CHAPTER ONE
Sarah
Saratoga Springs, New York
Tall, dark, and deliciously handsome. That’s Jack Westbrook.
I’ve known him for over a year now, and ever since the mutual acquaintance of our best friends thrust us together, I’ve wanted to include other types of thrusting in our equation. However, we’d been tiptoeing around the attraction with neither of us making any moves—until now—for multiple reasons:
I can finally say I am a nurse anesthetist <does happy dance> and at the point where work and school won’t nix any existence of a social life.
Jack had been seeing someone in Boston, and it’d been casually mentioned in passing that they’d amicably ended things. (And I can neither confirm nor deny this news made me do a hearty fist pump. <avoids eye contact> Okay, fine. I confirm it.)
Do I really want to date the best friend of my best friend’s fiancé? And does that question sound as incestuously confusing to you as it does to me?
Let’s just say I’m certain I wouldn’t scoff if his penis were to get “busy” with the inner workings of my vagina. In fact, my anticipation of this is at an all-time high. It’s been far too long since I’ve been with a guy. My poor hoo-ha basically has cobwebs—that’s how long it’s been. Frankly, it wouldn’t surprise me if the next guy who parts my legs to go “downtown” hears a crypt opening, complete with dust and bats suddenly flying out.
That was pretty graphic, actually. Especially with the bats. I think that’s what pushed it overboard. Sorry about that.
Since it’s Maggie and Ry’s engagement dinner party, I went above and beyond to ensure that I look presentable for my best friend’s special night.
It has absolutely nothing to do with a tall, dark, and handsome six-foot-plus of sexual manliness. Nope. Not at all.
Lieslieslieslieslieslies. That’s what you chanted, right? Don’t worry; you’re not alone. I called bullshit on myself, too.
Can I just have a quick moment, please? Because Jack Westbrook is one hell of a freaking hot male specimen. He’s one of those guys who looks phenomenal wearing a sexy as hell business suit and just as delish wearing some jeans and a Henley. Jeans that cup him in all the right places. Allllll of them. Especially his ass and that other place.
Don’t shake your head at me. I can’t help that I’m a perv. I was born this way, just like Lady Gaga’s song. Yeah, I know. Now you’re pissed because you’ll have that song stuck in your head all day.
Anyway, back to the topic of Jack. Just saying his name makes me do that swoony sigh—the one all us ladies make fun of. But trust me when I say this swoony sigh is one hundred percent warranted.
I feel the doubt pouring off you in waves, so let me explain. Picture this: Dark hair that’s artfully tousled with enough length that you can imagine gripping it while he’s “downtown” and going all out in an “I’m eating you like it’s my last meal on earth” kind of thing.
Hey, now. I warned you that I’m a perv.
Then there’s his body. While I admittedly haven’t seen it uncovered—yet—I can tell he’s rocking some seriously hard muscles from playing racquetball with Ry at the gym. Racquetball is something I just don’t get, though. Who wants balls flying at their face at Mach speeds? Not this girl. In fact, I’m not a big fan of balls in general. They’re not nearly as interesting as penises.
Whoops. There I went—off on a tangent again.
Now, don’t get me wrong. I’m not entirely superficial. More than just Jack’s good looks enamor me. He happens to have a wicked sense of humor and can be a perv like me, too. I appreciate that in a guy. He’s also smart as hell and is an independent business consultant. From what I can tell, he’s in high demand and nearing the point where he may have to turn some jobs down because of his jam-packed schedule.
Maggie and Ry’s engagement dinner party gave me the perfect excuse to get beautified…and show Jack what he’s been missing. I pulled out all the stops with my hair, makeup, and attire to ensure I’d hold his rapt attention.
Surrounded by the family and friends of Ry and Maggie, we’re sitting in the large banquet room of the historical restaurant, Longfellows, situated in downtown Saratoga Springs.
Jack’s deep voice carries over the audience. “Maggie and Ry met in an unconventional way. Their story is unique, filled with endless shenanigans, laughter, and most importantly”—he breaks off to smile down at the couple seated to his right—“love.”
Shifting his gaze, it dances across the rest of the audience before resting on me an extra beat, and he continues.
“These two are perfect for one another because they’re the best of friends who know each other inside and out and love each other, not in spite of their imperfections but in addition to them. They love one another for the good qualities as well as the not so favorable ones.
“They savor every quality the other has because that’s what makes each of them unique. That all those qualities combined have made the person they’ve fallen in love with. That those qualities have come together to make that person real. Imperfect, flawed yet…” Jack smiles down at Maggie and Ry before his voice lowers a decibel, becoming softer, more intimate. “Two imperfectly, flawed individuals found their other half. Together, their imperfections, their flaws, disappear. Instead, all you can see when you look at them is simply love.”
Raising his champagne glass to toast, he appears to have a slight sheen in his eyes. “To love, laughter, and happily ever after. To Maggie and Ry!”
