Winter Kisses

by Addison Moore

  “Look who decided to show up?” Her eyes expand as she gives a toothy smile, and I can’t for the life of me figure out if she’s thrilled or pissed. You’d think I would have decoded my mother’s many moods by now, but I’m not even close. Not sure I want to be.

  “It’s nice to see you, too,” I chime in.

  “Great party.” Laney marvels at the guests a moment. “And the decorations! Your home is to die for.”

  “It is a stunner.” She pulls back and examines Laney from head to toe. “And look at you.”

  I wrap my arm around Laney and wait for my mother to follow her observatory remark with something nice, but it doesn’t come. I think we both know that’s as close as my mother gets to doling out a compliment, she tiptoes to the border and ventures no further.

  “Oh, the chancellor from the auxiliary league is making her way to the door. I’ll catch up with you two later.” She zips off to tend to her guests, and I breathe a sigh of relief.

  “That went well.” Laney glances at the ceiling as if she were considering it. Come to think of it, she was probably posing a question.

  “How about you and me head over to that buffet now?” I nip at her earlobe, and she bucks and shudders beneath me. It’s like the public version of an orgasm—one I don’t mind gifting her right here under my mother’s uptight roof. These are the exact things I’ve missed this past year. The way her body responds to mine, her cute sighs, the sweet way she rubs my back when we’re in public. I’m addicted to it all.

  “Why don’t you go ahead? I see Baya and Roxy outside, and I want to say hello.”

  “You bet.” I crash my lips to hers for a moment. “I’ll be out in a sec.”

  She drifts off with a wave, and I make a beeline toward the food. It’s a holiday spread that only my mother’s careful culinary supervision can provide. I must say, I’m damn glad Laney and Mom have worked things out. As much as I’d miss my mother, I’d miss her five-star catered events as well. I suppose that sounds cruel, but the food has been known to offer more comfort and support than the woman herself. Nevertheless my stomach lives to eat another Capwell-catered meal.

  “Hey, good looking.” A female voice sings to my right, followed by a nudge to the shoulder.

  I glance down to find Meg with her eyes rotating in her skull, her lipstick smeared.

  “You okay?” Shit. This is exactly how it went down last year, but this time I’m not falling for anybody’s party tricks. If Meg wants to use and abuse her liver, it’s entirely up to her. She can fall flat on her face, and I’ll be the first to find someone to help her, but it won’t be me.

  “I’m better now.” She sticks to my side like we’re glued at the hip, and my body temperature spikes because I’m terrified Laney will walk in and see the display.

  “Good.” I move away as I reach for a plate.

  “Rumor has it you and Laney are at it again.”

  At it again? She makes it sound like a fistfight.

  “Yup. Some rumors are true. We’re at a lot of things again.” Take the hint and leave. I scoop dish after dish onto my plate, and yet Meg has my appetite waning. If she keeps this up, I’ll miss out on a great dinner.

  “So this is something you want?” She leans against the counter and a ladle of rice rockets in the air, spraying the two of us with hundreds of sticky grains.

  “Hold your fire.” I dust myself off, and she takes the opportunity to molest the hell out of my chest. I can smell the hint of liquor on her breath, and you don’t need to be a genius to know where this is headed.

  “I’m so sorry!” She pants through a laugh. “It’s like some crazy wedding omen.”

  Crazy being the operative word.

  “I’ve got this,” I say as I back the hell away. “And, yes, when the time is right Laney and I will marry.” There. Done. I set down my food and turn to head outside.

  “You can’t marry, Laney. We haven’t done this—” She spins me around by the back of the neck and pushes her lips to mine.

  6

  Deck the Halls and Maybe Meg

  Laney

  Roxy is laughing her ass off while Baya spells out in nauseating detail what went down at the office today.

  “The intercom!” Roxy belts it out with a scream. “That’s classic! I bet Ryder gets a lot more respect around the office from now on.” She digs her fingers into her eyes as she wipes away the tears.

  “I do what I can to help.”

  Baya breaks out into slow moans, “Oh Ryder—Oh shit, Laney, and dear God, your penis is naked!”

