Forbidden Kisses (3:AM Kisses Book 9)

by Addison Moore

  The passenger’s door swings open and in flies Scarlett like a wild, redheaded flame.

  “You’re a freaking nutcase, you know that?” My heart gives a few hard wallops, and for a second, I’m unsure if it’s her sheer stupidity or the fact she’s kicked up my hormones once again. Scarlett has been known to get my adrenaline going. She’s hot and happens to have a smoking body, but then, my adrenaline seems to kick up to just about any girl who meets that criteria.

  She laughs while making an attempt to buckle herself. “You keep up with the sweet talk, and I’ll think you’re trying to hit on me.”

  Now it’s me barking out a laugh. I head toward the main road, and she dives over the steering wheel, landing me in the far right lane instead.

  “Geez, you could have killed us. You’re lucky there was no one in that lane. Remind me to never get into a car that you’re actually in control of.”

  “There wasn’t anyone there. I checked.” Her lips purse into a severe pout. “I don’t have an overnight bag. I need to run up to my dorm and throw a few things together. It’ll only take a minute, unless, of course, you think you can get us back to Hollow Brook before midnight.” Her large green eyes round out with hope. The first thing I noticed about Scarlett last summer were her oversized lawn-green eyes. I’ve never seen anything quite like them.

  “Is that why Colin Bale was invited to the cabin? As your midnight express back to Whitney Briggs?” Not a bad idea now that I think about it.

  “That among other things.” She wraps her arms around her tiny waist and hugs herself while perfecting that pout in her reflection. Scarlett is a damn gorgeous girl. If my mother weren’t so insistent in pinning down her father, the sexual sickle might have swung in the opposite direction for the two of us. But, then, if her constant disdain and overall lack of enthusiasm when I’m around is any indication, perhaps not. “Hey! I’ve got a great idea.” She spins toward me in her seat, her entire person lights up at whatever it is she’s about to propose.

  “No,” I flatline as I pull into the parking lot just below Cutler Tower.

  “What do you mean no? You don’t even know what I was about to say!” Her voice rises a notch, incensed by the idea, and something about her rife indignation makes my boxers twitch with approval.

  “I mean no. I’m pretty sure whatever you’re about to say is a lousy idea. You’re full of them tonight, starting with that skater boy you almost dragged up to the lake—who would have initiated an alcohol-fueled attack by the way. He had trouble written all over his neon T-shirt.”

  Her lips invert as if holding back a laugh. Her dark hair falls into the stream of light beaming from the parking lot and catches fire. Scarlett’s hair looks black from far away, but the closer you get you realize, that much like her temper, it’s a bona fide flame. You get too close, you’ll get burned. I should know. It seems like Scarlett is forever trying to set me on fire. We’ve gotten along as well as oil and water pretty much since hello.

  “My idea is”—she growls—“I was sort of hoping you’d have a very pressing football need and get us off that overgrown rock tonight.” She ducks as if I were about to toss a shoe at her.

  So her weekend plans hinge on whether or not I feel like lying to my mother.

  “You really are nuts. It takes an hour to get there with no traffic, and an hour to get back. It’s already almost seven. That leaves about an hour to spend time with our parents.” I think on this a moment. “It’s actually pretty brilliant, but still a hard no.”

  “Why not?” Scarlett sounds a lot like Trixy when she whines. There’s something almost endearing about her—almost. I’m pretty sure it’s the inkling of my little sister I find endearing, not the redheaded spitfire sitting next to me.

  “Because for one, my mother actually expects me to stay the weekend. And I happen to be a—”

  “Momma’s boy?” She finishes the thought for me, albeit incorrectly.

  “I was thinking responsible, respectful, and dutiful son.” And probably a momma’s boy when you get right down to it, but who doesn’t love their mom? I flick a finger up at the glittering lights of the dormitory tower. “Make it quick, sweetheart.”

  “I’m sure you say that to all the girls.” She scoffs as if holding back a laugh. “In fact, I bet you have that carved into your headboard.”

  “I don’t have a headboard—too noisy.” An indulgent grin begs to take over, but I won’t let it. “I like all of my noise to come from the girls.”

  She lets out an exasperated grunt as she opens the door.

