For the First Time: Twenty-One Brand New Stories of First Love (35 page)

Rachel makes a sympathetic noise. “I agree that you could do with a small wardrobe change, but Lisle, you’re beautiful just as you are. The reason you don’t have a man in your life is because you don’t want one.”

Lauren strikes me on the head with the ruler to emphasize Rachel’s point. Rachel gets up and pulls the ruler away and hands Lauren a soft toy instead.

“But I’m out there. I hang around with guys all the time. All my friends are guys,” I point out.

“Yes, but you encourage them to date other women. I’ve been out with you. You point out which girls are hot and you say to them, like Wyatt, you should
hit
that. Or ‘I’d tap that if I were a guy.’”

“
Wellll
, okay, but it’s true. I can appreciate a hot woman just as much as I appreciate a hot guy,” I protest.

Lauren slaps me in the face with the soft toy. I pull it away from her hand and set her on the floor. “Lauren is really aggressive.”

“She’s just picking up on the fact that you are saying really stupid things.” Rachel scoops up her youngest and grabs me. “Let’s go. I’m taking you to the salon to get your eyebrows waxed, and then we’re going shopping for some clothes that remind all the men you work with that you don’t actually have a penis. We’ll talk about the rest of your issues at that time. Maybe the chemicals in the coloring formula will have softened your thick head.”

I follow her out, rubbing the sore spot that Lauren hit with the ruler a few too many times. My head doesn’t feel
that
dense.

*     *     *

I can’t stop
staring at myself. They thinned my eyebrows and Rachel had them do a complimentary make-up session at the end. They’d given me a tinted sunscreen to put on every morning and a berry-colored stain that I could rub on my cheeks and my lips. The hardest thing for me to replicate at home was the brown pencil that I am supposed to draw around my eyes. I’m not convinced I can do that, but the whole make-up routine didn’t take more than a couple of minutes.

Rachel smartly didn’t try to give me anything complicated and the effect of a little eyeliner, mascara and lipstick makes me look …mysterious and different and sexy. I’m still me, but a hotter version. I wish I could go out tonight to test the goods, but it’s Monday and Wyatt’s coming over for the game.

But maybe he’d want to go to Mulligan’s. I could flirt with the bartender, Scott, as practice. He flirts with everyone who comes in, and so I could pick up some pointers from him.

The door flies open and I jump back from the hall mirror.

“Games going to be on in five…” Wyatt’s voice trails off. His eyes sweep over me, taking in my new style and my new clothes. Rachel had me buy a knit pencil skirt that was stretchy enough to accommodate my big bottom and not so short that I feared I was flashing my private parts at every stranger in the room. She topped it with a long-sleeved knit top that was shirred at the side. It covered my round stomach and drew attention to my “spectacular” cleavage. Adjective supplied by Rachel and the lady at Nordstroms in the bra department. I’m still getting used to the deep valley between my boobs, and Wyatt’s glower is not helping. “What the hell, Lisle?”

I fight the urge to round my shoulders and hide my body. I’m hot-Lisle, and if I’m not used to it, I guess it’s reasonable that Wyatt is shocked too. I lift my chin and stare at him in challenge. “I got a haircut, remember?”

“I’m not talking about your hair. I’m talking about all of this.” He waves his hand down my body. “You’re wearing a skirt. You have make-up on. Are you going out with Wilkins tonight? This is Monday night. We watch football on Monday nights!” Wyatt angrily slams his six-pack on the side table.

I brush my bangs away from my face in confusion. “I still want to watch the game. I thought we’d go to Mulligan’s instead. And why are you so obsessed with Grant all of a sudden?”

He plants one hand on his hip and grabs the back of his neck with the other hand. A classic Wyatt sign of frustration. I had seen it in action before when he was talking to a sub-contractor who screwed up.

I’ve clearly done something to make Wyatt upset, but I don’t have the first clue as to what it could be.

“I’m obsessed with Grant?” He laughs mirthlessly. “You’re the one who is changing everything to make him happy. You’re even thinking of moving away from me.”

Away from
him?
What does that even mean?

“For the last time, I do not like Grant Wilkins. He doesn’t even like football, for God’s sakes. What would I talk to him about?” I throw out my arms, completely exasperated by this line of questioning and Wyatt’s fixation on the construction company’s lawyer. “Maybe you like him and are jealous that I’m spending time with him? Is that it? Well, next time Grant Wilkins calls the office and wants to schedule a meeting to talk about S corporations, then you’re going to be the one to sit with him for two hours while he drones on about codes and case law.” I jab Wyatt in the chest.

