Whiskey Kisses (5 page)

“Nice. And, by the way, speaking about yourself in third person is creepy, knock it off, or I’ll flex my power to have you committed.” I’m only half-kidding. Greasy D is an asshole. The D might as well stand for douche—although, I’ll give him points for dealing with my mother. And if he ever shows up smashed and tries to cop a feel, I’ll be the one slicing his balls off. I’m not some helpless teenager cowering in the corner anymore, hoping he won’t hit on my sister or me. In fact, if things get crazy, I might slice off his dick for kicks, too.

I fill the cats bowls and give them each a quick scratch behind the ears. Three orange Tabbies and a white Persian. They’re my babies, my family, and no matter how insane I look by collecting them en masse, I’m their furless mommy for the long haul. Besides, if it weren’t for their fluffy warm coats, who would heat the sheets with me at night? It’s a sad day when you’re able to admit the only attention you get in bed is of the feline variety. Speaking of attention…

“So”—I stand and arch my back until my lungs fill with the unfortunate scent of tuna and salmon—“I’m headed to the Black Bear again. Laney is determined to set me up on a series of bad memories in the making. I thought I’d go ahead and humor her once or twice.”

“Bad memories as in bad dates?
Blind
dates?” Her sea blue eyes dart up to mine. “So that’s what it’s come to, huh?” She plucks another Yo-Ho out of the box and pulls back the wrapper like peeling a banana. “Well, good riddance. Maybe we’ll both get some action for once. I’m tired of watching those damn cats rut around the house like this is some sort of feline brothel. Where’s
our
rutting? Where’s
our
cat on a hot tin roof moment?”

“I’m leaving now. And you can add another word to the make Izzy-evacuate-from-the-room list.” I almost trip over the small herd of felines twirling around my feet. If anything my mother doesn’t mince words.

“What word is that? Rutting or brothel?” Her voice fades as I pick up my purse and throw on my jacket. She stagers out to the living room. “Where you headed?”

“I told you, the Black Bear. Holt Edwards is giving me a few pointers on how to improve my game.”

“Annie’s brother? That little shit?” She digs her palm into her eye as if the idea gave her a migraine.

“That’s the one.”

“I’ll bet he’s got a pointer for you—in his
boxers
. I told you, years ago, we should have gotten a restraining order against that twerp.”

I laugh opening the door, and my heart stops cold. My mother had the restraining order part right, just not against Holt.

“Well, look what we’ve got here.” Greasy D growls while riding his gaze up and down my body—pausing at all the inappropriate points of interest. “If it isn’t the bell of the ball.” Greasy touches his hand to my cheek, and I’m quick to bat it away.

I bolt past him.

“See you later, Mom.” But with him here, home is the last place I want to be.

Ever.

Holt Edwards might just get more of me than he bargained for.

The Black Bear is jam-packed with scantily dressed bodies. A giant, life-size bear stands at the entrance, holding a hand painted sign that reads
Open mike night!
All coed crooners welcome.
And, by the looks of things, they showed up in droves.

“Perfect,” I mutter under my breath. I started nursing a headache the second I left the house—can’t wait to round out the night listening to some college sophomore squeak out the latest not-so-greatest hits. Can’t wait for my brain to explode and put me out of my misery. My mother flashes through my mind. God, I hope that man is decent to her this time. I close my eyes a moment because I already know where this crazy train is headed.

“Hey, beautiful.” A warm arm finds its way around my waist, and I look up to find a freshly pressed and dressed—drop my panties to the floor in salute of his eminence—Holt Edwards. My heart thumps in my chest. The subtle scent from his cologne is enough to make me swoon, but Holt has the face of an angel, or with that slightly peppered scruff he’s sporting—a devil.

“Why are you always so nice to me?” I meant to say hello, but the question bubbled out instead.

His eyes widen as if it was the last thing he expected. “Because you deserve it.”

Holt bears into me with a soul-melting look that makes my insides cinch until I can’t catch my next breath. His cut features—those glowing eyes—it’s becoming obvious this was a big mistake.

“I’m the last person you should be wasting your time with.” I swallow hard. “You sure you don’t have better things to do?” Already three different girls have walked by outright gawking at him. “Honestly, you don’t have to baby sit me tonight.”

“Baby sit?” Holt steps in close, his eyes sear over mine, and, for the first time, in a long while I can feel the heat spreading through my body like a molten tidal wave, slow and determined to hit all the right spots. His sweet cologne infiltrates my senses—sandalwood and cinnamon. He takes in a breath, and his chest stops just shy of touching mine. Holt Edwards is all man. Forget those preconceived notions I’ve had about him over the years. He’s grown into his own, and, God help me, because I very much approve. He leans in further, and, for a fleeting moment, I think he’s going to kiss me. “I promise you, Iz”—he whispers right over my lips, and I’m tempted to steal it from him anyway—“there’s not a single place I’d rather be.”

He reaches over and opens the door. Holt picks up my hand and leads us out into the quiet night away from the crooning coeds and their obnoxious vocal cords.

“No Black Bear tonight?” I bite down on my lip as he leads me over to his truck. My hand burns from his touch. A wave of heat travels up to my chest, and I savor it. I can’t get over the fact he just picked up my hand like it was no big deal. But then to Holt it probably isn’t. I’m guessing he’s a bit more liberal than I am when it comes to dolling out physical affection. I take in the sensation of his thick fingers closing over mine, the warmth of his flesh, and savor the contact high. I can’t remember the last time I held a boy’s hand—most likely because it’s never really happened. That night flashes through my mind like a jag of lightning, and I blink it away. I’m not inviting any of those memories to the party. Tonight is about forgetting—about learning new things with Holt, like holding hands and dating.

