Feels Like the First Time

by Marina Adair

  “God, why did I agree to this?”

  “Because you care about Hawk,” Kennedy said softly. A warm hand covered Ali’s and pulled it away from her face. So Ali closed her eyes. “And he cares about you, too, Ali.”

  “I know.” Problem was, she cared more. And Ali knew all too well just what happened when the equation for love was skewed too far in one direction. “He cares for a lot of people.”

  “You mean Bridget?” Kennedy guessed.

  “Bridget, the blond co-ed from Portland, the bikini model with the fake accent and even faker boobs.” She slowly rolled her head to the side and met her friend’s gaze. “Hawk likes women. Period. I’d just be filling an empty spot in his calendar.”

  “Maybe. Maybe not. But you won’t know unless you give it a shot.” Kennedy sat up and crossed her legs on the bed. “Women come and go, but have you ever wondered why you’re the only one special enough to keep around?”

  Hawk went out of his way to do nice things for Ali. Small things to let her know how special she was to him. The problem with being special was one could only shine so bright before a shinier star came along. And even though guys like Hawk saw the good in everyone, they were still drawn to the light.

  “He lives next door, I’m too difficult to escape.”

  Kennedy didn’t look convinced. “Is that you talking or Bridget?”

  Ali sat up, too. “Bridget hasn’t said one word about it.” Not since the other night.

  “Seriously? Nothing?” Kennedy asked, and Ali shook her head. “Well, that’s a relief.”

  “Oh no, silence is bad.” Very bad. “Bridget only goes silent when she’s scheming.” And she was definitely up to no good. At least as far as Ali was concerned.

  She hadn’t brought up Hawk and Ali’s relationship once over the past week. No questions, comments, or even petty jabs. “She’s been all wedding all the time. Easing me into believing that this is really about spending time together. Waiting until I drop my shield so she can catch me.”

  “Or maybe she is just really happy and in love and wants you to be happy, too.”

  Ali snorted. “Tell me if you think the same thing after seeing her in action tonight.” The doorbell rang and Ali stood. “And after you’ve met Jamie.”

  Ali walked over a pile of clothes and through her studio, the material of her dress tangling around her legs as she opened the door. And sucked in a breath.

  “Hawk, what are you doing here?”

  And why did he have to be so damn good looking? And big.

  He towered over her, his shoulders blocking the setting sun, his arms, which were tucked behind his back, nearly busting out of the crisp white button-up he wore. It was expensive and custom fitted, she could tell, just like his slacks, which were a dark gray and hugged his thighs and—she imagined—his butt to perfection.

  His dark hair was styled in thick waves, his stubble gone, showing off those dimples he used to melt the hearts—and panties—of ladies everywhere. But it was his smile that got her, kick-started her heart. It was warm and a little crooked. And as if there just for her.

  If the man was devastating in jeans and a jersey, then he was lethal in a suit. And she was wearing a dress fit for the pastor’s wife.

  “I’m picking up my date for the party,” he said in a smooth, deep rumble that rolled down her spine to her toes.

  Ali peeked around him at the bar below. The parking lot was filling up, the twinkle lights were flashing inside, and people already lined the counter. She looked up at him. “I live next door. I can walk myself to the party.”

  Humor tugged at the corner of his lips, his eyes sparkling with mischief. “I’m your boyfriend, remember? Protocol says I pick you up.”

  “Fake boyfriend, so protocol doesn’t count in this situation. So you can leave.”

  “Fake boyfriend or not, I’m walking you to that party.” He leaned a shoulder against the door frame, rooting himself in place.

  She looked around, and when she found that no one was looking back, confusion puckered her brow. “No one is watching. I think we’re good.”

  “Jesus,” he laughed. “What kind of assholes have you been dating?”

  Well, that stung.

  Ali crossed her arms. “Assholes who know I’m capable of walking myself across a parking lot to a party.”

  Still smiling, he said, “There’s a difference between being capable and being pampered.” He pulled a long box out from behind his back. It was black and narrow and tied with a silver bow. “And sunshine, I’m going to pamper you so hard, you won’t even remember how to walk come morning.”

