Summer Breeze Kisses

by Addison Moore

  “Where do we start?” He bounces on his heels, and I can’t help but note the fact he looks boyishly intrigued, which at the moment is a good thing because the thirteen-year-old in me is just as eager to be on this spontaneous field trip.

  “How about in dough town?” We head over to where the proofers are set up near the front and follow along as raw donuts are spit onto a conveyer belt of a fryer. About halfway through, the donuts flip over, and finally down at the end, each golden brown confection runs under a waterfall of warm, sugary glaze.

  “Crap,” he whimpers, and about three different mothers give him dirty looks. Of course, those dirty looks morph into wide-eyed come hither, lip-licking forms of sexual advancement. All of which I’m sure Sexy Rexy here is used to.

  We head up to the counter, and I put in an order for two-dozen fresh, hot, glazed.

  “Add two more,” Rex says, pulling out his credit card.

  “Four dozen boxes coming right up.” The young, lanky boy behind the counter doesn’t even blink. I’m betting he hears such ludicrous orders all the livelong day, and why not? They practically have you hypnotized to make absurd purchases after subjecting you to their entrancing conveyer belt voodoo.

  “That’s right.” Rex pays for our purchase before I can protest.

  “Hey—I’m supposed to be paying for these. I’m making restitution, remember? I feel like I’m ruining your Friday night.”

  “Oh, you’ll pay for this, all right.” We step aside as we wait for our boxes.

  “If this involves you sticking your tongue into a sticky, sweet hole that happens to be attached to my body, you can forget it.”

  A whole new crowd of mothers turns around and sizes up both Rex and me. The shorter one with a bob gives me a sly thumbs-up. Perverts, all of them. But I give her a little wink back.

  “I was thinking something a little more creative—and wholesome.” He gives a tight smile to the peanut gallery before returning those serious eyes back to mine. “A movie at my place.”

  After successfully scarfing down one box of hot, glazed donuts, and many miles later, we pull into the driveway of a small clapboard scholastic retreat otherwise known as Rex’s place.

  “So this is the sex lab,” I say as he unlocks the door and lets us in.

  “This is where the magic happens.”

  The scent of stale coffee and a thin trail of his cologne are the first to greet us.

  “If by magic you mean disillusionment and cheesy sleight of hand, then I believe you.”

  “All right, Queen of the Donut.” He takes the boxes from me and sets them onto his coffee table. It’s surprisingly clean inside, considering he had no clue company was coming. Dark wood floors complement the sparse white walls, save for the overgrown television taking up the entire north side of the house. “Make yourself at home.”

  “I love it.” I gasp at how aesthetically clean the place looks. The dark floors have nary a footprint on them, and there aren’t any notable dust bunnies lurking in the corner. I know for a fact dark floors are the hardest to keep clean because the slightest bit of dust creates snowy tracks before you know it. His furniture looks new. Espresso-colored leather sofas and a black coffee table all add to the modern clean look he seems to be shooting for. There’s an expensive appeal to his furnishings, yet they’re understated and not too showy, a lot like Rex himself. As much as I’ve wanted to peg him as the spoiled rich boy, he’s broken down just about every stereotype I tried to shove him in.

  Rex points the remote at the one-eyed beast against the wall, and it flicks to life, raining a supernova of light over the tiny living room. “Let me guess, chick flick?”

  “I was thinking more dick flick. I prefer the shoot ’em up action movies to sappy rom-coms. If there’s archery involved, it’s an added bonus.”

  “Cool.” He disappears into the kitchen and comes back with a tall glass of—

  “Almond milk?” he offers. “I gave up moo juice. It’s all I’ve got.”

  “Perfect. It’s all I drink.” We take seats on opposing ends of the sofa as he scrolls through the movie selections until we both settle on Braveheart.

  “So, what gives?” He cracks a custard-filled buttermilk donut in half and offers me a piece. We splurged and purchased a box of mixed delights in the event we experienced a glazed burnout.

  “What gives with what?” I take it from him and indulge in a moan-worthy bite. “It’s still hot, and the cream is warm, too. I love custard filled.” My eyes roll into the back of my head a moment before I spot that perverse grin of his blooming on his face. “I know what you’re thinking, and you’re sick.”