  “I did not say that.” I avert my gaze for a moment at Bryson who thankfully is seemingly distracted by something in the house. “And that’s not how it went at all.”

  “Well, maybe next time you can leave the door wide open so we can get a visual.” Baya pulls Bryson in close as they share a laugh.

  Very funny.

  “You can sell tickets!” Roxy chortles. “I bet that would really help out the drama department.”

  Sell tickets. I shake my head. But it’s all in fun, and, after all, Ryder and I sort of set ourselves up for this. I have a feeling he’ll be getting rid of the intercom sooner than later. At the very least, a nice fluffy couch will soon make its appearance. If I had the cash, I’d pony up for one myself.

  Baya and Roxy settle down—actually they stop in their tracks, and now the three of them are staring at the house with their faces as white as ghosts.

  “What?” I go to spin around, and Roxy catches me, preventing me from doing so. “I’m going to find out, so you might as well let me see.”

  God, what if Ryder is planning some spectacular proposal, and he’s about to bring out the ring on a silver platter with fireworks and a marching band and an entire cheerleading squad. Wait—nix the cheerleaders. The only one allowed to be remotely cute and sexy in the engagement processional is me. My fantasy. My rules.

  Roxy loosens her grasp and shoots a dirty look behind me.

  I turn to find Ryder barreling in this direction, and practically tackle him, ready to say yes, when I spot bright red lipstick smeared over his mouth. Crap. It looks like someone beat me to the kissing portion of my daydream.

  I run my finger through the kiss-print and hold it up for him to see. “I think pink is more your color. What’s this about?”

  “Meg.” He grunts her name out like a curse as he wipes his mouth down with the back of his hand.

  “You care to explain?” My heart thumps unnaturally, and I feel sick to my stomach. Good thing I skipped dinner, or we’d be staring at my regurgitated meal all over Ryder’s patent leather shoes.

  “I wish I could.” He shakes his head. “One minute I’m scooping out the stroganoff, and the next thing I know, she’s trying to play tonsil hockey.”

  “Tonsil hockey?” I suck in a never-ending breath. “Those are my fucking tonsils.” I pivot on my heels and make a dash for the house. I traverse bodies and a bevy of annoying faux gifts that Rue has stacked around the mansion to give it that we-believe-in-holiday-excess appeal. Honest to God, the way that woman spends money you’d think it were her sole responsibility to kick-start the economy. And who the hell says, Look at you! And doesn’t follow it up with something nice?

  My anger ping pongs from her to Meg, and now I’m not sure either one is safe. God only knows what will happen to the one I see first.

  There she is.

  Meg.

  She’s huddled in the arms of some gold lame wearing socialite, and I’ll be damned if it’s not Rue herself.

  “Well, look who’s here?” I force a smile to expand and retract.

  Meg cowers in Rue’s arms with her lipstick smeared around her mouth like a clown. God, she even looks mental. She probably is, but I won’t let that stop me from punching her in the throat. I’m not above going street on her, right here, in front of all of Rue’s high society fake friends.

  Meg sneers while nestled in Rue’s gorilla-like embrace.

  Anger courses
through me like rocket fuel. My adrenaline percolates like a pot with the lid ready to dance right off.

  “Who the hell do you think you are?” I give a hard shove into her chest, and Ryder comes up from behind and pulls me back. “No.” I push him away as Roxy pops up beside him. Baya and Bryson wisely stand to the side. “I get to say to my piece.” I yank Meg in by her Peter Pan collar. And who the hell wears a Peter Pan collar? I swear the last time I saw one was in a picture of my mother while I was still swimming in her belly. “Nineteen ninety-one called, and it wants its maternity wear back.”

  “What?” Both she and Rue look stunned and confused.

  “Okay, that was sort of ridiculous,” Roxy says, trying to coax me away by snatching at my elbow.

  “I’ll think of something better at three in the morning”—I lean into Meg—“while I’m lying in Ryder’s arms.”

  “Don’t waste your time with her.” Ryder tries to pluck me back. “Let’s get out of here.”

  “No.” Rue holds up a finger. “By all means say your piece, Laney. I’d hate for you to run off for another year and create an even bigger rift between my son and I.” She glowers into me because we both know she’d like nothing more than for me to disappear for a lifetime.

