Love at First Fight

by Aarons, Carrie

  People think being a waitress is easy, but exhausting, and it’s anything but. At some of these upscale places in the city, it seriously takes a four-year degree to get a job on the serving staff. Plus a headshot—no, I’m not kidding. I had to have Heather take a professional shot of me when I submitted my résumé to Aja.

  “Hey, you getting out of here?” Delaney, the head waitress who has been here nearly ten years, asks me.

  “Just cashed out my last table.” I pull my half-apron off from around my waist. “It was a crazy night. I had that twelve-top, and then the table of bankers who kept trying to proposition me.”

  Delaney rolls her eyes. “I hate those kinds of tables. It’s like, this isn’t a strip joint. You could go to one of those if you want tits and avoid the hundred-dollar lobster dinner here.”

  I crack up. “I know, I don’t get it. Can you count my tips?”

  Giving her the pouch I always keep on me until the end of the night, she counts them, and then goes to the computer to reference my credit card transactions. Pulling open the cash drawer, Delaney counts some bills and then hands them to me.

  “A four-hundred-dollar night, impressive.” She tips her head in acknowledgment to me.

  Inside, I do a fist pump. That’s a great tip night, and Lord knows I need it.

  “You off somewhere fun?” she asks.

  I shrug. “Home to sleep. But I’m headed back to the Hamptons tomorrow morning for a few days. I have that house share this summer, remember?”

  She sighs wistfully. “How could I forget. Lucky bitch.”

  “Hey, you’re going to the Hamptons? I’m leaving tonight, you want a ride?” Kirsten, one of the bartenders, passes me while listening to our conversation.

  We’re not exactly friends, but it’s nice that she’s offering. Plus, it would mean avoiding the Jitney and waking up to the sound of the surf.

  “Are you sure? I wouldn’t want to make you leave earlier or anything,” I ask.

  She shakes her head and waves me off. “No problem, I have a bartending gig tonight at one of the beach bars, so I have to go anyway. We’ll be there late, but I have an extra seat. Having company on the drive is always nice.”

  I’m not one to pass up a free ride, and it seems like she doesn’t mind. “Sure, that would be great. I’ll pay for gas.”

  “Great, can you meet me back here in an hour?”

  Checking my watch, that’s just enough time to go home, shower the Aja smell off me, and pack a quick bag. “I’ll be here.”

  An hour later, I’m packing my small duffel into the back of Kirsten’s car, and then two hours after that, she’s dropping me in the driveway of my summer house share.

  “Thank you so much, I owe you big time,” I tell her.

  “Seriously, not a problem. If you ever need a ride and I’m headed down, let me know. I hate driving by myself.”

  I nod, closing the passenger door, and smile to myself. I haven’t talked often with Kirsten at the restaurant, but she’s a cool girl, and it was nice to get to know her more.

  The house is pretty closed up and quiet as I let myself in the front door with my key, and I assume everyone is either in their own rooms, asleep, or out partying. The first floor is clean save for some empty Amazon boxes, and as I pass through the kitchen, there is a plate of scones and some open wine bottles on the island.

  Walking up the stairs, I try to tiptoe, in case anyone is sleeping.

  As I pass Marta and Ray’s door, I think I hear moaning from inside. I duck my head, blushing, because something inside me burns for that kind of intimacy right now.

  It’s been a long time since I had that kind of pleasure, and I’m ashamed to admit that Justin was a jealous lover and I let him be. There were many times I didn’t orgasm, and I never said anything. I hate that I’m that woman, the one too insecure to tell a man what she likes during sex. But Justin, he was just so overpowering in a personality sense. I wanted to please him in every way, because when I had that affection it felt better than anything.

  Peter and Lucinda’s door is closed, but there is no sound behind it, and I wonder if they went out. I know Heather is out at some bar, because she texted me.

  I won’t let myself think about Smith, plus I don’t have to pass his door. It’s at the end of the hallway, one past mine, and I turn into my room so fast. I don’t want to think about whether he’s sleeping in there, what he sleeps in, or if there is a girl occupying his bed.

  I shake my head to clear it and set my duffel down. I make quick work of unpacking and then slip into my ocean and starfish printed pajama set. When it comes to sleep attire, I get the most juvenile kind, but it’s so comfortable. The tank top and shorts feel like the inside of a fleece sweatshirt, and the turquoise and pink pattern remind me of a beach town.

  It’s almost midnight when I’m about to dive straight for my pillows, but realize I have to go to the bathroom. Only Smith and I share one, because every other bedroom has its own en suite, and I plan to tiptoe out to it directly across from my bedroom door.

  But as I go to turn into the hallway, I’m nearly knocked to the floor. My side and back collide with something impossibly solid, and then two big hands wrap around my arms just as my heart ricochets into my throat, pulling me upright.

  “Jesus, fuck, you scared the shit out of me!” Smith hisses, and my nerves pulse erratically all over my body.

  Not only because I was bracing myself for the impact of a fall, but also because Smith, naked in every way save for a black pair of boxer briefs, has his fingers no more than two inches away from my nipples.

