Abby
There’s a bottle of blood-red wine in the front room, courtesy of Calandra and Ryan. I guess Calandra figured I’d need it after wrestling her to her own wedding. I wonder if there’s one in Zach’s room.
The bridesmaids and I had packed up Calandra’s stuff before going down to see her married, and she’d taken the suitcases when she left with Ryan. This room is tidy, my things hidden away in the bedroom.
I kick off my shoes, happy to be out of the heels. I offer the wine—we’ve danced so much my buzz has worn off a little. Zach, a gentleman, opens it and pours.
“To success,” he says to me, and we touch glasses before we drink.
I know he means the wedding and us making it through to the end. Ryan and Calandra are off to the mountains, and we can relax.
“I’ll miss her,” I say with sudden sadness as I sit down.
“Yeah, I know what you mean.” Zach stretches out in a chair and crosses his feet. “Ryan’s a pain in the ass, but he’s a good brother. I’ll be glad when he comes home.”
“They need some time alone, those two kids.” I try to keep my voice light.
“Serious time alone. What about you?” Zach skewers me with his baby blues. “Who do you spend alone time with?”
“My dog.”
“Yeah? What kind of dog?”
“German Shepherd. Mixed with … something. He’s a rescue. He’s my mom’s dog actually, but I love the guy.” Muttly is a sweetheart and better company than a lot of men I’ve known.
“I have a big yard but no pets at the moment.” Zach sounds regretful, which makes me believe he likes dogs. A plus.
“I know you want to ask if I have a boyfriend,” I say. “The answer is nope. I was going out with a guy, but it fizzled.”
It fizzled because I couldn’t talk to him. I mean, not even normal day-to-day conversation, let alone anything deep. I’d start on a topic, and he’d brush it off. Or I’d say, “I ran into—name of mutual acquaintance—today …” and he’d say scornfully, “So?”
It became obvious he didn’t give a shit about me or who I talked to, or anything I did or wanted to do, so I stopped calling him, and he stopped calling me.
I find myself telling Zach all this. He listens. Not pretends to listen while drinking his wine, checking his texts, scrolling through his social media, wondering what’s on the sports channels … He listens. Looks at me. Not through me.
I don’t sob about the guy I drifted apart from. I simply tell the story, and Zach nods as though he understands.
The conversation continues. Zach and I talk about so many things—people we used to know from our old school, what our parents are up to, what we’re doing now.
“So why do you still live in Chandler?” he asks as the wine bottle slowly empties.
I take a sip and shrug. “It’s close to work, close to my mom, has easy access to the lakes and mountain hiking. What’s not to love? Why do you live in mid-town Phoenix?” I counter.
His lips twitch. “Close to work, has cool historic houses, access to hiking, close to sports venues. Plenty to love. Except the traffic.”
I roll my eyes. We talk about traffic, because everyone in Phoenix does, and about how long it takes to get anywhere, and why the hell is there always so much construction?
We turn to the things we want to do in our lives—both of us have an itch to travel. He wants to hike the Arizona Trail, which stretches from one end of the state to the other. I think that would be cool. I’d like to go up north—by which I mean the Arizona Strip, north of the Colorado River, and to the Vermillion Cliffs. Zach stops short of asking if we should go together, and so do I.
I like this bubble of casualness—no pressure, no anticipation, no practicalities. Just friends catching up on old times, talking about what we might do, what we dream of doing, no expectations that we have to do anything at all.
Soon I have my feet curled up, wondering if I dare duck into the other room and take off my bra. He unties his bow tie and opens his coat but doesn’t take the coat off, like he’s comfortable. I don’t want to leave the room, because he might not be here when I come back.
We get started on the differences between a man’s take on weddings and a woman’s. I’m surprised Zach doesn’t think all women get weepy about white ribbons and tulle, and he laughs at me when I say bachelor parties are about strippers and sports.
“We drank beer, cooked out, and shot the breeze.” Zach lounges farther down into his chair, legs outstretched. “Talked about old times and made fun of Ryan. Made fun of him a lot. Austin wanted a stripper, but Ryan said no. His party, his rules.” Zach sends me a sly glance. “I hear you ladies had one, though.”
I flush. “Maybe.” Yes, we did. We truly did. That was one hot man falling out of a Velcro-ed suit.