“To Maggie and Ry!” we all chant in return before taking a sip of our champagne.
To love, laughter, and happily ever after.
Huh. Apparently cute guy rhymes, too. Not to mention, he totally showed me up. Damn it. My speech pales compared to his.
Not that I’m bitter or anything, but geez. Can’t a girl have a moment to shine?
At least I’ve got this fancy strapless dress. It’s blue and satiny, fitted, and I’m pretty sure my boobs look great with this new push-up bra I’m wearing. Who knew these things could be so amazing? I’m not gonna lie; I’ve totally been sneaking peeks at my own chest tonight because I think I’m falling in love with these girls and the way they look.
The blue of this dress matches my eyes, so I’m working that angle because I figure it’s worth a shot. If my chest doesn’t mesmerize Jack, then maybe my eyes will do the trick. Aside from my phenomenal personality, of course.
Yeah, I think I rolled my eyes at myself on that last one.
After the toast, the wait staff places a dessert at each seat, and I make my way to the restroom. As I head off to the quieter section of the restaurant—Ry’s dad rented it out for this particular occasion—my eyes take in the authentic, rustic feel of this place given by the ceiling’s large crisscrossed wooden beams and the stonework.
After washing, I reach inside my small clutch to retrieve my little guilty pleasure and quickly take a tiny bite of chocolate. I swear these suckers are the best after some champagne. As much as I love Maggie, her choice of dessert—red velvet cake—is not my favorite.
I check the foil wrapper for the little message written on the inside—Chocolate cures everything (Isn’t that the truth?)—before replacing the remainder back in my purse.
Exiting the restroom, I only make it two steps before someone snags my wrist, and I’m tugged over to a small alcove. My back against the smooth, wooden accent wall, I’m instantly caged in by one hundred percent, USDA choice male. And when his gaze drops to my chest before returning to my eyes, I mentally high five myself while uttering a gracious thank you to my bra.
“I haven’t had a chance to talk to you.” His deep blue eyes flicker to my lips for a moment. “To properly say hello and…congratulations on everything.”
God. Not only is his voice pure sex, but the fact that he’s congratulating me on becoming a nurse anesthetist, the fact that he’s clearly paid enough attention to know this, sends warmth running through me. Also, in case you’re wondering if it’s possible that he made me orgasm simply by speaking to me, the answer is yes.
Okay, fine. Maybe it wasn’t a full-fledged orgasm, but it was definitely a mini one. Like a tiny little jolt, not a full-blown one that would leave me an embarrassed and sweaty mess.
“Thank you.” Heat suffuses my cheeks, and I try to play it off like my panties aren’t damp as hell. “So is it true?”
He cocks an eyebrow and… For the love! How is practically everything he does so damn sexy? It’s just not fair.
“Is what true?” His tone is playful. “That Maggie’s realized she’s planning to marry the wrong guy?” He scoffs playfully. “Of course.”
With a smirk, I swat at his chest. “As amusing as your response is, no, not that.” I pause, tipping my head to the side inquisitively. “Is it true that you’re back on the market?”
Jack offers a slight shrug. “Guess so. At least that’s what they tell me.” Then he grins. “Why do you ask?”
I mimic his shrug. “Oh, because I might know someone who’s curious.”
“Really?” He leans in closer, and that grin turns even hotter. “Might this someone have silky blond hair and a wicked way of speaking her mind?”
“Mmm…quite possibly.” Reaching out, I tuck a finger beneath the waist of his suit pants. “That someone might be dying to see”—I give a slight tug—“exactly what you’ve got going on beneath these.”
His head descends slowly, bringing his lips to the shell of my ear. They brush lightly against it, sending shivers down my spine.
“Well, it just so happens I’ve been wondering the same thing about you.” He drags an index finger across my bare shoulder, and his teeth nip at my earlobe as his gravelly, deep voice whispers, “Especially in this sexy dress of yours.”
Panties have disintegrated. I repeat. Panties. Have. Disintegrated.
And we all know what that means: Sarah’s lady parts are bursting free from the gates—like those old movies where the school bell rings for dismissal on the last day of class and everyone rushes out the front doors in mayhem, desperate to be free. That’s exactly what my lady parts did. They burst free and practically pulled a Julie Andrews’s move, dancing around merrily and singing, “We’re aliiiiiiive and readyyyyyyy, Jack!”
Things got weird for you just then, didn’t they? Well, brace yourself because that’s pretty much me.
Allllll the time.
I make the decision while he’s whispering in my ear in that panty-melting voice of his to do it. I turn my head and catch him off guard, our lips meet, and it happens.
It freaking happens!
The fireworks. The heat. The feeling in the pit of my stomach where just a little bit of “magic” mixes in with lust. That’s exactly what I’m feeling. We’re talking decadent, orgasm-inducing goodness.
With simply one kiss from Jack Westbrook.