Summer Breeze Kisses - Addison Moore Page 0,43

out with her friends, and it turned into one big make-out session with me being the only one focusing on the explosives in the sky. Nevertheless it’s the Fourth, and, oddly enough, tonight is the third blind disaster Laney has set up for me. Three strikes and she’s out. Those are the rules, and I’m sticking to them.

I’m not sure what has Laney so motivated to boot me over to testosterone-laden pastures other than the fact she may not like having her sister turn into an old maid right before her eyes. Too bad. Not only have I been an old maid in training since my eighteenth birthday, but I’m driving the bandwagon for future old maids of America. I might even start an alliance. Of course, there will be a four-cat minimum for admittance into the organization. Bonus points if you live with your mother. A spot on the board if she happens to be a battle-ax that prefers pond scum sleeping next to her at night.

All the way over to the Black Bear, the conversation, or more like shouting match, I had with my mother replays on a loop.

“Sell the studio,” I whisper, shaking my head as I enter the bar. My mother is out of her fuchsia-lipped, headband-wearing mind. First she wanted to fire up the RV with Don, and now she’s trying to sell the studio? It’s obvious she’s having a midlife crisis. That studio takes better care of us than any man ever could. It puts food on the table, keeps a roof over our heads, and has turned every girl that’s ever graced those halls into an extended family member—not to mention a seasoned dancer.

Inside, the Black Bear is thick with people. The heavy scent of fajitas permeates the air, and, sure enough, I catch Laney carrying a sizzling platter to a nearby table. I do a quick scan of the bar and spot Bryson and Cole. Down at the far end, ensconced with a pair of amply endowed girls that look far younger than Laney, is Holt.

My heart sinks at the sight. A jealous fire rages through my bones, and a part of me says that’s my Holt. But he’s not. At least he shouldn’t be.

I step into the crowd and bump into a body—Baya.

“Hey!” She jumps as if she’s genuinely happy to see me. “Rumor has it you have a hot date in T-minus five minutes. Your sister is freaking out. For some reason she was afraid you wouldn’t show.”

“I’m here. Ready for dating duty.”

She clicks her tongue at me. “It’s not a chore, Izzy. I promise tonight’s offering is a drool worthy specimen who has his head on straight.”

“We’ll see.” For as little as Laney has been screening the prospects, I’m sure Baya knows them that much less.

“No, really. He works for Ryder’s father. He’s got his MBA and everything.”

MBA? A wave of heat floods through me. I wonder how Laney sold me? I have the furthest thing from an MBA. Hell, I barely got out of high school with a C average.

“Nice. Tell Laney I’ll be back in the corner.” I wanted to say nobody puts Izzy in a corner—with the exception of Laney. But Baya is so young she probably wouldn’t get the reference. We part ways, and I take the long way to the back in an effort to avoid walking past the bar. I stride by a halfway decent looking guy sitting alone, perusing the menu, and he holds up a finger as I’m about to pass him.

“Izzy Sawyer?” His pale green eyes connect with mine as he gives a pleasant smile. He’s about my age with deep-welled dimples and dark, thick hair, eyes that command my attention. He’s abnormally handsome, but something deep inside me is already holding him at bay.

“That would be me.”

He’s quick to stand. “You’re even more beautiful than your sister let on. Wyatt James.” He offers his hand, and I take it, strong yet gentle as he gives a solid shake.

“I’m impressed. You’re early.” I take a seat across from him. My eyes skirt the bar to see if Holt is still sandwiched between the cleavage-wielding cheer squad, and, to my horror there are at least four more girls surrounding him, creating a bubble of silicone. Should we have an earthquake, Holt is well protected.

Crap. At least I know that cutting all ties with him was the right thing to do. God knows I’d hate to slow down his mojo. I frown