The sounds she’s making, Jesus fuck, I’m never going to be able to forget them. I’m not even inside her and this is the single most thrilling sexual moment I’ve ever had.
I’m about to move my hands higher, my balls tingling in anticipation of getting my hands on her perfect set of tits. I’m so giddy and drunk on arousal that I’m practically humping her in the hallway, but I’ve held this at bay for more than a year. Now that I’ve let myself fully off the leash, I’m not sure I can go back on it.
But the click of a door opening somewhere in the house breaks the spell, and Molly suddenly wrenches her head back, a soft thud sounding in the dark as her head connects with the wall.
Those murky green and amber eyes are so drunk with lust but saucer wide at the same time, I know I’ve completely befuddled her. There is a harsh, stinging ache in my chest and I want desperately to haul her against me and carry her to my bed as she straddles my waist.
I can’t do it, though. She doesn’t know, has no clue what this would mean to me. And from her words at dinner, she’ll think I’m just another one of those guys who doesn’t see her as anything other than a temporary now.
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 come in my boxers on a silent curse, my other hand gripping the edge of my nightstand, as I think about what it will feel like when I eventually do get Molly naked, beneath me, completely open to the idea of us.
16
Smith
The next morning, I’m sitting at the kitchen island as the housemates wake up and come in one by one.
I threw on a bathing suit before coming in, and the coffee I’m drinking tastes extra sweet this morning. In fact, everything seems brighter. My head is clearer. I was up before dawn, just lying in the tangled sheets, thinking about Molly’s taste that was still on my mouth.
“Morning,” Peter grumbles, his hair a sleep-tossed mess and his eyes half open.
Marta and Ray trail behind him, also in beach gear, and she goes to the cabinet and pulls down a box of cereal.
“Make me a bowl?” I give her a begging look.
“Do you do any of the cooking around here?” She rolls her eyes. “You would never know you’re in the restaurant business.”
“Hey, I just run the joint. I can’t cut a pepper or stir a pot to save my life.” I hold up my hands in faux surrender.
She begrudgingly pours out a third bowl, and then practically tosses it across the counter. “Thanks, Marty.”
“Don’t call me that,” she warns, pointing a threatening finger in my direction.
“Why are you so chipper this morning?” Peter finally speaks after about five minutes and ten sips of coffee.
I shrug, and at that moment, Molly makes her entrance. Her long blond locks are braided down her back, and she’s wearing a simple lilac sundress that floats around her. Her lean, strong arms are bare, and I can’t help but stare at her lips as she walks to the coffee pot, purposely avoiding my gaze.
“I just had a nice night last night,” I say, hoping she catches my drift in this room full of people.
“It was a great night, I hope you had such a good birthday!” Jacinda goes up to hug Molly from behind.
A laugh comes from Molly, who hugs Jacinda back. It’s nice to see that the rest of the house is finally forming some solid friendships with her, and that she’s opened herself up to the possibility. We’ve been here for a month, almost, and it’s as if she was never just the girlfriend of one of our friends. Molly has established herself in the group, and the sting of Justin’s betrayal is fading by the day.
“I did. It was one of the best birthdays I’ve ever had, actually.” She smiles at everyone but me.
“The big three oh, huh? What’re you gonna do in this decade?” Ray asks her politely.
Molly shrugs, pulling her toast out of the toaster and smearing some peanut butter on it. “Honestly? The same thing I have been doing?”
We all chuckle a little, and I try to catch her eye, but she’s still not looking at me. Everyone goes about their breakfast, remaining pretty much quiet, and at some point, Jacinda and Marta go out on the porch.
“Hey, Smith, can you help me get the packages from out front?” Molly finally addresses me, but her voice sounds too anxious.
Marta looks between us, though she seems to be the only one who notices the strange interaction.
“Sure,” I say, almost chuckling under my breath.
So, she’s freaking out about this. Hm, not the route I thought she’d automatically take, but I’m not surprised. With the way I kissed her, after giving her that birthday present, she was probably so fucked-up in the head about me, she couldn’t see straight.
I follow her out to the front and see only two tiny Amazon packages sitting on the porch. “This is what you needed help with?”
She folds her arms over her chest, leveling me with a scolding stare. “No, and you know that. We have to talk about last night.”
“What about it?” I shoot her a sly grin, and my gaze falls on her lips.
“Stop that,” she hisses.
“Why? Because we’re alone out here and I can think of only one thing I want to do.” I advance a little on her.
She backs up, looking startled.
“Why are you flirting with me? I don’t get it, you hate me.” Molly sounds dumfounded.
I have to chuckle, because it’s so far from what I feel about her. “If only that were the case.”
“Smith, you have tormented me and belittled me for an entire year. I’m not even sure you know a decent thing about me.” She guffaws, as if I’ve just told her that I’m related to the Queen of England.
That burns me, probably because it’s true. And I’m the one who has perpetrated this narrative, the one where I think so little of her and her lifestyle. I’ve managed to convince her that she’s nothing in my eyes, and I wish I could punch myself in the face at this moment.
