Free Whiskey Kisses by Addison Moore

I’m not in the mood to attract attention to myself on Laney’s big day or any other day to be exact. I’ve never wanted half the attention I’ve received. That scene from last night at the sushi bar runs through my mind. I could feel Holt probing. He wanted more, I could tell, but really the rest isn’t all that important. I’m the reason my mother has had nothing but a string of revolving-door relationships. And, to be honest, I’m not holding my breath that things will work out with her and Greasy. Speaking of which.
    Off at the far end of the bar, I spot my mother in a bright blue power suit. Her inky hair sits combed back neat with a matching blue bow plastered to the side of her head. She’s laughing it up with a man about her age, well-dressed, gray hair, handsome. He seems nice enough. Too bad Greasy D is standing right beside her with his wandering eye while he levels the edge of a younger girl’s miniskirt. Holt goes over and pats the gentleman on the back, joining their circle.
    “Interesting,” I whisper as I make my way in their direction.
    An oversized banner is strung up over the bar, spelling out Congratulations! with little silver wedding bells dispersed throughout. A plethora of flowers sit on each table—white roses with a sprig of asparagus flowers thrown in for color. It looks beautiful and elegant, much like my baby sis. I couldn’t be happier for her and Ryder.
    “Hey there,” I say as I step into the small circle, planting myself right next to Holt.
    “Hey yourself.” Holt gives an easy smile, and I feel right at home by his side.
    “Marcus”—Mom pulls me in—“this is my daughter, Elizabeth. She’s working on her spinstership with four cats currently under her charge. If you find a stray please give me a call because every cat lady worth her salt knows you can never have too many.”
    “Nice intro,” I smart. “You can call me, Izzy,” I say, accepting his hand as he gives a gentle shake. Spinstership. My mother keeps reminding me, that in three short years, I’ll be turning thirty. You’d think I were inching my way toward a very steep cliff, and the only way to save myself from this horrible outcome is to strap myself to some poor, unsuspecting man for the rest of my life.
    “Marcus Edwards,” he says. I can’t help but notice he looks slightly familiar—something about those glowing eyes. “This is my fiancé, Jenny.” The girl by his side looks all of thirteen with her dark locks pulled into a sleek ponytail. Her over-bright lipstick gives her that playing-with-mommy’s-makeup look.
    “Izzy, this is my dad.” Holt presses his hand into the small of my back, and I take a breath. I glance down at his arm, and he pulls it away, quick as it came.
    I revert the attention back to his father and the ingénue he’s linked himself with. “It’s nice to meet you—both.” God, is she really marrying him? No wonder my mother is stuck with men like Greasy D, all the good ones are busy trolling the sandbox for their next conquest. That can’t be awkward at all for Holt, considering, legally, he’ll be obligated to card his new stepmother for the next five years.
    Mom fires up their conversation again, and Holt and I take a step back.
    “Sorry about that.” He glances down to my waist. “I wasn’t trying to—”
    I shake my head. “It was fine. If I want to date, I need to get used to things like that? Baby steps, right?”
    He looks puzzled for a moment until the gravity of what I’m saying finally sinks in. It’s my subtle way of letting him know I’m starting from scratch—that I have further to go than he could have ever imagined.
    “Baby steps.”
    Bryson and Baya come up, and he gives his brother a friendly sock to the arm.
    “What did I say about hitting on the patrons? Izzy is this bonehead bothering you?”
    Baya swats her boyfriend over the arm. “Ignore him.” She leans into me. “Holt is the second hottest guy in Hollow Brook. Isn’t that