Whiskey Kisses

by Addison Moore

  “Izzy”—she whispers so low it sounds like a hiss—“those words were meant for sharing.” She bears into me with a solemn nod. “The sooner the better.” She gets up and pours me a tall glass of milk and pushes the pan in my direction. “So—how was it? Did you walk funny in the morning? ‘Cause if you didn’t, I hate to break it to you—you did it wrong.”

  She hedges her hand toward mine, and I’m quick to smack her away.

  “Walk funny? I could barely stand. You didn’t tell me it would feel like someone scraped me raw with a sanding belt.”

  “Ooh!” She squeals. “He must be a big one.” Jemma starts in with a spontaneous applause.

  “Would you stop?” I throw a piece of my cookie at her. “I’m glad you’re amused, and, since you asked, yes, he is well-endowed.” Not that I would know the difference, but my insides seem to confirm this theory all on their own.

  “Anything else?” She gravels it out, rife with sexual pretense. “Does that boy like toys—or was his new pet kitty enough to keep him occupied?”

  “No toys. But he does have an affinity for syrup.” I clamp my hand over my mouth because I’m about to regret this.

  Jemma lets out a whoop and stomps both her hands over the table like she’s rooting for the home team, and, in a way, she is.

  “I called it!” She howls. “That boy is a freak of nature.”

  “He is, but in a good way. I’m afraid together we might be just plain freaks.” I wrinkle my nose. “I hate that I’m older than him.”

  “You’re insane.”

  “No, really. It sort of bugs me. I mean not when we’re together. I don’t even notice it. But I wonder if other people do. Is that weird?”

  “Yes, and I think we’ve already established the fact you’re weird in general, so get over it. You’re the new it couple. You’re the couple of the new millennium. You’re like Ashton and Demi.”

  “Newsflash Ashton and Demi aren’t together anymore. He’s currently with a much younger woman.”

  “So sue me. I’ve got kids and live under a Dora-shaped rock.” She leans in like a tiger about to pounce. “So you sharing? Or is this one going on the private reserve list.”

  “No, I’m not sharing.”

  “Sharing is caring.”

  God, she’s drooling now.

  “Creating STDs does not say you care. Holt is mine, back off, Jem. Besides, aren’t you off the market?”

  She blows out an unsteady breath. “Ron says he wants to see other people.”

  “See? As in see other people?”

  “As in see what they have to offer under the hood, take ‘em for a test drive—you know the drill—try out another model.” She picks up a cookie and taps it over the table. “But I guess I’m okay with it.” She shakes out her blonde curls, and they catch the light streaming in from the window. I’ve always admired her lemon waves. In fact, I’ve always admired everything about Jemma, but, lately, her life just looks hard—three kids, almost just as many husbands under her belt, and now this new arrangement. I don’t think I could handle it if Holt were seeing other people on the side.

  “How are you okay with this?” I’m afraid to tread in this direction. I can tell by the crumbling look of grief on her face that she’s not okay with any of it.

  “I don’t know. I think maybe it’s time to settle down and find me a sugar daddy.” She blinks a quick smile. “God knows I’m going to need one. Denny hasn’t paid child support in two months. If this keeps up, I’ll be needing a J-O-B, and the only J-O-B I’m currently skilled at has the word blow in front of it.” Her expression sours. “Hey, you think Holt needs a new waitress at the bar?”

  “It’s not that kind of bar.” My lips twist. “I’m teasing. I’ll ask.”

  “Thanks. That way I can pull double duty and catch me one of those cute frat boys like you did. We can start our own sorority—the Cougar Club. Rawr!” She claws the air, and suddenly I’m fearing for my eyes and my social standing.

  “We’re not old enough to qualify as cougars.” I hope.

  “You just keep believing that. And if anyone gives you any shit. You tell them you’ve got an entire den of crazy cats just waiting to pounce.”

  “Crazy cats.” That sounds about right.

  Lila rushes in and snatches a cookie off the table.

  “Hey, that’s not fair!” She scolds through a laugh. “You guys ate all the cookies!”