  Ali swallowed—hard—unsure how to respond to that. Her nipples, though, were responding with party blowers and confetti cannons. Then there was the box. Glossy and mysterious and incredibly nerve-wracking.

  Men didn’t bring girls like Ali boxes with bows. And they didn’t wear suits with ties and cuff links.

  “What’s that?” she asked.

  “Pull the tie and find out.” Hawk moved the box back and forth in front of her, tempting her. Challenging her.

  She made a big deal about rolling her eyes, in hopes of covering up the rolling over her heart was doing. With the silky ribbon between her fingers, she slowly tugged, watching his expression for a clue as to how to react. “Be warned, if anything jumps out at me, my reflexes are honed to go for the boys.”

  “Depends on what reflexes you’re talking about, but it could be fun.” Before she could react, he popped the top off and—

  Oh my God. Ali froze. And so did her lungs. It was like one of those movies where the heroine was transported into somebody else’s incredible life. Only this was Ali’s life, and the moment was pretty incredible. “You brought me shoes?”

  “Not just any shoes,” he said and Ali had to agree.

  They were sexy, slinky, and sleek, with enough angles to be considered edgy without being mistaken for harsh. They were feminine and classy, and yet somehow still her.

  “These have the power to make a woman strut and a man stumble at her feet with a single step.” He knelt down on one knee and gently took her bare foot, caressing her ankle in his sure, capable hands. “When I saw them in the window, I thought of you.”

  “They’re silver,” Ali said breathlessly. She never considered herself a silver girl. Black, yes, steel-toed, absolutely. But slinky, sexy, and silver? Never.

  The way Hawk was looking at her foot as he slid the heel on, gently fastening the strap around her ankle, said he disagreed.

  “They match your dress perfectly,” he said, and she looked down at her drab black dress. “Not that dress, sunshine. The green one that makes you look like an angel.”

  She gave a self-conscious flap of the hand. “It’s a little too much since we’re going to be working the bar all night.”

  Hawk looked up at her and, with his hand still on her ankle, said, “Oh, I’m not working tonight, Luke took my shift. I’m on the guest list and I’m bringing the prettiest girl in town as my date.”

  * * *

  “I need a drink,” Ali said, desperate to get away from the prying eyes.

  “How about one of the signature cocktails,” Gail suggested, as someone walked by with a tray of martini glasses rimmed with pink sugar. “They’re fantastic. So elegant and swanky. The perfect statement for Bridget’s wedding.”

  “My thoughts exactly,” Ali said with a big smile. “Which was why I was going to grab something from the bar. Something that doesn’t come in a sugar-rimmed glass or from a bottle with bubbles.”

  Okay, that was a lie. At this point anything that could get her three sheets to the wind would work. But she wanted to hide behind the bar, like a big fat chicken. She was surprised she hadn’t sprouted wings.

  She wasn’t sure what she’d expected to happen tonight, but the strange fluttering in her belly was starting to give her concern. She’d prepared herself ahead of time, was ready for the fauxmance to continue, and then Hawk had to go and do
something sweet, like make her feel girly, and muck everything up.

  Even worse, the entire time he’d been right there for her, making her feel as if she had a partner to get her through tonight. Instead of focusing on the fact that this was his ex’s engagement party, which most people would, he’d focused all of that intense concern and care on her. Offering a comforting hand on her back when she welcomed her mom, steering Marty away from the dessert table and toward the veggie trays, even stepping behind the bar when Bridget complained that the signature cocktail was too sweet.

  Never once had he complained. And that made it so much worse.

  Ali knew how to deal with friend Hawk, knew how to handle tough situations, like her demanding family or Hawk’s undivided attention, when wearing her steel-toed boots. But in this dress and these heels she felt soft, delicate.

  Vulnerable.

  And then he’d squeezed her hand and said he’d be right back, asked if she’d be okay alone while he grabbed something from the storage pantry. And her heart had fluttered. So had her lady land. A sure sign that it had been too long since she’d had an orgasm with someone else in the room.

  “Be careful not to get red wine,” Gail said, and Ali held tight to her smile, even though she knew what was coming. “The stains are impossible to remove and would stand out like lint on Velcro with Ali’s dress color.”

