Summer Breeze Kisses

by Addison Moore

  Bryson has Baya and his shiny new degree. Annie has a bright future which starts in a few short weeks at Whitney Briggs. And what do I have? A front row seat as the girl of my dreams dates a podiatrist. Nothing more.

  That kiss from earlier comes back strong, and a surge of adrenaline spikes through me, vying for hope.

  There’s something more brewing between Izzy and me.

  I can feel it, and judging by that kiss, so can she.

  Touching You, Touching Me

  Izzy

  Dad,

  Every now and again I get thrown for a loop. I’ve worked so hard to build this fort around me, and sometimes I get tired of holding up the walls. It’s so damn heavy. Sometimes I just want to be normal. Is there such a thing?

  Confused,

  ~Iz

  Wednesday morning, the sun splits through a crack in the curtains and blinds me with its overbearing exuberance. It’s not that I can’t appreciate a nice sunny day, but I happened to be enjoying where my mind had wandered off to and sort of wanted to linger. I haven’t had a dream like that in, well, never. I was at Holt’s apartment, and we were in the middle of a mad video game session just laughing our asses off, staring at the screen, neither one of us willing to lose. Something about the whole scene, about being with Holt and just having a good time with him made me happy.

  A tail lashes over my face and tickles my nose.

  “Sneezy.” I push him away and accidentally slide him right off the bed. “Oops, sorry.”

  That dream felt so real. It felt good, comfortable hanging out with Holt like that. Usually I’m repelled by men, and, yet, with Holt it’s like I can’t get enough.

  I stumble out of bed and into the living room. There’s so much to do before next Thursday, the big twenty-year anniversary of the studio. And it’s been twice as stressful since I’m planning a few surprises for my mother. It’s impossible to keep anything from her.

  The cats congregate around my ankles with their good morning wails, tripping me twice on the way to the kitchen. The strong smell of cigarette smoke comes from the living room, and I head in that direction.

  “Would you knock that off?” I burst in to find Greasy D lying on the couch with one hand down his pants and the TV on low. “We don’t smoke.” Or masturbate in open areas of the house, but I leave that part out for now.

  “Well, darlin’—I do.” He takes a hit and blows a mini tornado from his thin, greasy lips. His gray hair is sticking straight up, what little he has left, and his stubble looks as if his face has been sprayed with silver shards.

  “Mom?” My voice escalates in horror. If anything she’ll go ballistic when she sees he’s lit one up, and that alone will be worth the show.

  “She ain’t here. She was up early and out the door while your lazy ass was sawing logs.”

  “And what exactly is it that your lazy ass does?” I’m so pissed. I’m shaking. Usually I don’t mean to chase away my mother’s boyfriends, it sort of happens by default, but this is one I’d like to missile launch into space.

  “I’m looking after you.” He gives a quick wink and rides his stoned-out eyes over my tank top and shorts in a tactile manner. I can feel those invisible hands roving over me as I cry out for my mother all those years ago. Instinctually I cover my chest and head for the kitchen. I think it’s time to have a talk with Mom. I don’t know why the hell she’d want a moron like Greasy D in her life.

  And why is she such a magnet for creeps, anyway?

  The studio has a few extra cars in the lot, and I know for a fact one of them belongs to my sweet baby sis. It’s odd since Laney hasn’t been here in ages.

  I head in and say a quick hello to Bella, the girl who has worked behind the front desk for the last five years. She was the first person I hired when I took the reins from my mother. Well, not officially. Mom runs a tight ship, but she graciously handed over a majority of the grunt work once I began working here fulltime. The only duty she’s held onto was the books, and, truthfully, money management has never been my forte as evidenced by my under-the-mattress method of personal banking.

  “Izzy?” Laney comes up from the hall and gives me a quick hug.

  “Fancy meeting you here.” I mean it. “Considering it as a venue for the reception?”

  There’s no way in hell Laney would even dream of the idea. She’s always had champagne taste, and, lucky for her, because Ryder can build an entire house out of Dom Perignon bottles if he wanted. Speaking of dreams, Holt pops back into my mind.