  Which are completely bare of a bra, the only material between them and the hallway air is my thin pajama top. And at this vantage point, Smith is looking straight down said top.

  “I’m … sorry, I didn’t, I thought …” I stutter, trying to form a sentence.

  “When did you even get back here? I thought everyone was asleep or out.” His tone is all accusation, and he still hasn’t let go of me.

  We’re so close, dangerously close, and I can feel the wetness start to build in my underwear. Smith is six and a half feet of gorgeous, toned man muscle, and even in this dark hallway, I’m getting an eyeful. Lord, I’m eye level with his abs, and if I snuck a glance down, I could see how well he fills out those boxers.

  “I caught a ride with a friend after my restaurant shift. I wanted to wake up to the ocean,” I explain, as if that’s the detail he was looking for.

  His impossibly blue-black eyes turn curious. “You wait tables?”

  Shame burns my gut, because I just gave him one more thing to hold against me. “Yes, unfortunately I cannot get by on just a teacher’s salary.”

  Might as well make the observation before he does it for me, in a ruder manner.

  “Where do you work?” he asks, and I can feel it as his thumb starts to rub slowly up and down the back of my arm where he’s holding it.

  I have to catch my knees from buckling at the sensation, and I swear, my eyes almost roll back into my head. I’m not even sure he’s doing it, but to me, it feels like full-on seduction to my sex-deprived body.

  “Aja,” I tell him, knowing I’ll regret it later but unable to keep my mouth shut with what he’s doing to my heart and my brain.

  He nods. “Good place.”

  Our eyes lock, and for a split second, I think he might kiss me. His face looms ever closer, and my mouth goes dry at the thought of how much passion he must pack behind those lips. His declaration on New Year’s Eve, when he told me that I wouldn’t know passion if it smacked me in the mouth, haunts me to this day.

  But something must click in his brain, and then he lets me go, stepping back.

  “Don’t go sneaking around the hallways again. You’re going to give someone a heart attack.”

  Then he’s turning his back, retreating to his room. The last sight I’m given is a flash of the two perfectly sculpted globes in his boxers before the light from his room is cut off in the dark
hallway.

  I slump against the wall, breathing heavy.

  How the hell am I going to get a good night’s sleep with the memory of his hands on my skin?

  10

  Smith

  The white linen curtains in my room blow open with the breeze, and I’m itching to get out into the sunlight.

  I tossed and turned last night, thinking about the petite school teacher the next room over. Jesus Christ, how was I supposed to get any shut eye when Molly was prancing around in those paper thin pajamas? And when I touched her?

  It’s the first time I’ve ever felt her skin, aside from the forced pleasantry of a hand shake or a hug we’ve shared very rarely over the last year. Everything in me wanted to capture her mouth in that dark hallway, and I nearly did. But what would that lead to? I am in no place to treat her the way she deserves, and she’s just broken up with my best friend. She was all but off-limits when it came to bro code, even if Justin wasn’t here.

  Pulling on a pair of swim trunks, I head downstairs, hoping someone has already made breakfast or packed the coolers for the beach.

  “Oh, you’re an angel.” I kiss Jacinda good morning on the cheek as I spot the spread of eggs and waffles she prepared.

  She swats my butt. “Only because I had a hankering for chocolate chip waffles. Don’t think this will be a regular thing, we’re not dating.”

  “Hell, it’s not even a regular thing for me,” Peter pipes up from the table, looking sweaty in his tennis outfit.

  “You hit around this morning?” I ask, coming to sit next to him with a plate full of food.

  He nods. “Yep, the court is awesome, we should play a little doubles game.”

  “Not with me.” Jacinda snorts. “The only exercise I’m doing this summer is rolling over to get my other side tan.”

  “I’ll play!” Marta walks into the kitchen in a fire engine red bikini.

  She and Jacinda hug, and they compare bathing suits, complimenting each other in that ridiculous way that women do where they go on and on as if they’re at a sleepover.

  “Sold. We should set up some kind of bet for this game. Loser has to clean toilets. Oh! Or buy us all lobsters.” Peter slaps the table.

  “I could get behind that.” I sip my coffee, loving the relaxed feeling that settles over me.

  When I got back to the Hamptons two days ago, I was wound up. Things at the new restaurant weren’t going to plan—they never did, but it meant more with this project—and my family was on my last nerve. I’m glad to be back here for a week straight, because I finally feel as though I can take a deep breath.

  “Molly, do you play tennis?” Marta asks, and my head shoots up.

  Molly walks farther into the kitchen, and I swear I almost swallow my tongue. She’s more modest than the other two women in the room, but in a sleek navy blue one-piece, there is too much that can be left to the imagination. I wonder if she has freckles on the skin I can’t see, and whether or not her belly button dips in the way I’ve dreamed it does. As she walks around the island to collect a small plate of breakfast food, my eyes are glued to her ass. The style of the suit isn’t one of those new ones all the girls wear, with their cheeks all but exposed. No, Molly covers it up, and I’m left salivating over the tease of a round globe and the hint of a wax underneath.

  I have to shift in my seat, because my dick is suddenly rock hard in a room full of people at nine in the morning.