  “Couldn’t look any more ridiculous than that bride trying to pull off white,” Loraine said to Ali, her red lips puckering in horror. “That’s why I didn’t bring a present. I figured she could rewrap the last one I gave her. You don’t get a second set of corncob plates just because you made an oopsie.”

  “Ali was always a dribbler,” Gail went on as if she’d heard not a word. “Too busy to sit still, always in motion, especially at meals. I’d spend half the time trying to get her to sit still, and the other half in that laundry room, scrubbing away stains.”

  Even though her mother was talking to Loraine, all eyes went to Ali. She felt her cheeks heat, and her chest tighten until she couldn’t breathe. It was like she was ten again, with her mother in tears because Ali had spilled apple juice down the front of her flower girl dress.

  “Girl was always a class act, if you ask me,” Loraine said with a wink. “All those meals on the boat she’d help prepare. Marty would man the grill and little Ali would be inside shucking peas or making a salad.”

  “We had a lot of fun eating out on the sailboat,” Marty said to Ali with a warm smile. “We were too busy having fun to worry about stains. Huh, kiddo?”

  Ali’s chest got tighter, but this time it wasn’t from being misunderstood or disappointed, it was from love. Her dad’s love.

  “Oh, I didn’t mean…” Gail looked helplessly at Marty, then gave her an apologetic smile. “It’s just you look lovely, dear.”

  Like Ali’s childhood therapist had pointed out, Gail didn’t mean any harm by her words, she was looking for a way to connect. And since she’d lived so afraid that what she possessed inside wasn’t enough, she’d placed all that value on external things. Like cars, and status, and appearance.

  “Thanks, Mom. I was hoping you’d like it,” Ali said, squeezing Gail’s hand. Gail smiled ear-to-ear and squeezed back. “And I remember, Dad. Those were some fun times down on the boat.”

  Almost as fun as seeing him smile at how great the night had turned out. As promised, Bridget had included him in everything, even asking him to come to the appetizer tasting, and sleeping at his house last night.

  Ali hadn’t seen her dad that content since he’d had both girls under his roof for Christmas morning, two years ago. Not caring that they were grown women, he’d put reindeer paws around the fireplace, left cookie crumbs and a half-empty glass of milk, even dressed up like Santa to hand out the presents.

  He was so happy he’d spent most of the evening shaking hands, talking to neighbors, introducing himself to Bridget’s friends.

  “Jamie is a sailor, too,” Gail said proudly, and Ali could tell she was trying to bring the conversation back to a topic where she could participate. “He’s taking Bridget sailing around the Gulf for their honeymoon.”

  “Bridget gets seasick,” Ali pointed out.

  Gail waved an elegant hand. “They have pills for that.”

  Ali might have laughed at her mother’s comment, but Marty sent her an even gaze. “Jamie told me it’s an eighty-five-footer. Complete with hot tub, four guest suites, and a putting green on the back. No sail. I think she’ll be fine.”

  “Thank goodness,” Gail said, placing a hand on Marty’s arm and leaning in so her hands weren’t the only thing brushing up against her ex-husband. “It’s already booked. For right after the wedding.”

  “They’ve set a date?” Marty asked, his voice even, but Ali could tell that he was feeling left out.

  “Three weeks from tomorrow.” Gail fanned herself. “Talk about a whirlwind wedding, but I have a lead on a venue that’s about twenty minutes north of here, right on the ocean.” She turned to Loraine. “One person’s failed wedding is another person’s happily ever after.”

  “She’s still looking to get married around here?” Marty said with a big smile, and Ali was as surprised, and pleased, as her dad. Bridget having her wedding nearby allowed Marty to be a part of every step, without the tax on his body from travel.

  “She seems set on it.”

  “Well, that sounds like a reason to celebrate. How about I go get us all a slice of that cake over there. The chocolate one.” Marty was practically foaming at the mouth.

  “I’ll get it, Dad, right after I get you some celebratory broccoli and ranch,” Ali said, feeling like a parent with a challenging child. “Anyone else?”

