Sugar Kisses

  “Izzy!” Laney throws her hands around her.

  Izzy is Laney’s sister who I think I met once, but our families don’t mix much due to the fact my mother likes to put her bitch face on to anyone outside her country club, thus the slight confusion I’m having.

  They lose themselves in conversation, and a sea of bodies moves between us, causing their little circle to drift toward the dance floor, and the next thing I see is the three of them thrashing their limbs to some alternative 80’s music that’s being covered by the world’s worst singer. It sounds live….and oh, crap. Every muscle in my body freezes because I happen to recognize that mall concert, smoky-tokey voice as none other than Steal-Your-Man LeAnn.

  Cole looks past me at the stage and shakes his head. “Sorry, cupcake. It’s karaoke night.” His dimples flex, no smile.

  “That’s okay.” I flick my fingers at him, and he creates another Pink Panty Dropper like his life depended on it. “I had a little heart to heart with my ex at the door, and you know what I discovered?” I shout up over the music until my own voice sounds like some irritating garbage disposal.

  “That you have the natural ability to verbally challenge the virility of a man?”

  “Are you calling me a bitch?” I almost like him a little better now.

  “No, I’m calling you witty. Most women would simply give him the finger. You like to add a sentimental touch he can reflect on later.”

  “Witty.” I roll my eyes at the idea. “Second thought, next time I’ll just give him the finger.”

  I swipe the drink from him and begin pouring it down my throat, enjoying the sting. I like pain you can feel, it’s much more useful than a broken heart caused by a dumbass boyfriend. That kind of pain just kills you for no real reason other than to exemplify the fact you were an idiot to begin with.

  Cole moves back and forth serving up an entire rainbow of Panty Droppers, although I’m guessing those other drinks come with fancy names of their own, like Poison for LeAnn, or Arsenic for Aiden, the Ball Buster, the Bitch Slap, the Stick Your Penis in Another Girl and Die.

  I knock back the rest of the hard pink lemonade and slap my hand over the bar until Cole starts mixing me another. I fall into his midnight-colored hair with my gaze and get lost in the sea of perfection that is Cole Brighton.

  “I’m going to give you a tip you won’t believe.” It slurs from me.

  “You’re going to flip my beav? Sounds dirty.” He cheers me with my own glass before sliding it over. “Looking forward to it. Will it hurt?”

  I try to nod, but my head feels as if it’s weighted with lead as I nosedive toward the bar until my forehead comes to rest on the hard, cool granite.

  “Whoa, princess. I think it’s time to call it.”

  He reaches for my glass at the same time I secure it with a death grip, and his fingers clasp over mine.

  “Yous feels nice.” I lift up to look at him. The light shines down, illuminating him like some alien being. Cole has the face of an angel.

  He closes his eyes a minute too long. “I think it’s quitting time for you, sweetheart.”

  “I thought I was your cupcake?” The words pop from my lips like rock candy.

  His cheeks flex with a grin, and my stomach spins and burns, and I swear the blue bird of happiness just flew around his head. Or was it mine?

  I bat the air for a minute as I try to right myself.

  Baya and Laney come back with Dizzy Izzy in tow. She looks so much like Laney I have to do a double take.

  Damn, she looks good in that zebra print she’s wearing. I open my mouth to tell her and yak on the floor between us with Laney catching my hair just in time.

  Screaming ensues, hysteria fills the air, and that’s mostly just from me.

  Laney helps me off the stool and over to the bathroom.

  “Spank you,” I murmur.

  “You wish.” She growls while scratching her nails over my back. “And you’re welcome.”

  After a piping hot shower, Laney and Baya help wrap me in a robe and land my drunk ass on the sofa back at my apartment.

  “I’ve got it from here.” Cole turns on the television and flops on the opposite couch. “Nothing a little cage fighting can’t cure.” He turns it up a little too loud.

  “I swear I will vomit on your mattress if you don’t turn that shit down.”

  “Anything for you, cupcake.” He reduces the volume until my ears stop bleeding.

