Whiskey Kisses (11 page)

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 it—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 fucking 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 going 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.

Holy hell. Do I want to know?

“Inhale it all in just one bite?” A blocked windpipe on his part will do quite nicely.

He picks up his plate and places it carefully on the floor.

What’s he doing? Is there a small animal roaming the floor that I haven’t noticed? Is he trying to say the food is bad?

He leans forward and produces his wallet from his ass, and I’m slow to follow the direction this is heading.

He pulls out a bill just enough for me to see that it’s a Benjamin. “I’m willing to give you one hundred dollars if you dip your foot into that dessert.”

“Why would I do that?” I’m confused. Is that some social norm I’m not privy to that gives the establishment you’re eating at the big
F you
? God, I really have to get out more. If this is the case, society is experiencing a serious case of devolution, and soon we’ll all be right back to thinking the earth is flat.

His lips twitch with a smile. “So I can watch.”

Watch
?

“What?” I jump back in my seat. Okay, I have to give it to him. I did not see that coming. I’m guessing the demented doctor can keep me entertained all night with his fetish requests and touchy feely fingers. In truth, I’m fearing for more than my piggies.

“Go ahead.” He tosses me the bill, and it lands square on the whipped top layer of my yummy Italian treat. Great, now he’s defiled both our desserts.

I glance up at the bar and spot Holt looking in this direction.

“I’ve gotta go. There’s a man at the bar that needs me.” I snatch the bill off my plate and run like hell.

I bet he didn’t know I charge fifty bucks a piece to feel my feet.

Freaky bastard.

Holt

Izzy flies over, and the idiot Laney paired her with ditches out the side exit.

“What happened? Did he touch you?”

“Yes, he touched me.”

Fuck. I jump the counter and land next to her.

“You okay? You need me to break some kneecaps?”

“Yes.” She touches her hands to her temples. “I mean no. No breaking of the kneecaps. I’m fine. Let’s just say he was overtly interested in what I’m hiding in my shoes.”

Laney pops up with a ticked off look on her face. “What the hell? I just saw Dr. Lancaster run out of here like a fugitive. Did you say something to him?”

“No.” She holds up a hundred dollar bill and grins. “I stole his money. He said he’d pay me to plunge my foot in his dessert. He’s a sicko, Laney. Are you happy now? You’re two for two.”