  “In fact, that’s the sound right there!”

  “Ugh!” Scarlett jumps out, swinging both her hair and hips from side to side, and I try to pry my eyes away, make myself follow any other coed, but my gaze won’t stray. Shit. This girl doesn’t know the half of what she does to me.

  We keep the conversation to a minimum on the rest of the drive. “Lake Avalanche,” I say mostly to myself. “What the hell kind of name is that?”

  “A good one,” she snipes back as if I took a personal jab at her family—her father primarily. Him, I actually might like to stab. Bradley Kent, asshole in arms. What a freaking douche. “I suppose your family is too good to have a cabin at Lake Avalanche. Tell me, Sexy Rexy”—she incites the nickname Cassidy sometimes taunts me with, and a dull smile curls the corner of my lips—“where pray tell do the Tobermans blow off steam? Oh, wait, you’re far too nouveau riche to do something as filthy as blow off anything.”

  “That’s right, princess.” My blood pressure skyrockets right along with my irritation. “I save all my blowing for the bedroom.” Normally, I wouldn’t dream of talking to a girl this way, but she started this perverse flow of thought by invoking my imaginary headboard.

  She grunts again. “Where does your family prefer to summer? I’ll take a wild stab at it.” A self-righteous grin blooms on her face. “The Hamptons? I bet you’re just chomping at the bit to catch the first private jet to Long Island.”

  “My private jet happens to be in the shop.” True story, but I’m not entertaining this ridiculous conversation with her. “And we don’t summer in the Hamptons.” Anymore—but she doesn’t need to know that little tidbit either. Before my parents divorced, they were the “it” couple of the east end of that island. I can still smell the salt in the thick, warm air, feel the powder white sand clinging to my legs. That sand followed you home, and there wasn’t a damn thing you were going to do about it. “We have a cabin at Mirror Lake.” Mirror Lake is two hours from Hollow Brook, and that one extra hour of travel is the exact reason I think my mother opted for the Avalanche that’s about to ensue. “We don’t have any silly nickname for our cabin either.” Not sure why I went there with the exception that I find the name of their family abode completely ridiculous in nature. “So, who dreamed up the Happy Squirrel Retreat? Let me guess. It was your best work?”

  Scarlett sinks in her seat a bit, her lids growing heavy and weary. “We all did—my brother, sister, and me. It’s stupid, I know.” Her voice grows small. “Ironically, it was such a happy day.” She looks out the window and gives a tiny sniffle.

  My heart breaks because in that one moment it feels as if Scarlett and I are on the same level, in the same amount of pain over who our families once were and who we’re morphing into. I do know her mother is remarried, so there’s no chance of her parents reuniting. But my father—he’s not hitched. He’s not even dating. My mother needs to wake the hell up and put her life back together. Yes, what happened sucked. What happened to her after the fact made everything ten times worse. But is it impossible for them to get back together? No. The only thing standing in their way is a tall, gray-haired bag of bones named Bradley Kent. My goal this weekend is to make my mother realize what I’ve known all along. She doesn’t belong with this idiot for God’s sake. She belongs with my dad.

  We drive the rest of the way in silence.

  The Happy Squirrel Retreat sits at the edge of Lake Avalanche wit
h an awkward skyscraper-like disposition. It actually looks wider at the top than should ever be safe, and those stilts it’s sitting on aren’t doing any favors in the way of assuring me of my safety. Not to mention, the cabin sits far too close to shore for comfort. I swear on all that is holy that son of a bitch looks like it’s about to topple right in.

  An oversized wooden statue of a bear holding a sign with the cabin’s boastful moniker greets us at the bottom of the stairs. The cabin itself is more like a cozy nook than the palace I envisioned.

  I know all about extra large ski-side accommodations. Our cabin at Mirror Lake is over nine thousand square feet. Both the Tobermans and the Kents would have been much more comfortable there for the weekend rather than trying to squeeze ourselves into this shoebox. We’ll be clawing out one another’s eyes far sooner than the time allotted for this unwanted stay-cation. On second thought, this thumbtack of a retreat might be just what the breakup doctor ordered to end my mother’s extended fling.