  “Are you sure you’re feeling better?” Baya touches her cool hand to my forehead, obviously checking to see if I’ve contracted Pink Panty fever.

  “I’m fine.” I make a face because the room keeps spinning like a top, and it’s taking everything in me to keep from tipping over.

  “Okay, we’re going to get back to the bar. I left my sister on autopilot, and she doesn’t have the best sense of direction when it comes to guys.”

  “Sounds like we have a lot in common,” I quip, hugging a throw pillow.

  I give a brief wave as they take off to continue their fabulous Friday night, which I sort of put a damper on with my spontaneous puke fest.

  I look over at Cole stretched out across the couch in his Levis and Black Bear T-shirt.

  “You can go back,” the words gravel out of me. “I’d hate for you to lose the hours. Trust me, I can conduct the remainder of this pity party on my own.”

  “Are you kidding? And leave all this fun? Besides, I’ve never been to a pity party I didn’t secretly enjoy.”

  “I’ll cure you of that.” I sink into the sofa. “Anyway I’m glad to announce I’m finally over the dingleberry that hijacked my dignity.”

  He turns the TV down a notch and looks over. “Then what’s keeping the pity party rolling?”

  “Life.” I lie down and prop my head on the pillow. “I can’t believe I got wasted as a way to commemorate my freedom.”

  “Take note, you’re a light weight. I hardly put a drop of alcohol in those things.”

  “Are you accusing me of being dramatic? You’re the one who kept shoving those dirty panties in my face.”

  “All right, cupcake. I can see where this is going.” He flexes a wry smile, and I drool just a little. “Why don’t we watch something you want?” He starts flipping through the channels. “The Shopping Network? I hear they save all the best dildos for after midnight.” He winks over at me.

  “Takes one to know one.” I’m not sure that made sense, but I’m still riding the ethanol coattails of those panty twisters.

  “That it does.” He gives the remote another few good flips and lands on some stale comedy from the fifties that looks as if someone colored in everyone’s clothes with a crayon.

  “Turn this crap. It’s making me nauseated.”

  “Yes, ma’am.” He continues to flip through at a manic rate.

  “Why are you so nice to me when I’m trying my hardest to be mean to you?”

  “Because, deep down, I know you’re anything but mean.”

  I let out a groan because I’m this close to vomiting out my affection for him, literally.

  Cole pulls his shirt up to his armpits and pats his chest a few times while trying to land us on something mutually edifying. He adjusts his body until his chest faces me, never taking his eyes off the screen. Damn—washboard abs, the smooth, lean strips of muscle that striate over his torso, his naturally tan skin, just the peek of a happy trail leading from his bellybutton—Cole Brighton has the body of a sex god.

  “How about The Outsiders?”

  “Only featuring every 80’s star that ever lived. No thanks.” I insert the tip of my finger in my mouth as I continue to drool over the long mass of muscle he’s morphing into. I try to imagine myself coiled around him with those overblown biceps holding me down. I can practically feel his fingers digging into my hips.

  “Here, this should do.” He tosses the remote on the floor as if to prove his point.

  I glance over to find The Food Network on. A man sporting a m
anufactured grin gives us the tour of a donut factory.

  “Oh yeah, baby.” Cole groans as if a couple dozen glazed donuts have the ability to get him off, and I’m guessing they do.

  My eyes trace down his chest, down to his hips and stay a while just staring at his crotch like it was planning an attack. I crush my teeth over my lower lip and imagine what he might be hiding in there. Swear to God, I’ve never seen a bulge like that on a guy in a resting position. Aiden had the uncanny ability to look like a girl in blue jeans, and here Cole looks as if he’s hoarding some kind of sexual contraband of the anaconda variety.

  Cole lets out a beast of a groan, and I glance at the television in time to see the donuts falling into the glazer, resurfacing with their sugary gloss, still wet on their backs.

  “Aw, fuck.” Cole writhes over the sofa, and a moan of my own gets locked in my throat. “I can’t take much more of this before I hop in my car and hit an all-night donut shop.” He picks up the remote and turns down the volume, hoping to defuse the food porn that’s gripping him by the balls, and my eyes sort of stray in that general region. Damn, by the looks of things, Cole Brighton has a supersized package. I bet he has balls the size of apples.