  “Come here, you.” Jemma scoops her up and plants a sweet kiss on top of her little blonde head.

  “Hey girl!” I give her finger a quick tug. “When are you coming to dance for me?”

  “I gonna go when my momma tells me.” She smears the cookie over her mouth like lipstick.

  “Good girl.” Jemma buries another kiss in her hair before making crazy eyes at me. I know how Jemma feels about the financial commitment that goes along with the studio. It’s anything but cheap. The monthly tuition can easily equate to a small car payment.

  “How about I comp this one?” I give a little wink.

  “Your mother will shit a brick the size of a refrigerator.”

  Sometimes I think Jemma knows my mother better than I do.

  “She won’t have to. I’m thinking of taking over the studio. She wants to sell.”

  Jemma sucks in a never-ending breath. “Are you shitting me? I would have thought she’d keel over in that place before she ever gave it away. What’s the story?”

  “Greasy D was up to his old tricks, so I told him to take a hike. He took off, and now she’s blaming the studio for her inability to hang onto a ‘damn man.’”

  “Selling it over a damn man.” She mindlessly picks up a cookie with her gaze fixed on a faraway horizon. “I wonder what she would do if she found out it was you all along?”

  I wonder the exact same thing.

  That afternoon Laney sends a text and lets me know there’s a fitting at the bridal shop. I drive all the way to downtown Jepson with its metropolitan appeal, its skyscrapers—and a twinge of envy bites through me. Laney really does have it all. And I’m thrilled that Ryder is not only one of the nicest guys on the planet, but he’s established in life, too. I’d hate to see her in the same position as Jemma. Poor thing. I worry for her sanity almost as much as I do mine. But then I’m no Laney, either. I’ve got issues I could stack to the moon myself.

  I wonder how different my life would have been if that day never happened? If I would have found someone to talk to—someone who could have helped me move beyond the hellish borders of that night. Instead, I cemented my emotional feet in it and spent the next decade holding the rest of the world at bay. I wonder how different things would be—how far I could have gotten in life by now—if my father had just stuck around in the first place.

  The posh bridal shop comes up on my right, and I park and hop out.

  I wonder if I would have long since met my Mr. Right and had a few kids of my own by now. Would I still be at the studio? My head spins with the possibilities.

  Holt comes to mind with his hotter-than-a New York-sidewalk-in-July smile, those teeth that flash bright as a North Carolina sunrise each time he opens his mouth. Holt is a god among men and deserves to be venerated as such. I’m sure there are plenty of coeds ready and willing to drop to their knees for him. I wonder if I’m nothing more than some fantasy conquest left over from his childhood. But I don’t think I am. I can feel a real connection between us. Holt and I are on the path to something great if we ever let it get there.

  I step inside the overpriced dress shop, and the scent of spiced tea hits me, thick and suffocating. An entire sea of white candles glow along a granite counter. The facility alone is large enough to outfit an entire fleet of honeymoon bound 747s.

  Baya waves from the main room, and I make my way past countless bridal parties as they fawn over their own brides in the making.

  “Where’s Laney?” I give her a quick hug before joining Annie and Roxy on the white velvet sofa.

  �
�Trying on her dress.” Roxy hammers it out devoid of any emotion. Roxy has had the same hardcore personality since she was a kid. She’s consistent, I’ll give her that.

  “Have you seen it?” Baya bounces in her seat so hard that the entire sofa shakes with her Richter scale exuberance.

  “No, but I’m dying to.” I’ve invested more than Laney will ever know to make sure she gets her happily ever after.

  Annie pulls out her phone and jots something down before flashing it at me.

  Baya says you’re seeing my brother.

  I bite my lip and resist the urge to smile.

  “I don’t know, am I?” I shrug, and give a little laugh.

  Annie is quick to type out a reply.

  Are you coming to my Mom’s birthday party tomorrow night? She’s turning 50. It’s a pretty big deal. I’ll be cooking. I promise, it won’t kill you. I’m actually getting better in the kitchen.