He grabs my offending finger and drags me up against his chest. His breath is rough and a wild look is in his eyes. I don’t recognize this version of Wyatt. Like me, he’s undergone a transformation but his is internal.

“I’m jealous,” he grinds out. “Is that what you want to hear? That you make me jealous? That I’ve been wanting you for years, waiting for me to see me as a man not just a random body that sits in your living room and drinks beer?” His hand sweeps out and knocks the cans off the table.

I lean down to grab them but my hands are shaking so hard that six-pack drops to the floor. I stare at the cans splayed on the floor while Wyatt’s words ricochet around my brain. Wyatt’s jealous. Wyatt wants to be with me?

“But…you’ve never said,” I manage to stammer out, my eyes pinned to the floor. I’m afraid to look at him because I know he’ll see my hope, my love, my utter vulnerability.

Above me he makes an agonized sound. “Will you leave the beer alone and look at me?”

“I’m afraid,” I whisper. I look down at the stretchy fabric of my skirt. I feel the tickle of bangs on my forehead. I remember the slight, but obvious brush of Wyatt’s erection when he jerked me against his body. I don’t want to lose Wyatt as a friend, but isn’t it him that I want to build that big house with? And isn’t it him that I want to see every night before I shut my eyes? And isn’t it him that I want to grow old with? Isn’t it better to take a chance?

I take a deep breath and push to my feet. Wyatt’s hair is standing up and his lips are flattened in an unhappy line but he’s still here and he’s clearly waiting.

Here goes everything.

“W
e’re friends.” I
search his familiar gaze, one that I conjure up before I close my eyes at night and the one that I seek out in my dreams, and for the first time I see something more than friendliness there.

“And that’s all, right?” He takes a deep breath and then takes a step back. My eyes involuntarily drop to the vicinity of his zipper. The sight of his shaft pushing against the denim rouses a corresponding ache between my own legs.

“I didn’t realize there could be more for us.” The words are barely a whisper. I raise my agonized eyes to his face. His jaw is set, but there’s no less lust in his expression. “You…you’re always dating someone.”

Wyatt always has women buzzing around him. At Mulligan’s. When we go out to lunch. They even show up at the job sites.

“I’m not dating anyone. I haven’t been with anyone since college,” he says between clenched teeth.

“Not since Heidi?” I ask in utter shock. Heidi was his college girlfriend. He dated her for two years. She hated me. Hated my friendship with Wyatt. I don’t know what happened to end their relationship, but one day he showed up and said that they were over. And he never had another girlfriend, but I thought for sure he’d been hooking up. There’d been so many offers. Numbers slipped into his pockets. Napkins left by waitresses. Cards dropped onto tables by women who apparently took one look at how he ate his roast beef sandwich and thought to themselves,
I want a piece of that.

“Yeah. She was an utter shithead to you, and I feel guilty I didn’t notice it sooner. She wanted me to stop being friends with you and I told her to go to hell.” Wyatt runs an unsteady hand through his tousled hair. “I don’t want to talk about Heidi. I want to talk about you. Your makeover. Your desire to move. What’s this all about?”

“It’s about wanting more.” I search for the right words. “I want a family, a big house filled with people. I want love…and marriage.”

His eyes flash with something I think is joy.

“Then you’ll damn well have more with me.” He jerks me back against his body and fixes his mouth against mine. Wyatt isn’t my first kiss, but he kisses me differently than I’ve ever been kissed before. It’s not just his lips against mine. It’s the nonverbal torrent of emotion conveyed through the press of our bodies. It’s lust, longing, want, desire, need, all tumbled into a ball passed between us. Time passes. The moon shifts, the tides come in, the earth rolls on its axis, but we remain clenched together.

One hand glides down to cup my rear, pulling me even closer against him. The other tangles in my hair to hold my head at precisely the right angle for the onslaught of his passionate kiss.

I cling to him as a tornado of feeling swirls around my small apartment. He lifts me, mid-kiss, and carries me to the sofa. Somehow he manages to get us prone without breaking contact.

He’s a magician.