  “Hey, cupcake”—he waves a finger in my direction—“my eyes are up here. Did you hear my question?”

  “Walls?” Gah! Now there’s a regretful combo of balls and what. Note to self: Never, ever drink again. In fact, stay away from all liquids just to be safe.

  He frowns a moment before returning the favor and trailing his gaze from my head down to my feet.

  “You painted your toes.” His dimples flash in and out approvingly at my bright red polish.

  “Don’t look at my pigs.” I tuck my legs back and readjust myself on the couch.

  Cole bucks out an obnoxious laugh that makes me want to choke a litter of kittens.

  “What’s so funny?”

  “Nothing, it’s just that I hear that I’m a pig all the time.”

  “Oh, so you’re a pig, too? I suppose your next line will be ‘let’s go make some bacon.’”

  His lip twitches as he fights to hide that sarcastic as hell smile. “You wanna get cookin’, good lookin’?”

  “Right, like I’d ever make bacon with you. You’re a player. Sex is nothing more than a clinical experience. The next time I share my body with someone, I want it to mean something. I want to be in love.” I shake my head because we both know what a fairytale that is. True love is just as realistic as unicorns and vampires. Come to think of it, I’d prefer hanging out with a unicorn or vampire.

  He narrows those thick, dark brows at me, and his eyes smolder into mine. “All right, why don’t we play a drinking game? You already did the drinking so we can segue right into the fun part.” He rests the remote over his granite abs, pointing downward toward the volcanic bulge that’s threatening to compromise the fabric of his jeans.

  “Okay, what is it?”

  “Never.” He gives a sly grin, and my stomach pinches with heat. “Never have I kissed a nun. Your turn.” He gives a slow seductive wink, and, suddenly, the alcohol has me believing I’m on the wrong couch.

  “Never have I seen someone have so much sex. That would be you, by the way, you’re a freak, and, no, I haven’t actually witnessed your night moves. I’m relying solely on the moans and groans I’ve heard coming from your room. Swear to God, this place turns into a bona fide haunted whorehouse after midnight.”

  “I haven’t had sex in weeks.” He flat lines.

  “Oh, poor you. Are you cramping up? Do you need me to run out to some all-night sex shop and buy you a blowup doll?”

  Cole spears me with those glowing green eyes. “You’ll do.” His cheek rises up one side because he’s too damn cocky to give into the shit-eating grin that’s dying to break out on his face.

  I could give him the finger or shoot off another smartass remark, but I choose to take the highroad this once.

  “Back to the game,” I snip. “Never…” I nestle into my pillow and consider it for a moment as my entire life unravels before my eyes. “Never did I think I’d be such a loser.”

  “You’re not a loser.” His dimples press in, and my stomach ignites like a ball of Pink Panty Dropping fire. I seriously hope that’s not the puke wanting to impress me with a reprisal. “I’ll go,” he whispers. “Never did I think my dad would leave me.”

  The mood in the room shifts. Cole keeps his gaze on the television, but I can tell he’s looking right through it.

  “What happened to your dad?”

  “He got hit by a car. He was a cyclist and died doing what he loved. Drunk driver clipped him—his helmet flipped off, hit his temple on a rock. The rest is history.”

  “Oh my, God. I’m so sorry.” And here I was wallowing in my own misery. Poor Cole and Baya won’t ever get to see their dad again. “How old were you when this happened?”

  “High school.” He forces a dry smile. “Anyway I probably shouldn’t have went there.”

  “No, I’m glad you did. So, what was he like? Were you close?” I’ve always been fascinated with other people’s parents. Especially since the relationship with mine has been like walking on eggshells.

  “He was great. He had his own construction company and always bounced his ideas off Baya and me. He took us into the office a few times. It was nice. We got to see him in action.”

  “What’s your best memory of him?”

  Cole takes a breath. His chest expands, wide as a door. “He used to come into my room each night before bed, and we’d talk about the day, just us guys. He would tell me all about his glory days at WB.”