  I give a little smile. My stomach cinches. I’m not sure Holt and I are at that phase in our non-relationship, but a part of me wants him to ask. I’ll be seeing him later. Maybe he will.

  “That would be nice.” My throat dries out at the thought. A family party is the exact kind of thing that couples do. “But he hasn’t really mentioned it.”

  I’m sure he will. She gives a sheepish smile. I’m glad you’re with Holt. I think you’re cute together.

  “Thank you. I’m glad I’m with Holt, too.” There, the words slipped out like oil, and I didn’t cringe or explode into a thousand remorseful pieces. Maybe it’s okay for me to say those words—to feel that way.

  Annie drops her phone and cups her hands over her mouth. Roxy gasps, and Baya jumps to her feet. I turn to find Laney—stunning, beautiful Laney—heading in this direction.

  “Oh my, God.” The words stream from me in a deflated whisper. I stand to greet her and take up her hands. She’s wearing a full white gown with layers of tulle and a sweetheart neckline. “You are a princess, through and through.” Tears spring to my eyes, and I don’t fight them.

  Laney beams as she steps up on the pedestal. She does a quick rotation in the three way mirror and presses her lips together because she’s about to lose it herself.

  “Your turn, Baya.” She wipes her face down as Baya makes her way to the back.

  “Laney, I can’t tell you enough how beautiful you look,” I say, trying to compose myself.

  “It’s true. You look like the perfect cake topper,” Roxy pipes up. “I’m just glad you’re letting me wear black. Come to think of it, I’ll probably wear black to my own wedding.”

  “You throwing your hat in the ring?” Laney glances at herself in the mirror from over her shoulder.

  “No way,” Roxy is quick to set her straight. “Cole and I are waiting until after graduation.” She turns to me. “We plan on hitting the ground running with our own businesses. He’s doing construction, and I’m opening a bakery.”

  “Sounds like I’ll be visiting you a lot.”

  Her eyes widen as Baya comes out. Baya stuns in a sleek mermaid gown with a full train and just enough sparkle to catch the light. She heads over to Laney and clasps her arms around her waist.

  “You both look amazing.” They look like jewels, like treasures, and they are.

  Annie, Roxy, and I each try on our bridesmaid dresses. Roxy and Annie both look gorgeous in the gowns they’ve chosen.

  The dress Laney hand selected for me is long with a rhinestone-encrusted waist and a plunging neckline that showcases my own jewels. I have to admit I look pretty damn good, but it’s a far cry from the matronly number I picked out for myself. In a way, I guess, the two dresses are symbolic of the lost girl I was and the woman slowly emerging in me. Holt pulled me from the mud and mire of the past. He’s washing me anew with his love. And now I can’t wait for him to see me in this dress—and then out of it.

  I wrap an arm around Laney as we look in the mirror.

  “It’s going to be a perfect day,” I whisper.

  Baya, Roxy, and Annie head back to change and Laney picks up both my hands.

  “Baya hinted that things are getting pretty serious between you and Holt.”

  I try to look away, but Laney catches my gaze and doesn’t let go.

  “Maybe—yes.” Crap. “So I guess Holt told Bryson, and the rest is Whitney Briggs rumor mill history.”

  “Not true.” She touches her finger to my chin. “I asked. I’m the one that probed. And, yes, Holt told his brother, but they’re close.” Laney lets my fingers slip through hers.

  “I think we’re close.”

  “Are we?” She inches forward as if she’s about to whisper a secret. “If we’re so close, why is there something big I don’t know about, Izzy? And if that’s true, are you ever going to tell me?”

  The temperature in the room feels as if it spikes fifty degrees, and the dress suddenly feels three sizes too small. I breakout in a cold sweat and the floor begins to sway.

  “You know”—I touch my hand to my forehead—“I’m not feeling so hot. I think I’d better go.”

  I make a dash for the dressing room. The last thing I want to do is tell Laney every dirty detail right before her wedding. I’ve managed to protect her this far, and I’ll be damned if I don’t make it to the finish line.

  If I get my way, the finish life will be my grave.

  Holt

  The Black Bear feels like home. It feels like family—sometimes closer than a brother.