  “You’re sick, sister. You’re the one who said it.” He lands his feet over the coffee table, and we watch the remainder of the movie while gorging ourselves on the carbohydrate-fest. No sooner do the credits roll than my stomach does the same with nausea. “God, I never want to see another cream-filled delight for the rest of my life. I don’t think I can swallow another drop of that ooey gooey goodness.” I blink up at the ceiling a moment before glancing to Rex. I led him right to the door with that one. If he doesn’t take it, I’ll begin to question his true intentions.

  “If you were only the first girl to utter those words within these walls.”

  And there it is. Rex and I break out into sugar-induced hysterics over my ill choice of words, appropriate as they were.

  “I’d better get going.” I hop up and gather my purse, still wiping the tears from my eyes. It’s pretty easy hanging out with Rex—almost, well, brotherly in a way. Almost.

  “Let’s do this again.” Rex gets up lazily and stretches before snatching his keys off the table.

  “Oh, I don’t need a ride.” I feel bad enough I clogged up so much of his time already. “It’s a nice night. I don’t mind getting some fresh air.”

  Rex walks me to the door, and just as I’m about to exit, he blocks it with his tree trunk of an arm. My eyes trace out his perfectly formed bicep—those long, green-blue veins that pop to the surface and rope around his forearm, twisting all the way up to his shoulder. Rex is tall, well-built, and far too handsome for it to ever be fair. His T-shirt is rumpled, his jeans slung low and tight in all the right places, and for a second, I envision what he might look like without all of those clothes on. His chest would be a wall of contours, sheer girth and muscles, his arms rock-hard as his—

  “My eyes are up here, sweetheart.” He bleeds a dry smile.

  His chest sits inches from mine, and the slight scent of his cologne inebriates me—makes me crave a man, not particularly this one, but still, that scent sets my ovaries on fire. Damn the cologne industry to hell for infusing those bottles with pheromones. It’s hormonal warfare at its finest. They really don’t fight fair. Those lucent eyes of his meet up with mine, and for the first time I’m close enough to inspect them for color, a strange mixture of blue-green with flecks of brown near the iris. Robin’s egg blue. I’ve never seen a color like that before. Every last bit of me wants to get lost just looking at them, examining them, memorizing them, so I can pour over their delicate details late into the night.

  “You never answered my question.” He blinks and pulls me out of my trance. “What gives?” He glances down at my shoes. “You said you hurt your foot, and yet I haven’t heard you talk about it, haven’t seen you limp.” He tilts his head knowingly. “Admit it. You didn’t hurt anything.”

  “Are you accusing me of being a liar?” Quite frankly, I’m aghast, affronted! But mostly I’m just flummoxed to be so proficiently called out on my bull.

  “Oh, sweetie”—a dark laugh gets buried in his chest—“I’m not accusing you of being a liar—I’m well aware you are one.”

  I suck in a sharp breath. My face burns with heat. I know full well when my cheeks heat up as if they’ve been stuffed with live coals that my face is practically glowing. I hate that something as benign as my complexion gives away my intentions. My Irish heritage can be such a brutal traitor.r />
  He frowns. “I’m accusing you of having two perfectly good feet, and I want to know why you asked me to come with you.”

  “I like your leather seats.” Gah! That’s the best I can do? I like your freaking leather seats? “They smell nice.” At least I didn’t say that he smelled nice. His brows rise in amusement. Crap. He’s going to think I’m psychotic. There has to be a better reason. “And if we’re going to play the part of a couple—we should be doing things as a couple.” God, where is this going? And where the hell is the shut-off valve to my vocal cords? And why the hell aren’t my feet working so I can run the hell out of here? “You know, like kissing.” I stutter my way through that last word because for the life of me I can’t recall the last time I kissed a set of human lips. “Plus, I don’t really want you spending your Friday night with your lips buried in some sticky, sweet hole when I fully know where they’ll be in two weeks.”

  “Two weeks?” His lips twitch as if he’s holding back a laugh. “Yes, Saturday after next. My dad says they want to get us all together for dinner and discuss the final details of the wedding.”

  His eyes bear into mine as if he’s holding me hostage with them, and he might be. “And that’s when we’ll do the things that couples do?” Rex leans in until his searing breath rakes over my mouth. “Like kissing?” I can tell by that mocking smile, those hooded eyes, that he’s relishing the moment—to ridicule it for later no doubt.

