Love at First Fight

by Carrie Aarons

You see, no good stroke of luck would have Smith Redfield be the first familiar person I lay eyes on when I stepped foot in the Hamptons. Because the only thing worse than spending the summer without the boyfriend who just dumped you and literally took off for another country, is spending it with his sex-on-a-stick best friend. Who also happens to hate every single one of your guts.

Molly Archer. Justin’s petite, blonde, fairylike ex-girlfriend. City school teacher for the underprivileged. Sally homemaker who prefers baking blueberry muffins on a Saturday night than tipping back vodka shots. The fair-skinned, doe-eyed woman who looks like a Swedish princess and gets my cock harder than any of the busty brunettes I woo on the island of Manhattan.

I’ll have to admit that the minute Justin introduced her to me a year ago, I understood. It clicked. I know what it feels like to fall in love at first sight. Because I did, with her. And then she went on to fall in love with my best friend.

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.

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.

I’m in love with my best friend’s girl, and there isn’t a damn thing I can do to make her see that I’m the one she should be with.

It’s funny how every time we interact, with each instance I come in contact with Smith, I forget all about my broken heart. And start wondering what it would be like if it beat for him.

“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.

“I have no idea why you think any man wouldn’t kill to be with you. I just can’t …”

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.

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.

No, not kissed. That’s too mild of a word for what he did to me. Turned my world upside down, maybe? Pulled a blindfold off my heart? I think that the term obliterated might be the best one to describe this situation.

Plus, this feels bigger in my heart. You know that sense of largeness you get, that you can’t put words to? Like the universe is aligning or something? That’s how I feel right now. I am on the verge of jumping into something after I’ve barely recovered from getting my heart broken.

It gives me that feeling of enormity, of being very big in my own small world.

Anyone who has met the human who feels like the other half of their soul understands. That’s what Molly is for me.

Be with me. Love with me. Jesus, fight with me. Fight for me. Nothing else matters.”

This feels more whirlwind though, exactly the way it should feel when you’re madly in love in New York City and making decisions on a whim with the man who holds your heart.