Page 38 of Feels Like the First Time
“Good to know. Because once you’ve had Hawk, trust me, no other man compares.”
Ali swallowed. If a man-eater such as Colleen couldn’t handle a man like Hawk, what made Ali think she could?
He’d made her a promise, that was how. Hawk had promised her that their friendship wouldn’t be affected. And if there was one person who had never let her down, it was Hawk.
“Thanks for the warning, but I’ve got this,” she assured herself.
“Good to hear.” With a smile that was more pity than convinced, Colleen took her drink and stood. “By the way, he’s standing by the pool tables, in case you were still worried that he was going to bolt and leave.”
“I know what I’m doing,” Ali said, but Colleen was already gone, leaving Ali to question her own statement.
Did she know what she was doing?
Yes, she knew the truth and he’d made her a promise. But Hawk wasn’t responsible for her heart, had no control over how she felt about him. He was charming by nature, and would never purposefully lead Ali on. But that didn’t mean that she wouldn’t read into things, like she’d done when they’d been younger and he’d chosen Bridget.
She still remembered the look on his face the first time he’d met Bridget. It was a look that Ali had seen a lot with regard to her sister. But seeing it on Hawk had been devastating. It obliterated any of the looks he’d ever given Ali.
It had also obliterated any hope she had of anything more with him. Because his look wasn’t one of infatuation, like most men with Bridget. No. Hawk’s had been love.
And men like Hawk had a singular focus when it came to love. Leaving Ali the odd person out—with both her sister and her best friend.
With a tired sigh, Ali picked up her glass and emptied it, letting the burn slowly slide down her throat and warm her stomach. Then poured herself another, because she was an adult and could do what she wanted. She was no longer the seventeen-year-old girl madly in love with her sister’s boyfriend. She was a mature woman who knew what she wanted, and could handle one night of being pampered by a sexy man.
Her life right now was consumed with her sister’s wedding, her mother’s games, and making sure Marty lived to see a hundred. She could use a little pampering. And a little confidence that she did have this, that she wasn’t being naïve, gal-pal Ali.
Ali grabbed the whiskey bottle, a plate full of chicken skewers—not wings but better than lamb-stuffed mushrooms—and headed toward the storage room. It was empty, but she wasn’t surprised. When Hawk said he had something to take care of, she knew where he was really going.
Sneaking out the back door, she took off her shoes and headed up the fire escape on the back of the building. Bottle in her cleavage, plate in one hand, she made her way up the rungs, the cold metal refreshing on her feet.
She reached the roof and found Hawk sitting on the far ledge, his legs dangling over the edge, staring out at the glow from the lighthouse in the distance bouncing off the waves.
He’d removed his jacket, those broad shoulders pressing against the fabric of his shirt, and his hair was mussed from the breeze. Or maybe running his fingers through it. He looked big, beautiful, and a little lost.
She’s seen him camp out up here a lot over the years. Had sat there with him a hundred times since they were kids. After a disappointing visit with her mom, or when his dad was being particularly cruel, or sometimes just to have someone to sit with and share a beer. This was where Hawk would come to think, and she was the only person he’d ever shared this spot with.
As a teenager, it made her feel special; as his “girlfriend,” it made her feel uncertain. She didn’t know why he was there, or if she’d be welcome. Or worse, if he’d come there to rehash his relationship with Bridget. All she knew was something about the night felt different.
“Please tell me you brought food that isn’t covered in fish eggs or requires extensive linguistic skills to pronounce,” he said, and she realized he’d been waiting for her.
“I brought chicken on a stick and Jack,” Ali said, taking the seat next to him and dangling her feet over the edge. “No glasses.”
“My kind of date.” He turned and smiled, soft and warm, andthis, Ali thought, her heart beating against her rib cage,is the real deal.
It might not be the kind of love she’d once dreamed of, but their connection and this relationship were real. Unique. And stronger than any one moment or situation.
She laid the plate of chicken between them and hoisted the bottle of Jack out of her cleavage. She took a sip and offered it to him.
His smile turned wicked, his eyes turned lower to the top of her dress, and her legs turned to mush. “When I said ‘my kind of date,’ I was referring to the body shot I thought you were offering.”
“Are women that easy for you to charm?” she joked, but after her conversation with Colleen, she really wondered what his answer would be. “Never mind, I forget the kind of women you date.”
“I’m only looking to charm one woman tonight,” he said, taking the bottle, andSweet Baby Jesus, the man was potent. And sweet, and knew how to make her laugh.
And she needed to laugh tonight. To have some fun and forget about what was going on downstairs. Remember how easy things could be with Hawk.
“Well, the night is almost over, playboy, so I’d say that A-game you were bragging about is coming up a little short.”
He looked at her bare feet and grinned. “Really? Because how I see it, on a scale of one to ten, I’m already at about an eight.”