  “Right.” She nods into me. “And we’ll have the buffet laid out right here at the sign in desk.” She makes a face at poor Bella who’s inundated with the phone ringing off the hook.

  “Let’s head in.” I lead us to the studio where, shockingly, Mom is speaking to a group of irate mothers. What is this, bring your family to work week? Although, technically, I didn’t bring either of them. The mothers start in with their bickering. “Sometimes I think we should initiate a drop-off rule,” I whisper to Laney. “That would cut back on ninety percent of the drama that takes place around here.”

  “Yeah, well, Mom can work on her delivery a little. I’m sure that would cut back on eighty.”

  “Touché.” I walk her back to my office where the shelves are lined with all of my favorite dance magazines. I remember when Laney and I used to pour over them for hours. But, then, my mother deemed Laney unworthy of the studio, and she’s never quite recovered from that. In my mother’s defense, Laney was heard on multiple occasions saying she had a spot on the team because her mother owned the place. She outright refused to come to practice most days. “So—what brings you here?”

  “Mom mentioned that the studio was turning twenty, and I wanted to see if there was something I could do to help. Roxy says she’s bringing cupcakes.”

  “And I can’t wait to sink my teeth into them. As for the celebration, I’ve got it handled. I’m sending out fliers today with each of the girls, and I’m going to have the lead team work on a banner. I’m having everyone at the studio sign it. I thought it’d be a nice memento for Mom.”

  “You’re right, it will be.” She sits on the edge of my desk. Laney has let her hair grow out long, and now it’s nearly the same length as mine. We look enough alike that we could be fraternal twins ourselves minus the fact we’re five years apart. She looks at me sideways. “You’re always looking out for Mom.” She strums her nails over the desk, filled with suspicion. “Is everything okay?”

  “Yes. Why wouldn’t it be?”

  “I don’t know. It’s just that comment Jemma made the other night about me not knowing you—it got me thinking. She said it would take more than ‘the one’ to set your heart straight. Is something going on? If there’s something happening, I’d like to be let in on the big secret.” She leans in as her features soften. “I’m your sister, Iz, and, to be honest, the more I thought about it, the more it hurt to think you might be sharing something with Jemma instead of me.”

  And there it is. Laney knows I’m holding something back. My blood turns to ice at the thought of telling her what Jemma knows.

  I give a brief smile holding up a stack of mail. “I’d chat all day, but I need to pare down this stack before my first class. Speaking of busy, is there anything I can do to help out with the big day? I’m really good at running errands.”

  “Bills? My wedding? Wow”—she sinks into the seat across from me—“this must be big. So what is it? You have some rap sheet I don’t know about?”

  “Maybe. Or maybe I want to keep my pole-dancing career to myself for a while. Anyway, it’s none of your business. And did you see that I got fitted for my bridesmaid dress?”

  “Yes. Thank you. And since we’re on the subject of being sneaky just know that Morticia Addams getup you ordered has been changed out for something more modern that I would be proud to have at my wedding. Are you running a funeral home on the side? Because it all makes sense now.”

  I give a hard blink. “I get i
t—it’s your wedding.” The thought of wearing something Laney picked out for me makes me cringe. “You win. Unfortunately, I wasn’t kidding about the bills.” I pretend to bury my nose in a costume catalog. Just the thought of Laney not letting this go makes me sick.

  She gets up and heads for the door. “Tonight at seven—the Black Bear. Be there.”

  “Can’t wait to meet my future podiatrist.”

  “He’s the one, Iz, I can feel it.” Her shoulders hike to her ears with excitement. “I can’t wait for you to have what Ryder and I do. Hey, I know, if you guys really hit it off, maybe we can double date sometime? It’s always been a dream of mine to have a double date with my big sis.” She hugs the doorframe and swoons. “I’d do anything to see you happy, Iz.”

  “I know.”

  Laney takes off, and I lean back in my seat.

  I’d do anything to see her happy, too.

  And I did.