  “He went here?”

  “Yup. He promised me college would be the time of my life.”

  “Is it?”

  Cole blinks over with glassy eyes. “I don’t know.” It rasps from him gruff and, despite our topic of conversation, sexy as hell. “I thought if I threw myself at anything that moves I’d have the time of my life, that it would fill this black hole my dad left when he died, but I don’t feel any different.”

  I take him in with his dark lashes bowed, grief imprinted on his face. I wish he wasn’t hurting. That somehow I could take away the pain and make it all better, but I imagine death is an immovable stone that settles in your life that you can never get rid of.

  “I know this is going to sound lame, but I can relate a little, you know, about the hole. Not in the same way you can—I mean, that’s way worse. But my parents left the same hole in my heart without meaning to. I think the only time they noticed I was around was when I was baking treats for them. The whole house would smell good, and for an hour or so everyone was happy. We felt like a regular family. Then my dad would get lost in his office, and my mother would be planning some big event. Ryder would take off with his friends, and it was just me again, all alone. I guess sometimes it’s nice to have someone make you feel special—to make you feel like you count.”

  He gives a slow nod, the look of sorrow on his face.

  Then I do the unthinkable. I get up and go over, lying down next to him until our bellies touch.

  “Never have I fallen asleep in the arms of someone like you.” I wrap my arms around his waist and hold him, wishing all his pain away—and my pain, too.

  His eyes widen, his soft, warm breath tickles my lips.

  “Hey there,” he whispers.

  “Hey.” Way to bring the awkward to the table. “I may have no real social etiquette.” I bite down on my lip. “Like ever.”

  Cole smolders at me with those bedroom eyes. His mouth curves out with the hint of a wicked smile.

  Holy hell. Clearly I’ve made a huge mistake. Of course, he’s going to think I want to sleep with him. Isn’t that exactly what I said?

  “I’m not sleeping with you.” It speeds out of me.

  His chest thumps against mine as he fights to hold back that full blooming grin waiting to take over.

  “I mean, I am.” I settle my arms around hi
m and let my body mold to his. “But not like that.”

  It feels good to touch him this way, platonically, of course, through several layers of clothing.

  “Not like that.” He repeats, but it comes out more of a question. “Like this.” He runs his hands down my back and stops just shy of my hips. A chill runs up my spine like fingers gliding over the keys of a piano.

  Cole presses his lips over my forehead before resting his cheek against mine.

  “I think you’re special, cupcake. I think you count.”

  I strengthen my arms around him and nestle in.

  “I think you’re pretty special, too, Cole.”

  Cole

  The morning light trickles in through the curtains, and much to my surprise, Roxy is still snug in my arms as if she wanted to be here. I thought for sure once the vodka wore off she’d morph back into her lovable ball-busting self. In all honesty, there was something downright sweet about her last night, vulnerable even.

  My fingers mold over her hips before skimming up the side of her body, and I dig my hand into her thick mane like I’ve wanted to for the last few weeks. It feels smooth, slippery, and I bury my face in it for a minute, taking in its strawberry scent. My boner ticks to life, but I don’t care. I’ve been dying to be this close—to smell her vanilla-scented skin, taste that cherry ripe mouth. I land my lips over her temple and linger.

  “What?” She groans, twisting away from me as if trying to get her bearings. “Wait, what is this?” She looks around with those sleepy eyes, and my dick rubs up against her stomach. “Oh, shit!” She spikes up. “What’s going on?” Her hair is messy, her mascara smudged just enough, and it’s become pretty obvious I’m going to have to slick one off in the shower just to get through the day.

  “Nothing’s going on, I swear.” I press back into the sofa. “It’s just a bathroom boner, I promise.”

  She snatches the pillow and covers her chest with it. “Gross.” Her eyes flit down to my crotch.

  “I’ll take a quick shower.” I get up careful not to touch her.

  Roxy grazes her bottom lip with her teeth, her eyes never leaving my crotch. “I’ll make us breakfast.”