The mere touch of his mouth, the sweep of his tongue, his hands
over
my clothes is arousing me into a fitful state, the kind I’ve never experienced before.

“Wyatt. Wyatt,” I murmur against his mouth. I tug at his t-shirt, trying to pull it up over his head, or at least bare some of that tawny skin.

He leans back slightly and rips the t-shirt off. I take a moment to appreciate the view, the golden hair dusting his pectorals and a slightly darker line leading into his jeans.

“Touch me, Lisle,” he says. He pulls my hand up and places the shaking appendage on his ridged abdomen. I run the tips of my fingers over the rectangular muscles, up to his hard pectorals. “You’re going the wrong way,” he teases, and bends down to place his mouth against the slope of my neck.

I whimper at the exquisite pleasure of it. “What’s happening to us?” I ask.

Wyatt gives me a gentle smile and runs a finger across my forehead, tickling the fringe of my bangs. “Why don’t you tell me? I’ve asked you before. Why are you making all these changes?”

I’ve been telling myself, my friends, my family a sack of lies for years. It’s time to come clean. “For you.”

He strokes a work-roughened hand down my face. “Was that so hard?”

“Yes.” I nod miserably. “Very hard. My heart is beating so fast, I think you might need to call emergency services.”

“Let me feel.” He reaches up to cup my left breast, and that simple touch is nearly enough to send me into a tailspin. “I can’t tell,” he whispers against my cheek. “There’s too much fabric for me.”

His hand glides under my shirt. My bra is unclasped in an instant. His fingers sweep across the tips of my nipples, and it’s a good thing I’m lying down, because my knees feel like jelly. The deep V-neck of my top is swept aside, and his mouth latches on to the erect tip of my nipple. He sucks in hard, the sides of his cheeks hollowing out, and I feel every pull as if there’s a direct line from my breast to my core.

I spread my legs, wanting to feel that hard erection against me, but my damn skirt is too tight. He releases a chuckle against my breast and tugs me upright. With little fanfare, he disposes of my shirt, my bra and my skirt until all I’m left with is a naughty black lace thong.

The cool air makes me feel self-conscious. I don’t have a hard body. I’m shaped by too many caramel lattes and ice-cream desserts. I plaster my hands over my boobs and crotch, but Wyatt tsks his tongue against the roof of his mouth and peels my hands away. “You’re so damn beautiful, Lisle. I liked having you to myself. Now everyone is going to see how hot you are. I’m going to have to carry around a bat to beat them off.”

Mischievously, my hand reaches between his legs. “I don’t think you need anything bigger than what you have.”

He groans. “Shit like that will result in you getting fucked too hard.”

I nearly faint at his threat. “Is there such a thing?”

“We’re going to find out if you don’t move your hand,” he replies grimly. He plucks my reluctant fingers from his zipper and simultaneously moves down the sofa while pushing me upright until I’m lounging against the arm with my knees splayed open.

He traces the edges of the black lace at the juncture of my legs, and with each sweep of his finger over the cloth, I grow wetter and wetter. He stares at me like I’m a banquet filled with all his favorite foods.

He reaches behind him and grabs one of the throw pillows and plumps it underneath my ass. “These have to go,” he orders, his voice guttural. He draws my panties down my legs and then pushes my thighs open. This time I don’t feel self-conscious. The naked want in his face reassures me that this is the most glorious vision he’s ever been privileged to lay eyes on.

Then he leans down and licks me and licks me and
licks
me. I shudder underneath him.
This is going to be over fast,
I think.

“No,” he answers, for I must have spoken out loud. “This is just the beginning.

Wyatt’s not tender. He doesn’t treat me like I’m a fragile flower. He attacks me. He pushes my thighs up and apart, opening me until there’s nowhere for me to hide. He buries his face between my legs, and I swear there is no part that he doesn’t lick or suck or nip. And as he devours me, he makes these sounds as if I’m so delicious he can’t keep quiet.

I dig my nails into the cushions as my whole body tautens under his onslaught. The orgasm takes me by surprise, exploding from my center, lifting my body off the cushions, and ripping a cry of ecstasy from my throat.

Limp and weak, I can only watch as he tears off his clothes until he is as bare as I am. He takes his huge shaft in his hands and jerks it roughly. Pearl white fluid appears on the tip and he uses it as lubrication. I raise my hand tentatively, wondering if I could touch him and feel his velvety skin against my palm.