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.

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.

“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?”

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.

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.

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.

“It’s about a woman living in nineteenth century England, and her abusive childhood that leads into a life of teaching. She comes to live as a governess in a wealthy man’s home, and he’s brute and harsh. Eventually, she sees his softer side, and they fall in love despite the flaws in each of them.”

Is this the kind of love she wishes for? Does she imagine that a man so brute and harsh could reveal himself to her? I sound like a sap, but the way Molly speaks about this book has me sitting up a little taller on my towel. “Sounds familiar,” I mutter under my breath.

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.

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.

“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.

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

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?

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

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.

So I plant one more lingering kiss on her forehead and fade back into my room, as much as it physically hurts to leave her in the hallway.

“I just had a nice night last night,” I say, hoping she catches my drift in this room full of people.

I want to know everything about you, Molly. But you were with my best friend. What was I supposed to do?”

“Well, why are you even here? You knew I was working, so you wanted me to wait on you?” That idea stings even more than him coming here on a date with another woman. Smith drops his head to his chest, rubbing a hand over his forehead. “I can see now that my plan really was not thought out. I should have just asked to come over to your apartment, cooked you dinner or brought you flowers. I just … I wanted to see you. I thought this might be a good way.”

My attitude softens, and part of me wants to walk into him and get a great big hug, but I refrain. “Sorry, it’s just been a really long night. I’m … I’m actually kind of glad to see you.”

“Miss me?” he asks, grinning like a fool. “I didn’t say that.” My smile is shy.

“Oh God, that’s going to be embarrassing.” He reaches out, stroking my cheek with one finger. “No, it won’t be. I’ll make sure of it.”

When it comes time for the bill, I drop it by Smith, and tell him not to worry about the tip. “Please, it will make me feel weird.” He raises an eyebrow at me. “Fine, but you have to agree to something else, then.” “And what’s that?” I smile, directing it to Gianna who looks at her brother in anticipation.

“A date. With me. This weekend.” It’s like he’s daring me.

“Where are we going?” I ask to break up the silence. “Well, I figured we both spend a lot of time in restaurants, so I thought we’d do something different.”

“So, we’re on a date,” I say stupidly after a lapse in conversation, immediately wanting to kick myself. “We are.” He grins.

One second I’m separated from him, and the next, strong arms are pulling me in, and two fingers tilt under my chin so that I have to look him in the eyes. When I do, they’re fierce and intense upon mine.

“Don’t even think that. Not for one second. I’m an idiot, Molly. I didn’t mean it in that way, by no means am I embarrassed by you. Hell, if anyone is out of their league on this date, it’s me. I seriously don’t deserve to have an ounce of your attention. I just said that because, well, you were with Justin. I don’t know how weird my friends would be with me dating my best friend’s ex, plus we’re roommates so that complicates things. And I just want some time for us. I don’t want to share our connection with other people, or invite their criticism or opinions on us dating. For a little while, I just want to stay in the bubble with you. Can we have our bubble, even if for just a moment?”

Just as I’m about to put it in my mouth, Smith comes in, standing behind me with a wry smirk on his face. I can’t help the shy smile that spreads over my lips as we stare at each other in the mirror.

He reaches past me, to open the mirror and grab his own toothbrush, then repeats the process I did. We stand there, brushing our teeth together, and it’s so normal that it feels hilarious. But at the same time, it’s a moment that’s bringing us closer together.

I’ve always wanted to be with a man who will participate in the most mundane of activities with me, but do so just because he wants to be near me. That’s what Smith is doing...

“Did you just leave your toothbrush on the sink?” Smith says through a gob of toothpaste in his mouth. “Maybe I did.” I shrug one shoulder flirtily.

Any shred of disappointment left from the anticlimactic end of our date is wiped away.

Because he slides his palms to my cheeks, blinks once, and gives me the best first date kiss I’ve ever gotten.

She’s about to shuffle off awkwardly to the bathroom, and I gently grab her elbow. Sighing through gritted teeth, I try to keep my grief and mourning at bay for a moment.

Watching her pull my extra helmet onto her pretty blond ponytail and then swing a leg over behind me might be one of the hottest things I’ve ever seen.

And when she wraps her arms tightly around my waist, the dumbbell of anger that was sitting on my chest seems to ease up.

She’s comforting me, there is nothing sexual or suggestive about this embrace. It’s one person trying to soothe another’s pain, and I break a little.

I bury my head in her shoulder and the black chasm of mourning that’s overtaken my soul the past six months gives way. Sobs wrack me; silent, angry, devastating convulsions that leave me exhausted with each expulsion of energy.

It’s been three days since our date, and three nights of making out in the bathroom at night.

We flirt in hidden corners and hallways throughout the day, he’ll leave me little notes under my pillow, and we brush our teeth together every night.

After that, well, let’s just say those make-out sessions haven’t stayed PG. There have been hands under shirts, some flirting with the waistline of pants, and a ...

I’d wanted to sit on the same couch as her, or flirt with her in the hot tub when all the girls put their bikinis on and hopped in post-sundae bar.

“If we go in there, I won’t be able to stop at just a kiss, Molly. I’ve waited a long time for this, for you. I’m not trying to pressure you, but I’m not going to make promises I can’t keep. If we go in there, I want all of you. I want you under me, moaning my name. I want to feel it when you come with me deep inside you, and I want you to look me in the eyes when you unravel. I’ve thrown you for a lot of loops, I know that. But I’m asking you to trust me once more. And know that I would never … I will never hurt you. Not in there, and not in here.”

She looks like a work of art, something that should be housed in the most famous of museums.

“Remember those dreams I told you about? One of the biggest ones is having you ride me.”