  My heart stomps its way out of my body with such efficiency, any minute now I expect to see it lying at my feet. People will ask how I died, and the answer will be I had a brief and fleeting desire to test out my kissing skills with my future stepbrother of all people. Of course, rumors do love exaggeration. It’s the hog the tick feeds off to get nice and bloody fat.

  “Yes, we will kiss if we have to.” I brush past him and into the cool night. The scent of jasmine perfumes the air, and I take it in like a necessary elixir to calm my fragile nerves. The closer Rex Toberman inched to my body, the more I felt I was about to detonate.

  “Maybe we should practice!” he shouts after me like a taunt, and I let out a raging scream that’s been building in me for as far back as that first night at the Happy Squirrel.

  “You wish! I bet you can’t wait to stick that sick tongue of yours into my mouth!”

  Someone lets off a catcall from across the street.

  “I was thinking of a hole that’s a little stickier and sweeter!”

  That’s it. I cover my ears and run all the way across the street to Whitney Briggs.

  No sooner do I get into my dorm and jump into bed than my phone buzzes. It’s a text from the sticky, not-so sweet pervert himself.

  Sorry. You bring out the best in me, Muffin Top. ;)

  A dull smile comes and goes as I text him back. No problem, Goober. You bring out the donut-loving, dirty little stepsister in me. Thanx for keeping it real. Be ready to initiate a full and total takedown in two weeks.

  He pings right back. I’m all in. Get ready to have your tonsils invaded.

  A warm shiver rides down my spine right to my quivering thighs. Quick, I need something sarcastic and snappy to lop right back, or he’s going to think I’m actually meditating on the idea, blushing from head to toe as I envision how it would feel to have Rex Toberman invading my oral personal space in such a passionate manner—not that there would be actual passion, just your garden variety knockoff version specifically designed to spook our parents. My heart gives a few unnatural thuds at the thought of Rex invading my anything.

  Crap. I shake my phone. “Say something.” I begin typing without giving it too much thought.

  Every sticky, sweet orifice of my body is ready for your invasion. Let’s give them a show they’ll never forget. I hit Send then stare at my phone in horror for a solid five minutes before burying it beneath my mattress.

  It goes off again, but I spare myself the misery.

  I try to go to sleep, but sleep never comes. All night long I think of a thorough and complete bodily invasion.

  I can’t seem to get Rex Toberman out of my head.

  I don’t seem to want to.

  Rex

  Saturday night at the Black Bear lends its own unique energy to life, but a Saturday night at the Black Bear in the middle of June is a bit thinner and sparser than it is the rest of the year. Seeing that the Black Bear caters to a trifecta of universities in the area, most people went home or simply away for the summer. It’s still plenty busy, plenty of bodies bustling—scantily clad bodies, which is understandable since we’re embroiled in a hellish heat wave at the moment. I spot Jet and Owen near the back. Piper’s brother, Cade, is with them. He’s managing the bar for the summer as a part of his work-study program. His girlfriend, Cassidy, is waitressing here, so it’s a sweet setup for him. Any minute I’m expecting to see Owen’s girlfriend pop up with her friends. Scarlett happens to be one of them, and I know for a fact she’ll be here because Owen mentioned something about a bachelor-bachelorette party taking place tonight. Piper’s brothers are both getting married soon, and tonight’s the last night of unabashed freedom for all involved.

  “Dude.” Owen slaps me five as I take a seat and nod over to Jet. “You ready to let loose?”

  “I’m already loose.” I grin over at Cade. “Rumor has it you’re the best man to both grooms. You ready for the big day?”

  He grimaces. Cade and Piper share the same dark hair, same features. In some ways, they look more like twins than Knox and Trixie. “All I have to do is stand there. It’s going to be a short and sweet ceremony at the overlook. The reception is right here at the bar. They’re closing off the back.”

  “Cool. So, what’s on the agenda for tonight? You and the boys headed to Jepson? Owen can give you a tour of the red-light district.” I offer an obnoxious grin. Owen used to take his clothes off in order to earn a living, and none of us have ever judged him for it. We’ve razzed him about it, but we get the fact the guy needed to do whatever he could to survive. Thankfully, he’s got a decent job at a marketing firm owned by Piper’s brother, Wyatt, and his buddies.