  “It’s four bedrooms, two baths—one upstairs and down.” Scarlett gives me a quick architectural rundown, sounding more depressed by the meager disposition of the house than boastful. “The kitchen’s a tiny square, but I’m sure we’ll make it work. I’m already losing my appetite, so that’s one less room I’ll be heading into.”

  I pick up our bags from the trunk and follow her up, trying not to hypnotize myself by the sweet way her ass sashays back and forth like it’s trying to teach me a lesson. Just the thought of that rock for brains, Colin Bale, coming up here and pawing all over her is enough to make me lose my appetite.

  Scarlett gives a meek knock at the door before grabbing the handle and bowing her head a moment as if she needed to summon her resolve just to walk inside.

  We head into the brightly lit foyer that spills into the living room, and before we know it, our families offer up a collective cheery hello. The thick scent of something sweet baking hits me, and already it’s wiped the pall off this place. As much as I hate to admit it, this feels cozy, alarmingly homey even.

  I give a brief wave at Trixy and Knox playing pool in the corner along with Scarlett’s younger brother, Lawson. The table is too jammed up against the wall to allow a proper game, but it looks as if they’re making the best of it.

  Mom gives an exaggerated hello from the dot of a kitchen while pulling a tray of chocolate chip cookies from the oven. Her hair is pinned back in a bun, and she’s actually donned an apron. A part of me is tempted to take a picture of this 1950s version of my mother and shoot it to Dad, but I’m pretty sure that’s one of the worst things I can do. He wouldn’t be amused. He’d be irritated, jealous even.

  I glance over to the sofa where Bradley sits square on his haunches, staring transfixed at the television. His hair is snow white, and he has a pair of silver framed spectacles sliding down his nose. If Scarlett and her siblings get their dark crimson locks from him, the world would never know it.

  He offers up a brief, cheery hello of his own, but it looks as if neither Scarlett nor I are getting a running, hugging reception from our respective parents. Instead, her lookalike older sister—swear to God, they could be twins—heads over with some dude in tow. I’ve met Scarlett’s family several times by now, and I’ve yet to see this pasty-faced, somewhat angry looking dude who’s shuffling alongside Sabrina.

  “Sissy!” Sabrina holds out her arms with her mock enthusiasm. It’s pretty clear to everyone with a beating heart that Sabrina and Scarlett aren’t exactly the best of friends. You couldn’t cut through the tension with a razor when these two are around. “So, where is he?” She cranes her neck past the two of us. Her act is so convincing I look back myself to see if anyone’s followed us up. “Is he getting your bags? Isn’t he the perfect gentleman.” Her pink manicured hands rub together as if she’s already developing a plan of wicked proportions, which wouldn’t surprise me. Sabrina is a lot like Scarlett’s evil twin with longer, darker hair, stronger red highlights, her eyes a bit larger, her nose a bit hooked. She’s a wicked beauty to Scarlett’s poetic quiet looks. Too bad Scarlett’s temperament doesn’t quite match. Other than that, they could pass as twins easily.

  “He’s not coming,” Scarlett says it just above a whisper.

  “Are you talking about C—?”

  Scarlett darts a harsh glance my way and shakes her head ever so slightly.

  “What’s this here?” Sabrina cocks her head to the side while the pasty-faced dude keeps his eyes glued to Scarlett. He hasn’t once looked away, and something about that wet dream look on his face makes me want to sock him. “Oh, hon”—she flicks her wrist—“there ain’t no shame in being single.” Sabrina’s country twang is much thicker than Scarlett’s. At first, I couldn’t tell if I was hallucinating, but the more I listened, the more it was there in the background like a ghost trying not to be seen. “Just because Duncky and I have found true love doesn’t mean you need to run off and get yourself saddled with just any ol’ body.”

  Duncky’s eyes drop to Scarlett’s cleavage, and I hold out my hand, cock-blocking his view. “Rex Toberman.” If the girls aren’t going to do the honors, I’ll take the reins.

  “Duncan Wormier.” A look of discontent takes over his features. “I used to date Scarlett.”

  Shit. I stop mid-shake.

  Sabrina swats him in the stomach, and now this entire wishing-Colin-were-here-scenario makes perfect sense. Sabrina is a boyfriend-jacker, and she’s hauled him to the Squirrely Whirly Retreat to rub him in poor Scarlett’s face.

