Love at First Fight

by Carrie Aarons

  “Smith,” I whimper as he removes one of his hands and pushes two fingers inside me.

  The pressure of his digits in me combined with the flat side of his tongue running up and down my clit has me clawing at the arms of the chair for release.

  “Let go. I want to taste you come on my tongue.” The dirtiness of his words kicks off my orgasm.

  It moves through me swiftly, every limb and muscle convulsing with the pleasure of it. Smith’s head comes up from my dress, his blue gaze locked on my face. I’m moaning, I can hear it from some out-of-body experience, as I come around his fingers that are still lodged in me. My climax, tight and flowing all at the same time, wracks me, and Smith moves up so he can capture my mouth. When his tongue invades my mouth, it spurs my orgasm on evermore, and I arch my back into the erotic sensations.

  After a few more moments, my body goes lax, spent and exhausted. Smith is still on his knees before me, watching my every movement. Then he says something that will stick with me forever.

  “I could watch you come for the rest of my life. Any man who doesn’t know the pleasure of watching that … he’s a fucking moron. You’re incredible.”

  28

  Molly

  My toes are bright pink, my nails are a pretty teal, and I can’t say I would have chosen either color.

  But Heather called for some girl time, since she says she hasn’t seen enough of me at the beach, and I’ve missed her, too. Now I’m lounging on her plush blush pink couch, my feet up on her mirrored and gold coffee table, with the Sex and the City movie playing in the background.

  “I’ll be a Samantha. Hot, single, and sleeping with every guy on both coasts when I’m well into my fifties.” Heather nods sagely, as if she’s already made up her mind.

  “I could see it. Though you better not move to California, because then who will I eat pounds of Twizzlers with?” I chuckle, unwrapping a new one from the giant box her Mom still sends her every month from Costco.

  “I would never. I can’t leave my precious Manhattan. Or you, my Charlotte. And don’t argue, you’re totally a Charlotte. Although, maybe you’re a Carrie, because you’re definitely dating Mr. Big.”

  I roll my eyes. “Smith is not Mr. Big. He’s nothing like Mr. Big.”

  Heather shrugs. “Eh, he’s pretty smooth if you ask me. Has that business man persona, before he dated you he was evasive and the ‘cool guy.’”

  “You don’t know him, he’s really not like that,” I say.

  I’m on edge because we haven’t talked about this yet, not in depth. Of course she’s happy for me, after helping me through the fallout of Justin dumping me epically before he jumped on a plane, but I can tell my best friend has been apprehensive about my relationship with Smith. She’s been letting me have my space and enjoy the summer, but I guess we’re about to get into it.

  “It just seems kind of quick.” She quirks an eyebrow as she takes a sip of wine, not making direct eye contact with me.

  “Do you have something you want to ask me, or are you just going to keep making judgy comments?” I sigh.

  We’ve never been anything but honest with each other, and I know I’ve played my connection with Smith close to the vest. But I’m never one to beat around the bush, especially with Heather. She’s like my sister; we’ve been best friends since I can remember, and sometimes I loathe her more than I love her. It never lasts for long, but apparently she’s got a bone to pick with me, and I just wish she would do it.

  Heather lets out a frustrated huff, then turns to me, tucking her legs up under her on the couch. “We started the summer hating the guy. I walked into the rental and he was already tormenting you. For the better part of a year, he made comments about your financial status, motives for dating his friends, and I even heard him mutter that one of your outfits was ugly under his breath. I just don’t get how you can bury all of that. Maybe I’m missing something, but the guy seemed like a jerk for a really long time. You already got your heart broken by the ultimate narcissist, something I never saw coming, and I don’t want to see you hurt again.”

  I know it’s coming out of her concern for me, but I can’t help that my defenses come up. “I know all of that, believe me I do. But you’re going to roll your eyes at this. Smith confessed to me that it was because he secretly liked me, while I was dating Justin.”

  My best friend does just that, the whites of her eyes rolling all the way back into her head. “Puh-lease, give me a break. He used the old ‘flirting on the playground’ excuse to justify his behavior?”

  “Yes, I know it sounds lame. But he claims he knew he had feelings for me since the first time Justin introduced us and wasn’t going to intrude on his best friend’s territory. That sounds like a bad way to put it, but you get what I’m saying. Anyway, he tried to distance himself from me, or make himself dislike me, but it was all an act. Don’t worry, I took some time to analyze that as well. It’s not like I just gave into the guy, Heather, you know me. But after a couple of weeks and really getting to talk to him, well, I don’t know. This one is different. I think I might be in love with him.”

  I whisper the last part, and Heather’s pupils go wide. “Wait, what!”

  Now I need a gulp of wine. “He’s just so much different than I ever thought. Smith is really romantic and genuine, and he’s still lost in his grief. He’s not the man you think he is, and I can’t fully explain why because he’s just different when we’re alone. He’s opened up in a way that no man ever has with me, and he’s taken care of both my mind and my heart, unlike any other guy.”

  “And your body, I’ve definitely heard him taking care of that.” Heather snorts, unable to help herself.

  A scarlet blush creeps over my cheeks. “Yes, it’s definitely the best I’ve ever been taken care of.”

