Love at First Fight

by Carrie Aarons

  Weird, we’d had the same thought.

  “Mind if I join you?”

  Her eyes meet mine, and even in the dark, I imagine the hazel irises widening in shock. “Uh, sure.”

  I take the rocker next to hers and try to dry swallow past the lump in my throat when I see her bare legs propped up on the railing in front of us. She looks so at peace, and I wish I could pick her up and set her in my lap, rocking us both in the same chair.

  “Are you enjoying the summer?” I ask, trying my hardest to be nice.

  It’s not that I don’t know how or that I can’t strike up a conversation, but I’ve always been on one speed with this woman. Since the moment I knew she was off-limits, I put her in this category in my head, one where I needed to act like an asshole around her. Changing that behavior will be challenging, especially since in the few times I’ve done so, I’ve nearly blurted out that I’m in love with her. Or had it in my head that it would be a good idea to kiss her.

  She looks over at me, though I keep my gaze forward. “I am. It’s beautiful out here, and obviously the food and night life are just incredible. But I wasn’t convinced I should even come after …”

  Molly breaks off, and we both know she’s talking about the breakup.

  “But I’m glad I did. It’s been a great summer so far.”

  Something sticks in my brain, and I’m letting the thought out before I tell myself I shouldn’t. “You haven’t asked any of us if we’ve talked to him.”

  There is a tiny gasp, one she means to mask, but I catch it. “Who, Justin?”

  “Yes,” I say patiently, now that I’m on this train.

  I can feel her shrug. “I know you’re friends with him, and it’s not my place.”

  “Typically, when a girl gets dumped, they want the details. I know for a fact you didn’t get any closure, and yet you haven’t nagged one of us to tell you how he’s doing. If he’s asked about you. I haven’t even heard you complain about the guy who did you dirty, and I mean dirty. He’s my friend, but what he did was beyond low.”

  Now I look at her, and those big hazel eyes are blinking right at me. “Uh … I … thanks? I never expected those words to come out of your mouth, to be honest.”

  I chuckle. “I can be nice.”

  “When you want to be,” she quips back, and I’m impressed at how little she takes my shit anymore. “But I don’t know. I don’t want to talk about the breakup in the first place, since it was pretty awful for me. I felt blindsided. But I also don’t think it’s fair to put that on any of you. You didn’t act the way Justin did, and you’ve all been friends for way longer than I was around. It wasn’t my place to ask anyone to pick sides, or even tell me how he was doing.”

  “You’re much more mature than I would be. I’d be fucking livid if a girl did that to me. And just so you know, that prick hasn’t called me either since the day his plane took off.”

  I don’t know why I’m revealing that information to her. Maybe it’s because I’m also pissed at Justin, though not surprised. He’d seemed off for the month leading up to his big move, and now we all knew why. I just thought we were better friends than that, and especially after I lost Stephanie. How could a friend do that to his buddy who just went through a huge moment of grief?

  Molly looks back out to the ocean.

  “I should have seen it coming, that’s the thing. As if his scheduled date nights and no deviations wasn’t a red flag, the not being allowed to leave things at his apartment should have alerted the national guard. I was blind, but purposely so. Deep down, I knew there were so many suspicious things about how he handled our relationship, but I chose to ignore them. Because I loved him, I wanted to be in love. Justin felt like that guy, the one I could envision making a home with and creating a life with. So I willed it to happen, even though he was acting completely off my script.”

  The fact that she just admitted that she wanted Justin to be the guy she spent the rest of her life with … it feels like she just plunged a knife right through the center of my chest.

  Sometimes I wonder to myself how she doesn’t see right through me. How I’ve managed to hide that I’m crazy in love with her. I know I’ve done a good job at being a total dickwad, but part of me doesn’t understand how Molly doesn’t realize that the guy who wants to spend his life with her is sitting just feet from her face.

  “He’s an idiot for letting you go.”

