California Girls

She rose. He led her inside and pulled her close. They swayed together with the music.

“The first time I saw you was on a Sunday morning,” he said.

“I remember. We had brunch with your parents. You barely spoke to me. I thought you hated me.”

He drew back just enough to look in her eyes. “You wore jeans and a white sweater with a V-neck. You had your hair in a braid and your perfume smelled like vanilla. The second I saw you, it was like being kicked in the gut. I couldn’t think, I couldn’t breathe. I sure as hell couldn’t talk. Not without saying something inappropriate.”

They’d stopped dancing. Ali was having trouble processing what he was telling her.

“You liked me back then?”

“I wanted to run away with you. I’d never felt a lightning strike before, but I felt it with you. I wanted to take you somewhere so we could talk for hours. I wanted to throw you over my shoulder and find a quiet corner to make love with you. I wanted to challenge Glen to a fight to the death over you. Instead I ate quiche.”

Her chest was so tight and her legs were shaking. Nothing he said made sense, but there was an intensity in his gaze that told her he was telling the truth about all of it.

“Me?” she asked, her voice a squeak.

“You. Glen telling me he was calling off the wedding was the best and worst day of my life. Finally you were free of him, but first I had to break your heart. I hated him for what he was doing to you and at the same time, I was relieved you would be single.”

She couldn’t quite connect the dots. Daniel had liked her all along? He thought she was a lightning strike?

“You never said anything.”

“What was I supposed to say?” He ran his hand through his hair. “Hey, Ali, I’m crazy about you. Dump my useless brother and run off with me.”

She heard the frustration in his voice, and the pain. She had no idea what to say, so she decided to act instead. She put her hands on his face and kissed him. He responded instantly, his mouth hungry against hers. Then they were a tangle of arms pulling close and tongues stroking. Want and need flared, melting every part of her.

She stepped back and stared at him. “Please tell me you brought condoms.”

His slow, sexy grin had her quivering. “I did, indeed.”

It took only seconds to get to Daniel’s room, then they were pulling off clothes, even as they kissed and touched each other. When they were naked, he explored her everywhere, first with his hands and then with his mouth. He kissed the very heart of her, loving her until she cried out her release. Then he entered her and she came again, surging against him as he climaxed inside of her.

When they were done and lying together on tangled sheets, she raised herself up on one elbow.

“I had no clue about how you felt about me.”

“I didn’t want you to know.”

“But you were so stealthy. You were—” She hesitated, then decided to dodge the L word. It wasn’t as if he’d said it, and she didn’t want to assume. “You were crazy about me and never hinted. I feel dumb.”

“Don’t.” He stroked her bare arm, shifting slightly to tease her nipple. “I didn’t want you to feel uncomfortable around me. Better to be the friend than rejected.”

He’d been afraid she would reject him? Seriously? She straddled him.

“Still worried about rejection?”

He smiled. “It’s less on my mind.” He squeezed her butt before reaching for another condom. “You’re okay with being on top?”

“Yes. Or my side or any way you’d like.” Knowing how he felt about her made her feel safe and free and sexy.

“Interesting. I wouldn’t have guessed you were the adventurous type.”

“I’m not. I mean I wasn’t.” She shook her head. “Okay, we are not going to talk about my sex life in detail. It’s too weird. I’ll just say with you, it’s different. I want to play.”

He looked into her eyes and smiled. “I want to play, too.”

*

Finola wasn’t sure that an upscale Beverly Hills bar was any more interesting than an upscale bar in the valley, but this was LA where things like location really mattered. So she fought Saturday evening traffic over the pass and guided her car to the valet. After taking the claim ticket, she squared her shoulders and walked inside.

For reasons still not clear to her, she’d agreed to meet a man for drinks. Rochelle’s insistence and her own misery had combined to convince her she had to do something. Maybe an hour or two with an adoring man would be just the thing she needed. The problem was the second she’d agreed to the invitation, she’d been filled with regret, but there was no going back now.

Chip Knipstein was a sportscaster for the local news. He was barely thirty, incredibly good-looking and ambitious. The LA market wasn’t big enough for him. It was commonly known he wanted to make the jump to a national show on ESPN and she’d heard rumors it was going to happen.

According to Rochelle, Chip had left more than one message on her phone, asking her out for dinner or drinks or a weekend in Maui—whichever she wanted. She’d met him only a handful of times, but he’d seemed innocuous enough and he photographed well, so she’d agreed to drinks.

She spotted him at a small corner table. He stood up, all six-feet-two of him, and smiled as she approached.

“Finola,” he said, kissing her cheek. “You are even more beautiful tonight than usual. Something I didn’t think was possible. Thanks for joining me.”

He gestured to the chair opposite his. There was a glass of white wine waiting there.

“I took the liberty of ordering,” he said. “You seemed like the white wine type.”

She was less interested in the drink than getting the evening over with. Why had she thought this was a good idea? But before she could say that white wine was fine, she remembered that she wasn’t supposed to drink anything that had been left on a table. That Chip could have put in some kind of date rape drug.