  “Nope.” Cade frowns at the bar. “My brothers have decided to lay low. We’re having a round of drinks, shooting some pool. Blake’s band is on in a couple of hours, and that’s how we’ll end the night.”

  Cassidy pops up behind him. “That’s not how I’m ending my night.” She presses a kiss to his ear. “And neither are you, sugar.” Not sure why Cassidy and Cade hid their relationship for so long. Owen mentioned it had something to do with the scar Cassidy has on the side of her face. He said it made her insecure, that she didn’t think someone like Cade would ever want anything serious with her, and that broke my heart. Cassidy is one of the nicest girls I know. I’m glad it worked out for them.

  Piper and her friends pop up as expected—the blonde, Daisy, and Scarlett.

  My dick twitches in my boxers, the first to acknowledge my soon-to-be stepsister, and that goofy grin I wore a second ago diminishes.

  “What’s up?” I offer her a private nod, and she rolls her eyes. For the life of me, I can’t seem to read this beautiful redhead. It’s as if just because our parents are dating, any kind of friendship, any kind of civility is strictly off limits. I know she’s hurting. And I’m also aware of the fact she doesn’t know me well enough to hate me, although hate is a strong word—strongly dislike covers it.

  “We’re leaving for greener pastures.” Piper strangles Owen with a hug until he stands, and before I know it, each one of us is on our feet.

  “Where to?” Cade looks to Cassidy with a playful look of suspicion.

  “The girls and I thought we’d take the brides-to-be and show them a real good time. Someplace dark and loud, and very, very sexy.” She wiggles her hips when she says it.

  Owen groans, “Do people traditionally keep their clothes on at sexy places like that?”

  “Nope,” Cassidy answers with a hop. “Oh, relax, boys. Don’t get your boxers in a bunch. We
’re dragging the girls to Stilettos for the evening. My sister is on tonight, and so is Daisy. Any of you boys want to hop along for the ride?” She pinches Cade’s cheek.

  “I’m manning the fort.” Cade lands his lips over hers, and my gaze drifts to Scarlett. I wonder what it would feel like to hold her right here in the open, land a kiss over her mouth, and have it welcomed. Not that we’d ever want anything like that, but for whatever reason, the visual sticks. “The boys and I are just hanging out.” He looks to me and Jet. “You guys should go.”

  Owen leans in. “I’m going.”

  “What for?” I hold back from socking some sense into him. Owen has Piper. He doesn’t need to stick his nose in a titty bar with or without his girlfriend by his side. At least that’s my opinion. If I had a girlfriend, I’d be careful, mindful to what her needs are. I’d pamper her, let her know that she was the singular most important part of my life. I glance to Scarlett, and her eyes snag on mine. For a brief moment, it’s just the two of us in the room—no people, no music, no raging conversation revolving around titty bars.

  “Marley and Annie asked me to,” Owen continues. “When Piper suggested they go—demanded they go—they asked if I’d be their bodyguard for the evening.”

  I can’t blame them. Stilettos isn’t exactly in the nicest part of town.

  “And that’s why you two stooges are coming along.” He looks from me to Jet. “I can’t surround myself with that much estrogen. I’ll buy a round. It’ll be fun.”

  “Who knows?” Piper leans toward Jet and me. “You might even find the girl of your dreams and fall madly in lust. A happy ending just might be had by all.”

  Piper and Daisy burst into laughter.

  Jet folds those beasts he calls arms over his chest. “Yup. One look at her tits, and I’ll know if she’s the one for me.” More laughter erupts. Jet is tatted from head to toe quite literally. He owns and operates a tattoo parlor in downtown Jepson. I’ve known Jet Madden all my life. His mother was our family cook for years. Of course, I was only privileged with her meals in the summer when I was home from school, and that’s when she’d bring Jet and his sister, Lucky, by to swim and hang out, so we grew pretty close. “How about you, pretty boy?” Jet loves to put me on the spot. A mutual appreciation for humiliating each other has been the nexus of our friendship for years. “You looking to land yourself a happy ending? Or are you getting tired of that nightly ritual?”