  The sentence hangs between us, and my heart hammers against my ribcage. I didn’t mean for it to sound so … romantic. But it did. And now I can’t take it back, not that I’m scrambling to pull it out of the air and shove the words back down my throat. Maybe, like Marta said, it’s time to take my shot.

  “That’s the nicest thing you’ve ever said to me,” Molly whispers.

  I shrug. “Must be the ocean breeze and the rocking chair. I let the jerk take a rest in my bed tonight.”

  I hear her swallow a sip of wine, and can feel the smile in her voice as she says, “Well, I’m not complaining. I kind of like this version of you.”

  14

  Molly

  I’ve never been a fan of birthdays.

  Maybe it’s because it just means we’re getting older. Maybe it’s because my parents could only ever afford to make me a Duncan Hines cake and blow up balloons in the basement while other kids were getting roller rink parties or taking their friends to the movies. Maybe it’s because I find those who have “birthday months” to be completely exhausting.

  But the main reason is just a lot simpler than any of those. I just don’t love the attention. On your birthday, everyone wants to call it out, wants to ask you how shiny and new you feel on this day that’s all about you. I’ve always been the type who wants a quiet dinner with a few friends, followed by my favorite slice of raspberry cheesecake from the bakery down the street from Aja. Then I like to watch one of my favorite movies, or cuddle up on a balcony with my favorite book.

  Last year, I’d only been dating Justin for a couple of months when my birthday rolled around. He went all out, taking me to a fancy restaurant and bought me these diamond earrings that I’ve still never worn except for one or two of his work parties. They weren’t me, and the whole thing was just so over the top. I remember lying in bed after he’d fallen asleep and feeling so low about my birthday.

  That’s how it always makes me feel, which is why I have no desire to celebrate it tonight in the Hamptons.

  “We really don’t have to do this” I whine, slumping down on my bed.

  It’s another session of getting ready with Heather, and per usual, she’s attacked my face and hair until she’s satisfied with the result. I have to admit, the smoky eyeshadow and the curls she spun into my hair make me look like a whole new woman, but I still don’t like birthdays.

  “We’re going to a really nice, quiet restaurant. No clubbing or bars like you requested. And I even had your favorite cake shipped here. We’re going.” She gives me a stern look.

  “It feels weird to have these people celebrating my birthday when … well, they aren’t really my friends.”

  I shrug and look at Heather in the mirror. She comes over and hugs me around my shoulders as we look at each other in the glass.

  “You get to claim the couple friends now, because he’s gone. And these people are your friends. You’ve spent nearly four weeks with them in this house, and I’ve seen you form bonds. They really like you, without that bag of dicks you used to date. They’ve never brought him up once, and I doubt the asshole has even called any of them to check in. You’re a wonderful person, Mol, that’s why I’ve been friends with you for so long. People want to be around you, and they want to celebrate you. You deserve this, so please don’t sell yourself short.”

  “He hasn’t called them. At least he hasn’t called Smith,” I tell her.

  I haven’t divulged to her the conversation we had on the porch a couple days ago. It’s the nicest interaction that Smith and I have ever had, and someth
ing changed between us that night. I’m not sure why he even asked me how I felt about the breakup, but for the first time since I’ve known him, I feel like he genuinely cares about me. Even though a part of me wanted to tell Heather right away, it felt like my own little secret that I could giddily feast on for the last few days.

  “How do you know that?” she asks, sliding silver hoops into her earlobes.

  “He told me. The night you all went out but we stayed back, we actually had a nice conversation. And he told me that Justin was an idiot for letting me go.”

  I swear, Heather’s mouth all but drops to the floor. “He said that? Grumpy asshole of the year said that? What in the—”

  My smile, flirty and delicate, can’t be contained. “I know. It was so strange.”

  I touch a finger to my lips, my mind drifting back to the way he looked at me on the porch.

  “Wait a minute. You like him!” Her finger invades my daydream as she points it straight at me.