  The Black Bear is congested with a flood of amped up girls in extra short skirts and tops that barely cover the northern hemisphere.

  Holt’s cologne calls to me, and I scan the bar, but there’s no sign of him.

  Baya waves as I step inside, so I go over.

  “What gives?” I ask, following her to the back. “Free beer night?”

  “More like open mike night.” She holds out a seat for me, and I take it—same dark, distal corner as the last disaster. I’m guessing Laney thinks it’s romantic to tuck me away in no man’s land with the next maniac on her list. “We’re auditioning for a house band. If the boys like ‘em, they can get a recurring gig. It’s something Bryson and Holt have been wanting to do for a while.”

  “Nice. A sexy bass player equals lots of revenue from half dressed coeds. Sounds like win-win.”

  “Speaking of win”—Baya takes a seat—“I saw that kiss the other night.” She leans in with her eyes bulging like a pair of hardboiled eggs. “Are you sure you need Laney’s dating service? Looks to me like you’re doing just fine on your own.”

  I glance at the bar and spot Holt tending to a group of smitten girls at least six years my junior. One of them is Marley, Jemma’s baby sister. Crap. Just looking at the way she’s fawning over him makes me sick to my stomach. Marley is cute and young and the exact kind of girl someone like Holt should end up with. Not the walking bag of issues I’ve become.

  “I’m not really on the relationship track right now.” Heat floods to my cheeks as I think about that kiss, about that dream I had last night. If I was into relationships I know exactly where I’d look first. “Anyway, Holt can have whatever girl he wants, and, by the way, I qualify to be his much older sister. We’re just friends. Really, it’s no big deal.”

  “Who says age even matters? Did you see the cradle robbing that Edwards senior is partaking in? Emphasis on senior. I’m telling you, that man has socks that are older than ‘Jenny.’”

  A dull laugh pumps through me. “Yeah, but he’s a man.”

  “So? Break the double standard.” Baya strums her candy pink nails over the table. “If a man can date someone younger so can a woman.”

  “Look”—I take in Baya with her perfect hair and flawless complexion—“I’m not really into making new inroads for women’s lib and for darn sure I don’t want to be the poster child for cougars the world over.”

  “Chill out, Izzy. You’re not that much older than him.” She reaches over and touches her hand to mine. “I get it. It’s not the norm, so it feels weird. If it’s any consolation, my mom had three years on my dad, and they had one hell of a marriage.”

  “Still going strong?”

  She sags in her seat. “My dad passed away when I was in junior high.” She inverts her lips as if holding back tears. “But I know for a fact my mom is glad she didn’t let a little thing like their age difference stop her from the best relationship she’s ever had. My brother and I are kind of glad, too.” She reaches over and gives me a brief hug. “You’ll figure it out.” She looks past my shoulder and frowns. “Here we go. Have fun on your date, Iz.”

  Baya takes off, and Laney appears in her place. Next to her is a seemingly normal, rather nice looking man—who could be my father. And there’s that. I guess my ageism runs in both directions.

  “Cliff Lancaster.” He extends his hand, and I gently shake it.

  “Dr. Cliff Lancaster,” Laney whispers with excitement. God, does she really see me with this guy? It’s obvious Laney can’t see past the M.D. in his name to properly observe the fact he’s old enough to be our father. And why do I suddenly feel like introducing myself as Jenny?

  “Izzy,” I say it forced in the event my tongue decides to take a U-turn without my permission.

  “How about a tall cold one, Dr. Lancaster?” Laney pulls his seat out as if he were a girl. Geez. Note to self, trip Laney for the hell of it tonight, preferably while she’s holding a tray full of cold ones. “And a daiquiri for you?”

  I nod and wave her off.

  “So tell me something about yourself.” He gives a pleasant smile, and suddenly I feel like an ass for being so aggressively judgmental. I mean, just because he’s got a head full of gray hair, and matching hairy knuckles, doesn’t mean he’s incapable of holding an intelligent conversation. Why do I get the feeling a running commentary of a political nature is about to ensue? Again with the ageism.

  “I run my mother’s dance studio. Oh, and I love cats.”