  “I’ve dabbled. My campers would say I’m a pro, though I can barely serve the ball.” She chuckles in a self-deprecating way.

  “Well, there, we have our fourth. We’re going to play a doubles match, you can play with Smith and I’ll play with Peter. Loser buys the house a lobster dinner.”

  My hackles go up, and I’m about to make a quip about how I’d have to shell out for the lobsters if we lost, but Molly beats me to it.

  “Yeah right, Smith would intentionally throw the game and then stick me with a lobster bill, just to see if I could pay it.” She snorts.

  The whole room goes silent, and then everyone aside from me starts howling with laughter.

  “Holy shit, she just handed you your ass.” Peter points at me.

  “Damn, girl, you got balls. I like you more than I thought I did.” Jacinda goes up to pat her on the back.

  Meanwhile, I’m floored that she just nailed me like that in front of my friends. I grumble something unintelligible while everyone has a good old laugh on my behalf.

  “Who wants to hit the beach?” Heather comes in, picking up nothing but a cup of coffee.

  She’s the type of chick I’d usually date, but something about it feels off to me. Probably because the woman I’ve fallen in love with before I even knew her last name is also staying in this house. But also because I’ve been severely limiting my dating life in not only the past year, but the past six months.

  Since the night I met Molly, I seem to compare every single female to her. And then after Stephanie died, there was no point in trying to form connections I knew would never last.

  “Me!” Molly throws her hand up.

  “I’ll grab a football or something,” Peter tells me, and I nod.

  The seven of us work together to get coolers packed, towels in bags, and a whole slew of beach entertainment is carted with us down to the strip of sand just outside our backyard. Silently, I thank Justin for finding a house right on the ocean, even if it does cost a little bit more for the summer. Not having to pack up cars and drag all the heavy shit to the sand just to pack it all back up an hour later, or to find a bathroom, is pretty sweet.

  Once we get down there, Ray and I set up the massive tent Marta bought online, and position the chairs under there for the people who don’t want to lie in the sun. Heather unpacks a bunch of drinks, and Peter pulls out several different balls for us to throw around. Immediately after everything is somewhat assembled, I run for the ocean. I’ve always loved the sea, and diving in headfirst is something I’ve been looking forward to after the busy couple days I had back in the city.

  After a while, the rest of the crew decides to go on a long walk down the beach, but I’m far too comfortable and lazy to join them. The lull of the sun and the hypnotic rhythm of the sea rock me off into a daydream-like state, where I’m not sleeping but I’m not exactly lucid.

  By the time I sit up to grab a drink of water, I see that it’s just Molly and me in our group’s little beach area setup. She’s three towels over, in a lounge beach chair, completely lost in a book. Her sun hat flops down over her forehead, shading her eyes and the pages of her story from the sun.

  She looks adorable and with the way she’s chewing on her lip; I want to go over there and throw that book down in the sand.

  “What are you reading?” The question pops out before I can stop it.

  Molly lowers her head slowly, but can’t seem to pull her eyes off the page, as if she’s screen locked on the book. “Hm?”

  Twisting the cap off one of the flavored, sparkling waters Heather threw in the cooler, I decide to ask again. “What are you reading?”

  This time, she fully looks up at me, blinking, as if she can’t believe I just asked. “Jane Eyre.”

  I nod. “Never read it. It looks like you’re enjoying it.”

  Again, Molly stares at me as if I might crack a rude obscenity at any moment. “It’s one of my favorites, I’ve read it at least a dozen times.”

  “Really? Why re-read it?” I’m genuinely curious, because I barely read books once.

  I’m too busy, and if I’m not working, I’m usually asleep or catching the rare sports games. The most I read these days are food critic reviews, Michelin nominations, Zagat guide books, and the menus for my own restaurants.

  She shrugs self-consciously. “Because I love it. It’s one of my favorites.”

  “What is it about?” I press, knowing that I’m flirting with danger.

  This is the first normal conversation we’ve probably ever had, and the fact that we’re
on a beach, alone, has me feeling bold. I’m dropping my defenses, and if I’m not careful, everything I feel for her is going to start rolling out.

  “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.”

  The way she describes it, in such a romantic, breathless way, has my heart catching in my chest.

  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.

  “What’s that?” Her hat blows up in the wind, and she catches it before it flies off.

  “Nothing. Do you think they’ll be back soon?” I pretend to look down the beach in search of them, because it hurts to look at her any longer.

  Sitting here, acting normal, it gives me a glimpse into what I could have with her. I wonder if she’s ever considered me that way, but the gnawing burn and ache in my gut knows that she still only sees that with Justin.

  He’s been gone for a month, and I swear I heard her crying in her room the other night.

  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.

  11

  Molly

  “Turn the music up!” Heather demands, and Peter obeys. She’s standing on a barstool pushed out from the kitchen island, shaking her hips to a Rihanna song, shouting the words at the top of her lungs.

  The rest of the housemates follow along in a drunken sort of fancy, Jacinda is gyrating with a glass of white wine in her hand, Peter has been downing whiskey all night, and Marta and Ray are all but dry humping at the kitchen table.