  Brushing her off, I go to strap my sandals on. “I don’t, I’m fresh off a breakup with his best friend. Plus, he hates my guts. It was just a nice thing to say.”

  Heather is eyeing me suspiciously. “I’m not fully buying it, but it’s your birthday, so I’ll let it rest. Now come on, we have to go or we’ll miss our reservation.”

  She made a reservation at a place she knew I’d love, and I do. It’s a fresh seafood restaurant, with chairs and tables in the sand and candles adorning almost every surface. The ambiance is beautiful, and the place is nice, but not overly fancy. They serve beer out of bottles and make you crack your own crab legs, and the whole meal is delicious.

  And my best friend was right, in the end; sharing the night with our summer house share friends goes better than I ever thought it could. Peter and Jacinda buy me a book she knew I’d been eyeing, and Marta gifts me a bathing suit wrap from a boutique downtown that I’m sure was far too expensive. Heather presents me with a beautiful silver picture frame, with a black-and-white photo of us on the beach from the first week of summer.

  And even though it’s wonderful, I’m still in a funk with it being my birthday, especially since I had an idea about how this year would go. I thought when I turned thirty, I’d be making plans to get engaged or already be there. I thought this would be the year I’d be planning a wedding, or moving in with my boyfriend. It seemed like a big age jump, from the reckless twenties—not that I was ever reckless—to the mature, sophisticated thirties.

  Instead, I’m single and spending the summer in an unfamiliar place, with unfamiliar people. So I excuse myself and head to the tiki bar that the restaurant features, just to get a moment to breathe.

  I’m standing there as the bartender makes me a piña colada, because if you can’t consume a drink of pure sugar and alcohol on your birthday, when can you, when Smith wanders up.

  “You okay?” he asks, and it’s as if he can read me at all times.

  I smile up at him. “Fine. I’m just not the biggest fan of my birthday.”

  He drums his fingers on the bar. “I get that. I always had to be because my sister made it a big deal. I’m not sure what I’ll do this year.”

  A wave of shock mixed with sadness passes over me. It’s the first time he’s ever mentioned his sister, and I don’t want to say the wrong thing.

  “I’m sorry, Smith. I know it will probably be very hard, but I think she’d want you to enjoy it.” I hope that was sincere enough without stepping over the line.

  Those blazing blue eyes stare directly at the ground, then look up at me. When they do, there isn’t any of the grief he just shared a moment ago.

  “But this is about you. It’s your birthday, you should be enjoying it.”

  Does he care whether or not I am? “I know. I just thought it would be … different. I thought I’d be in a different place than where I am today. It sounds silly, but my birthday this year reminds me that I’m single. That sounds pathetic, but it does. I guess sometimes I think that I’m just not girlfriend or wife material.”

  An audible click rings out between us, and when I look at him, he’s grinding his jaw as if he’s trying to break a molar. But then his features clear, and he’s back to this new Smith that I’m becoming quite smitten with.

  “I didn’t know if I should give this to you in front of everyone,” he says, pulling something from the pocket of his linen summer pants.

  Smith sets a small, black velvet jewelry box on top of the bar, and slides it the couple of inches over to me. I’m speechless, honestly, because I had no idea he even got me anything. I wouldn’t expect him to, and the fact that there is a jewelry box sitting there has made my heart speed into a gallop worthy of the Kentucky Derby.

  I’m honestly so shocked that I can’t seem to reach out and take it.

  “Open it.” There is a grin that tinges his tone.

  With shaky fingers, I retrieve the box and push open the lid. And gasp when I do.

  Inside is a tiny gold wave charm, so delicate and beautiful that it brings a tear to my eye.

  “I see you wear that apple necklace all the time, and I thought maybe you’d want to add to it. Remember your summer here.”

  It’s a challenge to keep the tears out of my throat when I speak. “Smith, this is so beautiful. I …”

  “Just say thank you.” He nods, his face unreadable.