“No Black Bear.” He opens the door to his truck and helps me up before jumping in on the other side. “You mind if I take you somewhere quiet?”

“Please take me somewhere quiet. You’re welcome to keep me there if you like.” I press my head into the seat and relax for the first time in what feels like years. “My mother’s ex has reared his ugly head, and I want no part of that action.”

“Got it.” He winces at the road. I take him in like this. Holt is confident behind the wheel. His strong arms sit low as he navigates us through the twisted roads of Hollow Brook. He has an overall comforting presence about him. “I was thinking a nice restaurant. Maybe hit downtown Jepson?”

“For me? Don’t bother.” I’d feel terrible if he insisted on paying. “I’m sort of a drive-through kind of girl anyway.”

“You’re worth it, Iz.” He glances over with his brows knit a moment. “And I’m here because I want to be.”

“You’re here because I’m a basket case you’ve decided to take under your wing. I’m the reason you’re probably not going to get laid tonight.” My stomach bisects with heat. Crap. Did I just go there? “What am I saying? You probably have a line of girls snaking around your apartment just waiting for the call. My bad—sorry.”

He gives a slight chuckle. “As far as I know, there’s no line.” He nods up at the rows of fast food restaurants coming upon us. “Which one looks good?”

“I don’t know. It’s always the same stuff. I wish they had one that specialized in a good grilled cheese sandwich. Sometimes that’s all a girl really needs. God knows I’d do anything for one right about now.”

“It’s your lucky night because I know just the place.” The truck kicks into gear, and we bypass the rows of heart-clogging cholesterol and empty calories, trading them for a far less nutritious fare—which happens to be my all time favorite.

“Who serves grilled cheese sandwiches in Hollow Brook?”

His lips curl on the sides. His lids slit low and seductive as he cuts me a look. “I do.”

We drive up to a large boxy apartment lined with acacia trees and the occasional trashcan set out front. The building sits wide, almond-colored with a dark brown trim and looks more homey than it does industrial unlike so many of the newer construction high-rises that seem to be taking over this college town.

“So this is home?”

“The one and only.”

Holt insists I walk up the stairs first and unlocks the door off the stairwell. “After you.”

“You’re a real gentlemen. You’re spoiling me, by the way. Laney’s army of blind mice are going to have to work twice as hard to impress me.” I glance around at the neat surroundings, the minimalist furnishings. “Wow, fireplace, stainless appliances. You’re really living in style.” I give his ear a little tug without putting much thought into it, and an errant spark flies between us unexpected as a deer on the highway. “So when can I move in?”

“I’m ready when you are, sweetheart.” He growls it out low, and—oh my God, what have I gotten myself into?

“Yeah, well”—I clear my throat—“you’ll get tired of all my girly things taking up real estate in your bathroom. I hand wash all my personals.” His face blooms with a dark smile. Obviously, I’m not helping. “Trust me, you’d kick me out first chance you get.” I stray deeper into his apartment, across the dark wood floor that leads to the plush-piled carpet in the living room—the kind that invites you to kick your shoes off and dig your toes in for a while.

“I don’t think I’d get tired of your girly things.” He gives a grin that comes as quick as it goes. “In fact, I think a few ‘personals’ would brighten things up around here.” He holds my gaze steady like a dare, and a series of goose bumps trail up my arms.

Holt makes his way to the kitchen, and I follow. His tall frame commands attention in this tiny space as he maneuvers around until he has a frying pan heating on the stove and a stack of sliced bread ready to go.

“Let me help.” I offer, taking the cheese out of the package—smoked Gouda, my all time favorite.

“Let’s do this.”

Holt and I work side by side until we’ve amassed enough grilled cheese sandwiches to outfit a small platoon. Every now and again our shoulders bump, and I feel his strong as steel body against mine. My flesh burns from head to toe. I’ve done a lot of deflecting in my day, but I don’t ever remember wanting to lean in and touch someone—to spread my hands wide over their chest—the way I do now. But, then, this is Holt Edwards of the notorious, womanizing Edwards’. It’s no surprise he has the art of seduction down to a science. I bet grilled cheese sandwiches factor into the break down of how fast he can land a girl horizontal. Too bad for him it won’t work on this girl, or, rather, too bad for me.

Holt pulls out a couple of sodas, and we head to the fireplace where he starts a roaring blaze quicker than I can protest the romantic idea. We take a seat on the carpet across from one another.

“So”—he lands the grilled works of art smack between us, rising high like a stack of dairy-filled pancakes—“tell me why a hot girl like you would ever need tips on dating.” He gives the idea of a smile, and my heart takes off like a greyhound at the track.

“First, I’m not hot,” I correct. “I own a mirror. And I happened to see enough of the coed offerings tonight at the Black Bear to know there are far more combustible prospects out there. I can never compete with that. Second, I just don’t date.” I take a bite out of the masterpiece Holt and I whipped up and give an audible moan of approval. My head arches back as I let the ooey gooey goodness melt down my throat a moment.

His mouth opens as if he’s about to say something, but I’ve rendered him speechless, or at least I’d like to believe I have that kind of power.

“Izzy.” He leans in with that serious demeanor that my insides have quickly become addicted to. The entire lower half of my body just detonated like a flare gun. It scares me on a primal level to know that Holt has that kind of effect on me. “You’re legendary in Hollow Brook. No offense, but you’ve sponsored a boner in every guy that ever went to West. You’re the
it
girl. The fantasy of every boy you’ve ever met, and, for the life of me, I can’t figure out how you’re not fighting off men.”