  She slumps back. “I’m so jealous. Not just of the multiple orgasms you must be having, but if he’s as amazing as you say he is, then I want one.”

  “He is.” I nod, my rose-colored glasses solidly in place.

  “I just don’t want you hurt. Justin did a number on you, and it’s a little bit weird that you’re dating his best friend. We used to trash talk the girls who did that.”

  “We did.” I nod. “I kind of hate that I’m that girl, but I can’t worry about it too much. I finally found a guy who I seriously think could be the one, and if that means I’m a cliché, then so be it.”

  “The one?” She all but gasps, grabbing her wineglass again.

  “Yes.” I meet her eyes.

  “Wow, Mol, I’m a little shocked. But if you’re happy, then I won’t shank him for not doing his breakfast dishes a lot of days in a row. Though you should train him better.”

  That has me bursting out in laughter. “Oh my God, you’re so right.”

  “I’m serious, though, Mol. I want you to be happy. But I just want you to be careful, too.” She lays her hand over mine.

  “I am. Don’t worry, I’m not going into this blindfolded,” I assure her.

  The movie comes back from commercial, and we both turn our attention to the scene after the wedding, when Carrie has been jilted and is drinking vodka in Charlotte’s house.

  While I’m scared of becoming that, of being the woman who falls for a man who won’t commit, I have to put it out of my head. Aside from the beginning of our relationship, Smith has done nothing to show me he won’t sacrifice for me.

  So I have to sacrifice my worry, my past trust issues, for him.

  29

  Smith

  “Dude, you have to make sure she can’t see the candles from our room,”

  Peter’s voice is frantic, and his hands are shaking as he takes a lighter to probably the hundredth candle lining the sand.

  “I told you, the girls are occupying her with some kind of chick happy hour. Marta knows the drill. You’re in the clear until I tell her to come out here.”

  My eyes keep straying back to the house, to keep watch like I’m some kind of getaway driver.
You’d think we were robbing a fucking bank, not setting up the scene for Peter to get down on bended knee and ask Jacinda to marry him.

  He’s been carrying around this diamond ring in his pocket for almost four months now, trying to think of the perfect time. When we secured the beach house, he knew this would be the perfect place, but then the question was, when? So, today is their four year dating anniversary, and he thought it would be perfect.

  I think he could have asked her over a cup of coffee and she would have been ecstatic, but what do I know? Probably why I’ve never proposed to anyone.

  “All right, I’m almost ready. How do I look?” He puffs out his chest, smoothing his hands down the white polo he has on.

  “Like a fairy fucking princess.” I smile like an asshole.

  “Yeah, remind me not to make you my best man. Clearly, your pump-up speech sucks balls.” He glares at me.

  I clap a hand on his shoulder. “Brother, she’s going to say yes. There is no doubt about that. Just take a deep breath and ask. You ready?”

  He takes a few gulps, shakes out his limbs, and then squares his shoulders. “Yeah. Send her out.”

  I walk back up toward the summer house, my heart beating like a kick drum now, too. I don’t know why I’m nervous, but it’s a big moment for my friends. And kind of reminds me of how I’d like to do this, someday.

  The girls are in the kitchen, blabbing about something, when I find Jacinda. “Jacinda, Peter needs you out back.”

  She’s looking at something on Marta’s phone. “All right, tell him to give me a few minutes.”

  “No, you need to go now.” My voice takes on a strange tone.

  All the girls’ eyes look to me, questioning. Shit, I think I might have just spoiled the surprise.

  “Okay, weirdo.” Jacinda smiles at me like I might be speaking gibberish, but moves from around the counter.

  She exits the French doors in the living room, and then Marta runs over to peek out the blinds.

  “What’s going on?” Heather asks.

  “Peter is proposing,” Marta screeches, and Molly and Heather fly to the window next to her.

  All three of them are lined up, peeking out, and I go to join them. We watch as Jacinda walks toward the beach, and I see her body language the moment she catches on to what is happening. The girls gasp as Peter gets down on one knee, and I’m pretty sure Marta is sniffling away her tears.

  “Oh my God, this is beautiful.” Heather sobs.

  Molly is silent, but I can feel her reach for my hand. I lace my fingers in hers, wondering if she’s thinking about what I’m thinking about. Me, getting down on one knee. It’s only been a matter of weeks, but I could see it. I can envision sliding a ring I buy especially for her onto her left hand.

  Thirty minutes later, after we give them some space to cry and hug each other when Jacinda says yes, we’re popping champagne bottles by the pool.

  “To the happy couple,” Ray toasts them, and we all drink from our flutes.

  Heather and Marta swarm Jacinda, wanting to obsess over the two-carat diamond Peter just put on her hand.

  Molly and I stand together, the sun setting behind her. It illuminates the white blond streaks in her hair, and I blink because she’s just so beautiful. I could stare at her for hours, though many would find that weird. Including, probably, Molly.

  “Do you want to get married?” Molly’s eyes stray to Jacinda, who is admiring her new engagement ring.

  I all but choke on the sip of champagne I just took. The liquid goes down the wrong pipe, and I frantically pound on my own chest as I cough like some kind of severe asthmatic.