Not as hot as Zach, some demon inside me whispers.
“What did he dress up as?” Zach asks. “Fireman? Cop? Botanist?”
I chuckle. “Stripper. He wore a tux, actually. Pretended to be the best man …” I trail, off my face flaming, as the best man in front of me collapses into laughter.
“Seriously?” he splutters.
“His choice. We didn’t rehearse him.”
Zach jumps to his feet. Sways to his feet more like. The wine bottle is all but finished.
“Something like this?” He sidles his shoulders, peeling his coat from them and catching the coat with his arms.
“Stop.” I hold out my hand, unable to contain my laughter. Also, his mimicry is making me horny. Zach is a fine-looking man.
Zach lets the coat slide from his arms to the floor. He starts scatting “The Stripper” in a raunchy voice. “Dah dah dant dant, dah dah dant dant …”
Off comes his cummerbund, which flies across the room. He’s wearing suspenders, which he stretches out comically before he drops them down his shoulders. Zach streams the dangling bow tie from around his neck like a feather boa and emphatically throws it to the floor.
Now he’s unbuttoning his shirt. Pop, pop, pop go the buttons, his throat and chest bared by the V in his undershirt coming into view.
I’m on my feet, dancing to his singing. I must be drunk, because I start unzipping the back of my dress. Whew, it’s a relief to loosen it. I unhook my bra, exhaling for the first time all night.
Zach keeps on with the shirt, grinning at me, encouraging. He thrusts the shirt down his arms. There’s a funny moment when the cuffs get caught on his wrists, but he determinedly wrenches them open, buttons flying, as he keeps up the song.
I sing along. I’m not really going to strip, says the back of my mind, even as I slip my arms out of the cap sleeves. I hold the dress to my bosom and shimmy out of my stockings. It’s way too hot for those.
The two of us dancing around pretend stripping brings us close. I fling my stockings aside and ram right into him.
Everything stops.
The room grows silent, the music in my head puttering out.
Zach’s face is near mine. His beard shadow has deepened in the last hours, lamplight burnishing it. He looks straight into my eyes, as though he can see everything inside me, everything lonely, everything sad, every missed opportunity.
In him I read the same loneliness, the feeling of standing on the sidelines of life. Tonight we’re standing there together.
To hell with it. I slam myself against him and kiss him full on the mouth.
Electrifying. I’m not kidding. A jolt runs down my body and out my feet as I wrap my arms around him.
A long time ago, on a planet far, far away, Zach kissed me. We were thirteen, me wondering what it would be like to kiss a boy.
I’d been both floored and disappointed. The touch of warmth, the intimacy, knocked me back, but the wet inexperience had made me decide it had been a bad idea.
Twenty years later, kissing Zach McLaughlin is a completely different story.
Warmth and intimacy flood me again, but our inexperience has vanished. Zach’s lips are firm, his kiss full of heat. He cups the back of my neck and pulls me closer, tongue opening my mouth.
I welcome him in, tasting the wine, the whisky, the spice that is Zach. That spice excites me, makes me want more. The kiss turns fierce, and I have a burning in my bones that tells me where this is going.
After a long time, Zach slides his hands to my shoulders, encouraging my loosened dress down my arms. Next he catches the straps of my bra, which fall after my dress.
His hands find my breasts, his palms hard with outdoor work, but gentle, caressing. Zach’s kisses also caress, and our lips meet in silence, our bodies close as we explore each other.
Zach releases me from the kiss, drawing a ragged breath as he gazes at me. “The beauty of you,” he whispers. “It’s blowing me away.”
I flush, loving the compliment and not knowing what to do with it. For answer I push open his shirt, running my hands across his T-shirted chest. I feel his heart beating beneath my fingertips, pound-pounding as his ribcage rises with his breath.
I tug at the T-shirt, wanting him as bare as I am.
Zach grins and pulls the shirt off over his head. I feast my eyes on the dense muscles of his torso, his six-pack abs that attest to a lot of crunches at the gym.
The smooth skin of his chest is dusted with black hair, wiry curls catching my fingertips. His flat nipples tighten under my touch.
Zach makes a noise in his throat. His thumb caresses the tips of my nipples, the fire he starts making me incoherent. I tilt my head for more kisses, needing them, desire hot between my legs.
