Summer Breeze Kisses - Addison Moore Page 0,36

solving a problem is admitting you have one.

“But I might.” She scoots into me until her chest lays soft over mine. “You make me feel safe, and I can’t thank you enough for that.”

“I’m glad.” I bury a kiss in her hair.

“Now getting back to what we were doing.” She pulls her hand from my shirt and touches a line down my nose to my lips. “I think I’ll need all the pointers you’re willing to offer.”

“Sounds like we’d better get busy.”

“We’d better,” she whispers, pressing her lips to mine.

Izzy and I start in on a viral assault, exploding into one another’s mouths like solar flares, hard and rushed as if time were running out for the two of us. This is the stuff that dreams are made of. Izzy is definitely the girl of my dreams.

I wonder what has her thinking she’s such a “basket case.” Doesn’t she know I’m the only basket case around here?

I wonder if the two of us could ever work.

Maybe all two broken people really need are each other.

Dance Hall Days

Izzy

Dad,

I did it. I took a step in a direction that I never thought I would go in, and I liked it. I can’t tell you how long I’ve wondered if I would ever cross that threshold. So much was holding me back. Deep down, I was afraid something like that would never happen. I guess what I’m trying to say is that I’m ready to break some boundaries I thought I’d never cross. Okay, this is drifting into the weird zone, so I’ll sign off for now.

Do me a favor and show up sometime, would you? I would appreciate the hell out of it. Or at least I think I would. I’m not sure I could ever really be mad at you. I probably should be, so if you ever do come back, wear armor.

Love you—mostly,

~Izzy

Any morning you wake up with a mouthful of fur is guaranteed to be a bear from eyelids open.

I rush through my routine and run around my room like a spaz trying to find my purse before remembering I left it in the kitchen last night.

“I’m late,” I mutter as I struggle to put on my shoes while hopping down the hall. No time for breakfast. I’ll hit Starbucks on my way to the—

I spot my purse on the table, unzipped and splayed out. Funny. I don’t remember leaving it like that. I head over and pluck out my wallet and find that too unzipped. Now I for damn sure know I wouldn’t leave it like that. I peer inside only to find it empty. Crap. I had forty-five dollars left from Mr. Let-Me-Sniff-Your-Feet, and now it’s up and disappeared.

“Donny?”

A groan comes from the living room. I stagger over in a blind rage and bump into the moron himself.

“Did you take money out of my wallet?” At this point it’s a bit of a rhetorical question.

His hair is rumpled, his eyes half closed. He doesn’t say a word, a sure sign of guilt in the first degree.

God. What is it with my mother and idiots? Does she require they come with some pedigree that specifically dictates they’ve been inbred? Must they be derelict fugitives to gain entry into her bedroom?

“Okay, look. I’m going to be really nice about this.” Lie number one. “Give it back, and I’ll forget it ever happened.” Lie number two. “And I’ll never mention it to my mother.” Lie number three—the most delicious of them all.

“Can’t.” His breath blasts over me, thick with vodka. “Spent it.”

Gah! “I can’t believe you’re not even trying to cover it up!”

“Take it easy. It’s bad enough I had to hear your mother yapping all night about some big celebration down at that dance club you pretend to run. I had to do something. If it makes you feel better, I can tell her the flowers were from the both of us.”

Flowers? He blew my hard-earned foot fondling money on dying roses? That’s about as nonsensical as liquor at this point.

“You owe me forty-five dollars.” I try to step around him, but he blocks my path.

His eyes steady over my body, probing with his gaze as tactile as if he were feeling me up with his fingers. “You up for earning it back?”

“You wish.” That’s it. He’s history. “Get out of my way.” I bolt around him just as he slaps me over the ass. “Get out you asshole! Get out before I come home, or the next thing