  And before I can say anything else, he backs away, looking at me for a few steps and then turning to walk back to our table. It’s going to take me years to figure out what the hell just happened, and my head feels heavy with this latest development on the Smith Redfield front.

  The night winds down with one last drink and two glorious pieces of cheesecake, and then I’m ready for bed. It’s only when I’m sinking into the covers that I realize I have to pee, and venture out into the hallway.

  And what would you know, I almost run smack dab into Smith. Again.

  He catches me by the arms, just like last time, but there is no rude jab or chuckling smirk. No, the minute his hands are on my skin, something ignites between us.

  Smith looks like a panther who has just caught his prey. “I have no idea why you think any man wouldn’t kill to be with you. I just can’t …”

  The hallway is dark, and I hear no sounds from anywhere. Smith is just staring at me, those lethal blue eyes making every nerve ending in my body go haywire. I can’t seem to breathe or swallow, or even move my feet. He’s unreadable, so much intensity in his expression that I can’t decipher.

  And just when I think he’s about to turn around and go back into his bedroom, he closes the foot of space between us—to capture my lips in the most searing, soul-crushing kiss I’ve ever experienced.

  15

  Smith

  Molly was standing there in our shared hallway, and I just couldn’t help myself anymore.

  After her birthday dinner, with her in that burnt orange dress that was cut so low in the back, I physically had to restrain myself from touching her skin as she climbed into the cab. And before that, when I’d given her the charm, that tender look on her face as if I was the only man who’d ever truly seen her.

  I don’t know what possessed me to buy her that gift. It’s such an outright display of affection, when I’ve barely had two nice conversations with her. Getting her that charm all but exposes my feelings for her, and I saw Molly look at me with different shades in those hazel eyes when she’d opened it. I’d seen the charm in a jewelry store around the block from the new restaurant location and knew immediately I had to buy it for her. I’d had no intention of giving it to her, not really, but then Jacinda mentioned her birthday dinner and …

  My vision had gone red with fury when she’d been at the bar, by herself, on her birthday, lamenting about how men just didn’t want to make her a longtime option. Couldn’t she see that I was desperate to hang onto her forever?

  Fate certainly intervened when she stepped out of her room at the exact same time I was heading for our shared ba
throom. Again, caught in an uncompromising position, there was no way I was squandering this softball from the heavens once again.

  And now I’m holding her, really wrapping my arms around her, as my tongue invades her mouth.

  This isn’t the kiss of a guy looking to get laid, or of one who saw an easy target and went for it. This isn’t the kiss of two people who want to use each other to get off, or the kiss of two people grieving the end of something in their own personal lives and seeking satisfaction.

  This was the kiss of a man who had waited for more than three hundred and sixty-five days to take this woman’s mouth. This was a kiss with all of the emotions and passion I’d been locking away inside my heart while she fell in love with my best friend. This was the kiss of a starving person, one who thought they’d never get this chance, and one who was pouring everything into it because he may never get this chance again.

  “Smith,” Molly moans my name into my mouth, and I could die a happy man from that sound alone.

  I nip at her bottom lip, suckling the plump, full skin there. She tastes like the piña colada she had at dinner, and I want to drown in her. At first, it was just my intensity, driving at her full force as my mouth plied and explored hers. But now, Molly is matching me kiss for kiss. Her fingers have wound their way into my hair, and it feels like eons ago that I pinned her back to the wall and starting fucking her mouth with my tongue.

  If I only get this one chance, I’m doing it right. So I throw everything I have at her; gentle kisses, hard ones, biting at the corners of her mouth, sucking her tongue into my own. My hands find their way under her shirt, and I stroke the velvet skin at her hips. My cock is so hard, I wouldn’t be surprised if it leaves a bruise on her stomach, where it’s wedged between us. She’s so small, so short in comparison to me, that I’m practically pulling her up to my mouth.