  “The musical?” His brows peak, and it’s only then I notice an entire rash of liver spots running down his left cheek. I quickly glance away and try to focus in on his smile. He sure has a nice set of pearly whites. A visual of him taking them out at night and slipping them in a glass runs through my mind.

  I blink to attention. “The musical? No—no.” I give a nervous laugh. “The furry creatures. I have four.”

  “Well.” The smile glides right off his face. “I’m allergic, but I can make an exception for someone as stunning as yourself.” He reaches over and cups his hand over mine. And eww? Why do I feel like I’m sitting on my mother’s couch while one of her geriatric boy toys hit on me? A flashback of that night slaps me in the face, and I’m quick to withdraw my fingers.

  “Tell me something about you.” I slip my hands into my lap where I plan on keeping them for the next fifteen minutes. That’s exactly how long I predict I’ll have to sit here—what with the family emergency that’s about to occur. I glare over at Laney at the far end of the bar. It’s going to be very very tragic. A hospitalization might be involved.

  “I’m a foot doctor. My job stinks, and so do my patients.” He barks out a laugh, exposing two neat rows of perfectly capped teeth. At least he’s got a nice smile, although the sense of humor is debatable. “I hear they’ve got a full menu here.” He peruses the offerings. “You care to grab a bite?”

  I sort of like the fact he’s interested in feeding me even if it does scream paternal.

  “Yes. For sure.”

  “I’ve already had dinner, how about we skip to dessert?” His brows dip down, and I can’t help note the sexual connotation he’s just inferred. Am I dessert?

  “That’s fine. I hear they’ve got a great tiramisu.”

  He bleeds a lewd smile, and I’m quick to eye the exit.

  Crap. Laney needs to see an optometrist and a psychologist. And now I’m beginning to wonder if there’s more to Ryder than meets the eye. Where the hell did she get her idea of acceptable men? My mother?

  Laney bops over, and we put in our orders.

  “Anything else I can get you two?” She says it low and husky, and it’s all I can do not to shove her into the next table.

  “That should be it.” I flat line. I’ll deal with her later.

  “Izzy”—he tips his chin up and looks at me in that physician-set-for-retirement sort of way—“I see you’re wearing ballerina flats. Do you mind taking off your shoes? I’m a good judge of character based on foot care alone.”

  Did he just cop to the fact he’s goi
ng to judge me solely on the condition of my hooves?

  I do a quick sweep for Laney. This has got to be a joke.

  “I suppose.” I mean, really? What’s the worst that can happen? He finds a planter wart and runs out the door? At this point I’d welcome an entire host of pathogens so long as they get me and my toenails out from the scrutiny of the good doctor.

  I flick off both shoes and point my feet in his direction.

  “Oh, my.” His mouth falls open as he leans over to inspect them. Without warning both feet are in his lap, and I’m quick to grab the lip of my seat in an effort to maintain my balance.

  Holy hell. I try extracting my ankles from his stranglehold, but he’s got a death grip.

  “Quite the fine specimens if I do say so myself.” His chest heaves over and over as if he’s just ran around the bar with his pants on fire. He clasps his hand over my right foot and closes his eyes, clearly losing himself in a sexual euphoria I want no part of.

  “Nice.” I pluck myself free from his unwanted vice and dig my feet back into my shoes.

  “It was more than nice.” He leans in. His features distort with a look of ecstasy. “And, if you like—there’s more where that came from.”

  That’s exactly what I’m afraid of.

  Laney reappears with a tiramisu for each of us and plunks down two steaming mugs of coffee.

  “The java’s on the house.” She gives a little wink before taking off.

  Honest to God. We’re going to have to work on code words if she insists on pulling off these shenanigans. Like Coke Head or Foot Fetish.

  He bears into me, leaning across the table as if he’s going to keel over at any moment. God, maybe he’s having a heart attack? Or he’s falling into a sugar coma? Personally, I’m rooting for the cardiac episode.

  “You know what I’d like to do with this?” His brows invert giving him a slightly demented look.