  It’s wall-to-wall bodies as the sorority girls pour in to witness another round of house band prospects.

  “Why don’t we give it to three or four bands?” I say to Bryson as he plucks his phone from his jeans. He’s studiously jotting down notes as each band performs.

  “We could rotate.” Cole nods into the idea.

  “Because the band we heard last night sounded like an engine dying a slow death,” he says, irritated as shit. “Besides, we still have karaoke night and a DJ on Fridays. I don’t think we should clog up every night of the week.”

  “Good point.”

  The band starts up, and I think every animal in a twenty-foot radius just ran for cover. “Crap.” It’s all I can do to keep from slapping my hands over my ears. “Keep looking, dude. I can tell from go this one ain’t it.”

  A gorgeous brunette walks in, and my dick perks to attention.

  Izzy gives me that heart-stopping smile, and I magnetize toward her.

  “Hey, good looking.” I stop shy of stealing a kiss. Even though there’s a sea of people around too busy to notice, I’m still not sure she’d be into it.

  “You redefine good looking.” She runs her finger along my jawline. “Any chance of getting off early?”

  She looks hopeful. Izzy has on a little black dress that hugs her in all the right places, and heels that almost bring her to my height. She grinds her hips into mine, and my dick springs out to greet her.

  “I’m getting off right now, kitten.” I lean in and stop myself from burying my face in her neck. Izzy holds the scent of honey and lavender. “But as for this place, I’ve got at least another hour. It’s Cole’s turn to close.” I take her in again from head to foot. “Damn, you are looking hot tonight.”

  Izzy cuts a sly look across the crowd. “Too bad there’s not a minute we can steal to be alone.” She twists her lips and gets a mischievous look in her eye. “You know, so I can help you get off—wherever it is you’d like to go.”

  Holy hell. I think I’ve just been propositioned.

  Without giving it a second thought, I take her by the hand and lead her through the crowd—straight to the women’s restroom. I’ve seen this done enough times to know how it works. Last stall on the left might as well be on Jupiter.

  There’s not a soul in sight, so I steal us away to the back and lock the door.

  The speakers are on overhead, and you can’t hear yourself think straight in here, just the way I like it.

  “I’ve missed you,” I whisper right into her e
ar.

  Izzy lands those pillow-soft lips over my cheek and rakes a trail to my mouth.

  “I’ve missed you, too.” She strums the words right into my lips.

  I cup her cheeks in my hands and set her lips on fire with mine. Izzy gives soft, soulful kisses—kisses that stretch out for weeks. This is exactly what I want the rest of my life to be like—nothing but Izzy pouring her addictive kisses right down my throat. Izzy is a dessert I’ve longed for, and, now, here she is with her sweet body pressed over mine right where she belongs.

  She gently pulls my hands down onto her hips. I ride a little lower still until I hit the hem on her short-as-hell dress and touch her bare thighs beneath that. She takes a quick breath and seizes against me. Her hands travel down my chest, right to my blooming hard-on, and she’s quick to unleash it from its denim prison.

  “You want to do this?” I take a gentle bite out of her earlobe and she shivers into me.

  “We’re doing it aren’t we?” She gives a little laugh as she peppers soft kisses down my neck, giving me a little bite of her own. “You in?”

  “Not only am I in”—I pluck the condom out of my pocket and give a little grin— “I come prepared.”

  “Ooh.” Her eyes widen for a moment. “I’m digging the double entendre.”

  “And I’m digging you speaking French.” I crash my mouth to hers and lose it. Her tongue lashes over mine like a punishment. I ease her against the door and work her dress up, pulling her underwear to the side.

  Izzy helps me roll on the rubber before I lift her onto my hips.

  She touches her hand to my face and pants through a crooked smile.

  “Iz.” I bear into her in lieu of saying those three magic words that have the power to send her running out of here like a bullet. Her lids grow sleepy. Her lips bloom full and ruby. Izzy looks drugged, lost in ecstasy, exactly how I imagined she would look if we ever got around to doing this—how I hoped she would look.