  “Well, be sure to grab some club soda, just in case.” Gail’s eyes darted around the room and a small crease appeared between her brows. A very small, I’ve had a face-lift crease. “And maybe find Hawk. I hope he didn’t leave yet—the games are about to begin and I know how much he likes Trivial Pursuit.”

  Understatement, Hawk loved Trivial Pursuit. Even had a victory dance, which, irritatingly enough, he got to use more than Ali would like to admit.

  “Hawk didn’t leave. He’s just getting something from the storage room,” Ali assured her, although Gail looked anything but. “And what games?” She looked at Marty, who was looking back equally confused. “Bridget didn’t say anything about playing games or I would have planned something.”

  Not that she would have known what to plan. Her friends played games like Pin the Junk on the Hunk and Condom Toss. And if her mom was concerned about a little wine on her dress, then an exploding condom filled with whipped cream was probably out.

  “Don’t worry, dear, I thought ahead.” Gail pulled a packet of papers out of her purse and handed them to Ali. “Bridget was concerned it might make you uncomfortable to play, but I assured her that this is her day and there was nothing to feel uncomfortable about.”

  Ali looked down at the papers and shrugged. “What could be so bad about Couples Trivial Pursuit?”

  “Nothing as far as I can see. It is simple—people team up in pairs.” She batted her lined lashes at Marty. “You can be mine,” she whispered. “Then each team answers questions about the bride-to-be, the same questions I already asked Jamie to answer. Whoever gets the most correct wins.”

  Okay, pretty standard party game. It looked like a list of questions that would evoke lots of laughter. Not Ali’s kind of party game, but fun all the same. “I still don’t see how that would make me uncomfortable.”

  “That’s what I said, but then Bridget read the questions I’d asked Jamie, and got all upset. Then she said you were planning the party, and I’d be stepping on your toes.”

  Overwhelmed with all the different needs her family required to make it through the night without someone collectively losing their shit, Ali felt the impossible expectations close in on her. She could give a rat’s ass what transpired at the party. In the end, what mattered
most was Marty’s happiness. Which meant pandering to keep Gail busy and pampering Bridget. God, she felt like she was a kid all over again. “I’m okay with it. How about you, Dad?”

  Marty mumbled something about anything that makes his girl happy is fine with him when Ali read a little farther down the list—and stopped breathing. Beneath WHERE DID THE BRIDE AND GROOM MEET? and above GROOM’S FAVORITE COLOR? was a question sure to make someone uncomfortable. And it wouldn’t be Ali.

  HAS THE BRIDE EVER BEEN SKINNY-DIPPING?

  The answer would be yes. With Hawk. It was the night Ali knew her sister was going to marry Hawk or get frostbite trying. Lucky for Bridget, and all of her elegant fingers and pedied toes, it didn’t take until the next winter for Hawk to get down on one knee.

  He’d fallen for her sister at, “Hello.”

  Then there was three down: WILDEST THING THE BRIDE HAS EVER DONE?

  Join the mile-high club. Again, with Hawk.

  BRIDE’S DREAM HONEYMOON?

  Swimming with dolphins in Fiji. Check and check. It was where she’d spent three weeks with Hawk after their wedding. Planning their future, and convincing Hawk it was a forever kind of commitment.

  Hell, she’d done such a good job, Ali had been convinced, too. For a time. But then her sister’s wanderlust, the I wonder what I’m missing gene she inherited from Gail, kicked in. Sadly, it was right around the time Hawk’s career ended.

  So, no. Bridget wasn’t worried about Ali’s feelings. She was covering her own ass. And the only reason Ali didn’t say that to Gail was because the only person who would be more uncomfortable with these answers than her sister—would be her ex-husband. Especially when they reached the WHEN DID THE BRIDE KNOW HE WAS THE ONE question.

  So when Gail complimented Ali on her shoes, and mentioned she had a clutch that matched, Ali made her way to the bar. She needed to talk to Bridget, but first she needed a drink.

  Ali located Hawk’s stash beneath the bar and was pouring herself a sip when Colleen Hanover approached the bar. She was two years older than Ali, two marriages in, and based on the slinky dress and naked finger, she was looking for husband number three.