Using my body, I corner her, our faces so close that I can smell the sweet mint on her lips.
“I know that you’re a fifth grade teacher, and that you do so much more than teach. You volunteer at their after-school program three times a week, so they don’t have to go home to empty kitchens. And that’s before you take a restaurant shift to make more money to give those kids more. I know that you didn’t have the easiest childhood, and that you hate carrots in your soup. When we went bowling that one time, you whooped our asses, even though Justin made you feel awkward for doing so. I wanted to deck him that night. You prefer candy over popcorn at the movies and stop on the street to give the homeless whatever spare money you have in your wallet. Do you know how many people just pass them by? I know that you put up with Justin’s obnoxious mother for an entire Saturday just to learn how to make his favorite pot roast, and that you re-read your favorite novels because it transports you to a world, even for a few hours, where you don’t have to rely on only yourself for everything. And I know that I—”
I break off, almost blurting out that I’m in love with her. That I want to be the one she does all of those things with, or for. But I clam up. I’ve already said enough.
“Ho-How do you know all that?” Her voice is a hair’s breadth above a whisper, and she looks shocked, as if she’s just seen an actual ghost.
“Because I’ve listened to you for the last three hundred and sixty-five odd days. Every time you spoke, I digested that small piece of information as if it was food and I was a starving man. I want to know everything about you, Molly. But you were with my best friend. What was I supposed to do?”
I’m really asking the question, because I want to know her answer now. Justin isn’t here, and though bro code still might be in effect, I’m saying fuck it. If she could want me like she wanted him, or even half as much, I’d take it. I’m that desperate.
Molly squares her chin at me and proves that she’s much more defiant than
she’s acted toward me in the time she was with Justin.
“You should have been kind and built a relationship with me as a friend. Not pushed me away and thrown barbs at me every other sentence like some envious coward. If you’re even being truthful.”
A sense of dread fills my chest, because I may have fucked this up beyond my control.
“Molly, I—” I go to reach for her, plead my case, but she swats me away and walks to the other side of the porch.
“No, Smith. I need … I need to think. You spun my entire world on its axis last night. Seriously, everything I believed about you turned out to be the opposite and now you’re telling me this? Can’t you understand why I would be confused?”
I gulp, trying to get ahold of myself, and think like a rational human being. “Yes, yes. I can understand that.”
Backing off, I give her some space, and run my fingers through my hair. “I’ve waited a year, I can wait for you to wrap your head around this.”
Molly hunches over a little, an absurd laugh breaking free of her throat. “This is the strangest revelation I’ve ever had.”
“I could kiss you again. Maybe it would make it clearer?” I switch back to my flirty, seductive voice.
“Get out of here.” She rolls her eyes before walking back inside, leaving me on the porch with the packages.
17
Smith
“There is no way in hell I’m letting you buy glassware that looks like this. Steph would roll over in her grave.”
My brother’s words make me both cringe and want to smack him. Not only is he making fun of the glasses that Campbell and I picked out for the new restaurant, but he’s trying to make jokes about our sister’s death.
“Too soon.” I cut him a look that says I’m not taking his shit today.
“Touchy, touchy. Fine, baby bro, I’ll stop with the lightheartedness, but I swear, if you buy these highballs, I will never eat at this restaurant.”
He scrunches his nose up and places the glass back on the shelf. When Harrison, my oldest brother, said he’d accompany me to the restaurant depot to start selecting things for the new restaurant, I hesitated. He’s an awesome interior designer, but there is a reason I don’t hire him on my projects. We butt heads way too much, and his taste is much more elegant than the rustic charm I’m going for at Stefania.
But I trust his judgment, and he’s been nagging me the entire summer to have a brother’s trip, so I brought him along.
Harrison is the oldest boy, but second kid, in our family. It goes Katrina, Harrison, Juliette, Gianna, Stephanie and me, Burton, and then Erica is the baby. We’re all separated by a year or two, and Harrison is six years older than I am. So, since I was about nine years old, I’ve known that my oldest brother is gay. It’s a normal thing in our house, nothing that my parents freaked out over, and I’d like to think our family took it in stride.
Plus, Harrison’s husband, Kenneth, is now Mom’s favorite child, and he isn’t even blood. Kenneth is a florist and brings her fresh roses every week. He always gets the best piece of spaghetti pie for Christmas, is the first to be served at any family dinner, and she waits on him hand and foot.
We walk down the aisles of the depot together, brainstorming about the right color scheme and plate shape. Everything down to the tongs on the forks at a restaurant has to be perfect, has to be on brand. Sometimes, even the most minute of details can make or break a place.
“Ma is trying to start the plans for the memorial,” Harrison tells me, shoving aside a glass he doesn’t like.
I grunt, some indiscernible noise, hoping he drops this subject.
Of course, he doesn’t. “You need to think about what you’ll say. Everyone will expect you to give the ‘keynote’ speech, and you know it.”