  “So, it’s Duncky, huh?” I nod at the dude trying to get out of the awkwardness his confession has landed us in.

  Scarlett takes in a breath. “Something stupid I used to call him.”

  “Yes, well, he’s mine now.” Sabrina pulls Scarlett in and giggles as if this were somehow appropriate. “We thought we’d meet the young man Scar Scar has been hiding, but I suppose he’ll remain a mystery—perhaps an illusion for quite some time now!” She cackles again right into her sister’s face, and I can see Scarlett’s cheeks heating to match the color of her hair.

  “Maybe he won’t be such a mystery.” I shrug, and Scarlett glares back at me for even bothering to intervene. I look right at her, and something in those glassy jade eyes softens just a bit. As if I tossed out a life preserver to that sinking ship she’s on, and she’s actually made the decision to reach for it. “Maybe you’re looking at him.”

  All three pairs of eyes widen at the same time, Scarlett’s being the most prominent and damning with rage.

  “Come on, Scar Scar.” I tick my head at her. “Let’s let the relationship cat out of the bag. You’re not ashamed of me, are you?”

  Her mouth opens, and an entire series of choking sounds come out—one of my favorite things to induce in a girl, usually in bed and never in front of her sister.

  “See?” I step in close and wrap an arm over her shoulders. “That wasn’t so bad.”

  “Wait a Whitney Briggs’s minute!” Sabrina sings, pointing wildly at the two of us as if she were a conductor. “Does Daddy know about this little indecent arrangement?”

  “No way, no how,” Scarlett grunts it out. Her chest rises and falls as she glares at me a moment. “We’re sort of a new thing—a secret at the moment. We’re only telling the two of you, so if word gets out, we’ll know who to kill.” She gifts them a look that can just as easily slit their throat. There’s the girl I know, right back to her snippy, hostile self. For as much as I can’t stand to be around her, I don’t want to see her beating heart ripped out of her chest by her sister of all people.

  “Oh, honey”—Sabrina skirts her gaze up and down my body twelve times fast as if she might be in the mood to swipe another guy out from under Scarlett’s nose—“our lips are very much sealed.”

  Mom shuttles us over to the living room, giggling like a schoolgirl herself. Just watching her like this, happy to be here, turns my stomach. “How about we watch a movie like one big happy family?” She dots Bradl
ey’s face with a kiss, and a dull collective groan runs through the room. I don’t think a single one of us can ever get used to seeing their geriatric love connection in action.

  Knox and Lawson help narrow down our viewing picks, and while everyone vies for their favorite flick, I pull Mom aside to the hall.

  “What’s with the June Cleaver routine?” I glance down at her flour-stained apron. This reeks Halloween costume more than it ever does happy homemaker, especially with my mother dressed the part.

  “Would you relax?” She strokes my hair for a moment as if I were five. “Can you just once be happy for me?” Her features relax, beckoning me to do the same. My mother has been through a hell of a lot, I’ll give her that, but something about the way this weekend, this relationship of hers with Brad-the-Fad is unfolding has me feeling a little sorry for the guy. “You know I’ve been through a lot. I deserve this”—she scowls at her choice of clothing—“this Happy Suzy Homemaker delusion.”

  “Delusion being the operative word.” The lights dim as Bradley calls us each to take a seat. He pats the space next to him for his Lyn Lyn. God help me or I might actually land my fist through that old coot’s jaw.

  “Enough for now,” she whispers as we head on over. “Just forget about the past, Rex. God knows I have.” She struts off and lands next to Scarlett’s father as if he had been holding that seat for her for the last twenty years.

  But those last few words of hers sting the most. It’s true. My mother has set the past very far behind her.

  After a droning action comedy that most of us have seen one too many times before, my mother doles out room assignments. Knox and Trixy bunk together. They’re twins, two years my junior, and they’ve spent their whole lives bunking together. Even at their age, they don’t seem to mind. Scarlett and her sister are in the room next to mine, and I’m the lucky fuck who gets to bunk with “Duncky.”

  The second the door shuts to our room, he starts stripping down to his boxers, and I toss a spare pillow at him.