  “Oh my God, I didn’t mean like that!” Molly’s eyes swing to mine in full panic. “I meant like, does the idea intrigue you? I didn’t mean … me … no, not … you …”

  She trails off, and I can tell she’s burning with embarrassment. Setting down my flute, I pull her into my arms, smirking as if I know it’s my time to comfort the shame rolling its way through her stomach.

  “I know you didn’t mean it like that. It doesn’t mean I haven’t thought of it like that.” I lower my face, almost touching the tip of my nose to hers.

  “You have?” Those big hazel eyes blink in shock.

  “I told you, Molly, I’m serious when it comes to you. Maybe not that serious yet,” I nod in the direction of Jacinda and Peter, “but someday soon? Yeah. I’d like to get married.”

  I don’t add that I want it to be to her, because it should be implied. I don’t mean to freak her out, and the reason I choked is that it was like she was reading my mind.

  Because I’ve thought about Molly walking down an aisle toward me, more times than I can count. I fell in love with her the first time I saw her, and so I’ve dreamed about a lot of things when it comes to her.

  Molly’s head, and hopefully her heart, are catching up to the things I never thought would become a reality. Now that they seem possible, I can’t keep my mind from running away with all of the ways our lives could be joined together.

  30

  Smith

  Stefania is nearly done.

  Campbell went home for the night, but I decided to stay in the dim light of only the bar lights on, working on some of the opening week preparations.

  The hardwoods are in, gleaming and polished dark stained floors that cover the expanse of the restaurant. Tables, chunky wood with bright white table linens, cover the floors, while elegant gold-flecked chairs are pushed in underneath them. The massive bar that runs the length of the wall closest to the door was just finished two days ago, its intricate gold trimmings intertwined with the masculinity of the slab of natural wood we decided on for the top.

  That’s the best way I can describe Stefania; it’s elegance mixed with strong, solid design. A dedication to my sister’s personality.

  From the pretty pendant lights over the bar to the sturdy fireplace on the other side of the restaurant, from the woodfire stove visible through the glass wall looking into the kitchen and the gold-framed photos of Italy hanging up around the space. It’s a mixture of beauty and strength, and the whole thing came together exactly as I pictured it in my mind.

  It was time to solidify the menu for our opening, now just weeks away. I couldn’t believe we were here again, about to open up another restaurant and add another line to our résumés and headache to our days. There was always the pride that came with launching something new, but it meant more staff on my payroll, more critics knocking down or building up my name, and just a whole litany of problems Campbell and I would have to deal with.

  Being in here, alone, before the world and the staff got to see it, was kind of my sanctuary. I came home from the Hamptons two days ago and have barely gone anywhere but here. We are in the finalizing stages, which means crunch time, and the timeline has been moving along smoothly. We have our liquor license, the chef’s contract was signed, the public relations firm we use is pushing out invites to reviewers and society people alike.

  And it means that I can think about Stephanie in a positive way, without mourning too much. Because if I let myself, this month would swallow me in grief.

  Our birthday is coming up, and I don’t know how I’ll survive it. Aside from the days we were in college, and typically back on campus by that point, Steph and I had spent every one of our birthdays together. She would always buy me the exact present I never knew I needed, and I’d struggle for weeks to buy her something that I hoped would be meaningful.

  This year would be dark, solemn, and the first reminder that I’d be growing older, while she would remain thirty for the rest of time. Steph will no longer move forward in life, and I’ll be on my own in the truest sense of the word since we’d been born.

  I try to focus on the words in front of me, beef carpaccio and burrata salad and vine-ripened tomatoes with melon and prosciutto, so I wouldn’t have to keep thinking about the hardest pill I will ever have to swallow. We’re importing some of the most authentic ingredients st
raight from Italy, much to Campbell’s dismay.

  But I wouldn’t have it any other way. If we were doing this restaurant, we were doing it right.

  And if I have to slave my days and nights away here in the city until this thing shined like the top of the Chrysler Building, then I’ll do it.

  There were only so many ways I could honor my sister, and this was the one I knew how to do best.

  31

  Smith

  I told my mother she could not throw me a birthday dinner; I wanted nothing of the sort.

  But I would let her throw a Sunday family dinner, and I’d attend. So long as no one mentioned the word birthday, or party, or adding another year to my age.

  And since I knew this night would be taxing even while my entire family was avoiding mentioning my birthday, I decided to invite Molly. She was quickly becoming the person who knew me best, who soothed me most, and whose simple touch could calm even my worst of moods.

  Plus, it might draw my mom and her sisters off the scent of my sadness over my upcoming birthday without Stephanie. I’d rarely bring a woman home, and never one I was so serious about, so this would give them enough gossip to chew on for hours. Not that I didn’t feel bad basically feeding Molly to the wolves.

  “If you don’t want to do this, we can just turn around,” I tell her again, for probably the fifth time, as I drive my car down the familiar streets of Queens.

  I feel her smirk as she turns to me and I keep my eyes on the road. “Is there some kind of wicked surprised waiting here for me that I should know about? You’re so antsy.”