With the way he’s looking at me, I know he’s insinuating something about the funeral. When we buried my twin sister a little over seven months ago, I could barely even stand to be in the church. My whole family was grieving, but for me, it was the worst.
No wonder, Stephanie and I had grown together since the minute we were a blip on a screen. She was my partner in crime, from the moment we entered the world to the minute she left it. We had the kind of freaky connection that books and movies always describe. I could literally tell what she was thinking, and she could feel it when I was injured, even if she was hours away from me.
My parents had asked if I could give the eulogy, and I shot them down immediately. I should have been stronger for Steph, should have swallowed my grief for the day and gotten up in front of our family and told them the best parts about my sister. But I couldn’t. I felt like I was drowning, still do some days, and now Harrison is all but confirming that our mother wants me to give the speech at her memorial this winter. The one-year anniversary of her death.
When I got that call the days after New Year’s, I thought that my little sister Erica had been joking. But no, our little sister frantically dialed my number when the paramedics rushed Steph into the emergency room she worked at as a nurse. Car accident, hit straight on by a drunk driver in a tractor trailer. Steph was barely conscious when they pulled her body from the driver’s seat, and she surrendered to her injuries just minutes after the hospital staff began life saving procedures. In essence, she never had a chance. She was thirty-one years old.
Later, we’d find out that the guy driving the truck had been loaded, blowing a .18 blood alcohol level when the cops caught him trying to flee the scene of the accident. He was high on something too, some kind of prescription pill that I can never remember. We all had to go to court, watch him get sentenced to ten years in prison with the possibility of parole in a just a few short years. A decade, probably less with overcrowding, for murdering my twin sister.
The thought still makes me want to shatter every breakable item in this restaurant depot. I’ve gotten counseling, tried the stages of grief, and nothing has helped yet. I want to strangle the guy who killed her with my bare hands, until I see the light go out of his eyes.
“I’m not giving a speech,” I say tersely, trying to shut down this conversation.
“Smith, I know it’s horrible. I never thought we’d be coming up on a year without her, either. But we need to remember the good times. You need to keep her memory alive.”
Every word he says is like a dagger in my heart. “You don’t understand.”
“Don’t tell me I don’t understand. I lost my sister, too.” Harrison’s voice is dangerously close to the edge of anger.
“You don’t!” I explode, garnering the attention of other shoppers. “She might have been your sister, but she was a part of me. We shared the same womb. The day she died, it was like a part of me died, too. You will never understand how that feels.”
His eyes, the same color as mine, ignite with rage. “You have to get over your own anger about her death and grow the fuck up. Our family needs you, we all need to ban together in this. Mom hates that she can’t talk to you about this, that we can’t even touch the subject when you’re in the room. We’re all hurting. We know you’re hurting most, but we’re your family. If you let this fester, it’s going to infect your whole life. As it is, you hole up with work or alone most days of the week. I haven’t seen you truly happy since months before Steph even died, and you haven’t given any woman a chance in forever. I don’t want to see this for you, Smith.”
“Fuck you. Fuck you for saying that.” I growl at him, the spiteful, rage-filled monster clawing to make its way out of my chest.
I can’t even look at Harrison right now, and don’t know how this whole shopping trip went sideways so quickly. Leaving my cart in the middle of the aisle, I storm out of the store, not even waiting for my brother. He met me here in his car, so I stomp to mine, getting in and peeling out of the parking lot.
It’s immature, not facing the discussion and reacting the way I did, but I’m not ready. My family seems to have moved into the sad but bittersweet mourning period, where they can all sit arou
nd and talk about Steph with fondness. I can’t do that.
It’s been two days since I saw Molly, and even though I told her I’d give her some space, my argument with Harrison has me jonesing for the one good thing I can do.
Which is to be in her presence.
Pulling out my cell phone, I call the one sibling of mine who I know will give me no grief, will just listen, or go along with what I need.
When she picks up, I ask, “Gi, can I take you to dinner?”
18
Molly
It’s been four days since Smith kissed me in the hallway.
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.
Smith Redfield obliterated my initial impression of him. He obliterated my idea of what a good kiss was. And my brain? It feels completely obliterated with this idea that Smith has … what? Liked me since the moment he saw me?
He said a year. That for the entire year or so that Justin and I were together, he hung on every factoid I gave him.
I feel like everything I thought I knew has been flipped upside down, and I don’t know how to process it. Sure, in the last few weeks it’s been difficult to ignore the growing crush I have on Smith. Honestly, I’ve always been attracted to him in a physical sense, even when I was with his best friend. You’d have to have no pulse to ignore the beauty of that Italian demigod.
But with the way he’s treated me, I … it’s hard to push past that. For an entire year, I thought the man hated me. I had this bitterness in my mind whenever I had to deal with him and felt so insecure and intimidated. I hate that I felt that way around a man.
So, I’ve had four days to think about it, really three since I confronted him on the porch. The next day, I left to come back for the city and summer camp, and so I’ve had two whole Smith-free days to really consider how I feel about all of this.
Love at First Fight Page 8