He holds me with one hand planted solidly on my back, the other lightly on my breast while he kisses me. And kisses me. I wriggle my fingers under his waistband, reaching for the honed ass I’d spied inside his tux trousers.
I find the satin skin, the tight flesh. Another noise leaves his throat as I let my fingers play.
Zach breaks off, breathless, eyes heavy as he looks down at me. “Abby …”
The name caresses me as much as his fingers on my bare skin.
“Let’s take this to the bedroom,” I whisper.
Here’s his chance to run, to find his brothers and laugh about how easy his childhood flame, Abby Warren, has become.
Zach gazes down at me with need. “Okay.”
I take his hand, and lead him there.
Zach
Abby apologizes for the mess in the bedroom of her suite, but I barely notice the boxes, the makeup on top of the dresser, the silk flowers piled next to the television. I glimpse Calandra’s bridal gown hanging in the closet before Abby swiftly closes its door.
She comes to me, holding the yellow fabric of her bridesmaid’s dress over her fabulous breasts. She has curves, does Abby. I can’t wait to touch them again.
The bed is smooth and inviting, the pillows plumped, sheets turned down for the night. There’s a chocolate on each nightstand. This hotel is big on service.
I can’t believe Abby’s inviting me to stay, but I’m not arguing either. She gives me her lopsided smile, her eyes sparkling as we approach the bed.
I want to kiss her again, so I pull her into my arms. Her mouth tastes of sweetness and smooth wine, her lips plump. I gently bite her lower one.
Her dress falls as she lifts her arms to encircle my neck, and I help it shimmy all the way to the floor. She’d already tossed off her stockings in the other room, so I have a nearly naked Abby against me, except for the tiny slash of her yellow underwear, which matches the dress.
I’m so busy enjoying kissing and touching her that I don’t realize she’s undone my pants until they’re around my ankles. That must be so sexy—a guy with his pants pooling around his socks and shoes.
The trousers are loose, so I kick them away.
Abby pulls back to look me over. The smile she beams tells me she’s laughing her ass off at me, but I don’t care. The sight of her, bare for me, tan lines around her shoulders and waist, more than make up for me looking stupid.
I take advantage of the lull to toe off my shoes. I try pulling off my socks, but they get stuck, and I’m hopping, tugging at the black torture devices. Meanwhile Abby’s laughing some more.
She disappears into the bathroom, and for a second, I fear she’s going to shut and lock the door, leaving me to gather up my clothes and slither off, but she’s out almost right away, dropping something on the nightstand. I don’t see what it is as I’m now on the edge of the bed, yanking off the socks.
Abby stands before me, five foot five of beautiful. Hands on my shoulders, she slowly pushes me back onto the bed.
I let her. I surrender. Why the hell wouldn’t I?
Right in front of me my eyes, she peels off her underwear and then leans to me, fingers tugging at my waistband.
I wriggle out of the boxer briefs and send them after my socks. My cock is standing up straight, impressed with Abby. Wanting her. Excitement pumps through me like a shot of single malt.
She gazes at my cock and then reaches out and runs her fingertips up it.
I almost explode. I seize her by the arms and pull her down to the bed, kissing her, wanting to be inside her more than I’ve ever wanted anything in my life.
The bed shakes as I turn her on her back, coming down on top of her. She’s a warm armful, squirming against me without coyness. Her eyes hold me, the soft brown shining as much as the glitter in her hair.
Abby flutters one hand to the nightstand, and I see it. Condom. Wow, this hotel is truly prepared …
I snatch it up. “Where did this come from?”
“Calandra.” Abby’s face turns scarlet. “She gave me a box as a joke.”
“Ha ha,” I say, deadpan. “Funny. And convenient.”
“Because she knows you were my first kiss, and she said when we got together again, sparks would fly.”
I consider this for about two seconds, maybe less. “Don’t care. Thank you, Calandra,” I say to the air.
I rip open the packet and drop to the bed to slide the thing on. It’s cold, and I don’t like condoms, but they’re necessities if you’re going to have a one-night-stand.
I hesitate another split second. Is that what this is? What it will be? A one-night-stand with Abby and nothing more?
My body is on fire, my adrenaline off the scale. Worry about it later.
Abby welcomes me down to her, her smile as sweet as a summer day. I brush back her hair, kiss her mouth, and slowly slide inside her.