Cinda bought. Thanks for that.” I send Jacinda a snarky smile.
She pats my cheek like I’m a lap dog. “You’re welcome. I’ll make you a Tom Collins in return.”
“That sounds great. Considering you guys left me alone with her.” I jerk a thumb to the stairs, and they immediately know who I’m talking about.
“Oh, is she here?” Jacinda whispers as if we’re about to have an epic gossip session.
“Yes. Arrived on the Jitney.” I say the last word as if it’s scum between my toes.
Marta rolls her eyes. “The Jitney is convenient and I recall you taking it the first year we came out here.”
I wave her off as if this never happened. “Whatever. Her little friend is here, too.”
Jacinda looks torn. “This is going to be epically awkward without Justin here. I just feel so bad for her. Please try to be nice. She’s a sweet girl.”
Peter calls to her from the kitchen, and she walks out of the room.
Marta turns to Ray. “Babe, can you get the bags out of the car?”
He nods, kisses her cheek, and then goes to do her bidding. They’re a perfect match, these two.
But then she rounds on me, a finger in my face. “Listen to me right now. I will not sit by this entire summer while you bully that girl and pretend like you’re not head over heels in love with her. She and Justin are done, and I’m kind of glad that asshat is halfway around the world. Now is your time to tell her how you feel. I’ll literally punch you in the balls if August comes around and you’re still sulking in your Tom Collins every night. Got it?”
Leave it to my surrogate sister to set me straight. Marta is the only one who knows my true feelings about Molly, mostly because Stephanie suspected it the first month she and Justin got together. Ever since December, Marta has been on my back to tell Molly how I really feel. By using the excuse that life is too short.
As if I don’t know that from firsthand shit experience.
“Don’t push me on this,” I warn, ice in my voice.
She looks at me like I’m the most pathetic thing she’s ever seen and then stalks off.
I can’t explain the feeling that came over me the first time I laid eyes on Molly. It wasn’t a bolt of lightning; the room didn’t fade into tones of pink and red. There were no bells chiming in my ears.
No, it was a slow, fuzzy feeling that took over my brain, my heart. It was if my whole being just said, “Ah, there she is. I found her,” and it all just clicked into place. She hadn’t said one word to me, and beyond a shadow of a doubt, I knew this was the woman I was meant to spend the rest of my life with.
It’s completely unbelievable, whenever you hear someone tell a story like that. You think they’re fucking lying about how they met their spouse, or when they knew that person was the one. For years, I’ve been rolling my eyes or gagging in my mouth when a sorry-ass guy waxed poetic like that. Shit like that doesn’t happen, and I’ve never been one to think I’d ever settle down or get married. It never seemed like something I’d enjoy, and I had enough family surrounding me for years.
With my brood of seven brothers and sisters, dozens of aunts and uncles, and a gaggle of cousins that could easily fill a movie theater, I had plenty of love and chaos around me growing up. I’ve seen arguments, cheating, marital drama, and everything of the sort. No thanks, it didn’t interest me in the least.
Until I met her. The night Justin brought her to Jacinda and Peter’s apartment, I started planning the rest of my life. With her. I saw it all so clearly, and then was smacked back down to earth the minute he groped her ass and kissed her up against the marble island as if no one was watching. She broke it off and giggled, embarrassed, and I could tell she was in so deep with him after just a month of seeing each other.
I’d never betray my best friend, and the girl I’d only just said hello to for the first time was clearly infatuated with him. Obviously, the epiphany I had looking at her had not happened on her end, and that made me burn with rage even more.
So I slotted her in the villain role. I’ve been a total douche each time I see her, making it a point to pick on her like we were on the kindergarten playground.
And perfect little Molly, she just stood there and took it while I crushed her soul. Never lashed out, or fought back. She just pastes on a smile with each new interaction, and I could tell she was hoping I’d come around.
Now she’s living in my rental house for the entire summer, single as a lone wolf, and I can already feel my defenses starting to slip.
But I have to keep them up, remember why she can never be
mine. Not only has my best friend been there, but now, I’m in no place to love someone the way she deserves to be loved.
I’m damaged goods, and there is no way I’m letting her touch my issues with a ten-foot pole.
5
Molly
Turning to examine myself in the mirror, I shake my head defiantly.
“Absolutely not.”
I begin to untie the straps of the white halter eyelet dress Heather selected for me, and she captures my hands in hers.
“No, no, you have to! It looks incredible. Trust me, this is the precedent you want to set tonight as we move into your single summer.”
I turn back to the mirror, skeptical, and two seconds away from taking it off. The scrap of material is way too short, even on my five-three frame. It’s flirty and stands out, as white will typically do in a crowd. The halter style top accentuates what little amount of cleavage I have, and I just feel way too exposed in it.
“I can’t, Heather. I don’t feel comfortable.” I shrug a shoulder.
She’s provided me with a smoky eye and even took my hair off my shoulders in a sleek chignon. I got the full Heather Blinc makeover, and I have to admit … I look good.
“Comfortable is so not the vibe we’re going for. We’re going independent, ‘hear me roar’ sex kitten. You’re a fucking catch, and I won’t have you doubting that anymore. You had a month, now it’s time to get back out on the market. Have a few one-night stands, dance with some randoms, make this summer your bitch!”
I have to chuckle, because she’s so ridiculous. “Yeah, totally sounds like me.”
Heather flips her long, auburn hair over her shoulder. I’ve envied that hair since we were in sixth grade, when she told Tammy Canoots to eat shit on the playground after she pushed me down a slide. It was the moment we became best friends, and I’ve been jealously eyeing her hair since. Where mine is still nice, it holds no curl. My thick, straight blond hair can do little more than wave in the worst of humidity. Whereas Heather’s looks like some kind of Pantene commercial where every girl has impossibly shiny, curled locks down to their butt.
Love at First Fight Page 2