  “Mom,” Ryder says the reprimand sweet enough, but it’s too late. She’s already opened the Pandora’s box of yesteryear, and all of the ugly truths are flying around us, tangling in our hair like bats.

  “Ryder and I are together again.” I practically spit the words into Meg’s snooty uptight, pinched nose, thin lipped, pale as plaster face. “Let me outline this for you. That means you may never plant your greasy red lips on him again. And, if you even so much as wink at him, I’ll plant my fist in your jaw.” I step in until we’re nose to nose. “You have nice teeth, Meg. Don’t go risking years of orthodontia in order to lure my boyfriend into your bed because it ain’t happening bitch.”

  A loud collective gasp circles the room, and I’m only slightly horrified to see an entire herd of elderly people gathered around for the show, but walkers and wheelchairs be damned because this is one show that’s about to go on.

  Rue clears her throat. “Ryder if you would, please remove your friend from the premises.” She speeds the words from the side of her lips. “She’s causing a scene.”

  “I’ll leave once I get an apology.” I glare into Meg as she cowers behind Ryder’s mother like she’s some rabid girlfriend protection shield. Little does she know I’ll take the both of them down if I have to, and every bit of me is committed to the effort.

  “Apologize?” Rue snorts. “How about you apologize to my guests for ruining their night—to the geriatric foundation whose only outing this month was this very gathering. Please take your incredibly bad manners and leave. This is a Christmas party, Laney, not one of your mother’s bar brawls.”

  My hand flies over her cheek so fast, I swear the thought to hit her never crossed my mind. It’s like I was possessed or level headed, either or.

  “Crap,” I whimper, because, for one, assaulting the guest of honor is never a good thing and double crap because she just so happens to be my boyfriend’s mother.

  “Oh, Laney.” Roxy wraps her arms around me tight as if I were already being hauled off to prison. God knows a bitch slap isn’t your typical felony offence but something tells me Rue’s legal team is more than capable of parlaying a death sentence out of it.

  “Call the police,” Rue whispers to the woman patting her cheek down with a napkin dipped in champagne. And as if it weren’t bad enough to have bitch slapped my prospective future mother-in-law, half the guests are shaking their grey heads in my direction.

  “Ryder.” I turn to him, and he takes me in his arms.

  “It’s okay,” he whispers. “You don’t need to call the police.” He informs the woman wearing head to toe rubies. I’m pretty sure those non-eco friendly gems she’s sporting have cost at least a dozen people their lives. And there’s no way in hell those diamonds bejeweling her neck are conflict free because if she’s a friend of Rue’s, she loves conflict. Each new day for the rich and infamous brings a fresh scoop of misery with a little conflict on the side. And here we are, with heaping piles of both. “We’re out of here.”

  “No,” Rue barks. She settles her narrowed gaze over me, and I can feel the hatred spewing from her like a tidal wave, but it’s always been there. Today in the office with all that manufactured kindness, those unnatural grimaces she tried to pass off as smiles, those felt horrifically fake—but this, this feels downright genuine. “I demand an apology, to the both of us.” She shoulders up to Meg, who she might actually care for more than her own daughter, but I wouldn’t dare say it to Roxy.

  “Don’t apologize.” Roxy stands beside me, defiant.

  “Roseanna, keep your thoughts to yourself.” Rue scowls at her openly. “This doesn’t concern you.” The fine lines around her eyes and mouth multiply, making her look a thousand years old and scary as hell.

  Wow. It looks like someone’s Botox just said fuck you.

  “She’s right,” Ryder grunts. “This doesn’t concern you, Roxy. It concerns me.”

  My adrenaline ticks up a notch, and suddenly I want nothing but for this to end.

  I glance at Meg with her lipstick smeared—a sorrowful look on her face because she’ll never have Ryder.

  “I’m sorry I pushed you.” There. “I mean it.”

  Meg makes a face and only ends up looking that much more demented.

  I turn to Rue, Satan’s own spawn. Okay, so that’s probably a little harsh, but I defer to that whole adrenaline thing. I might have something nicer to call her in the morning, but somehow I doubt it.

  “But you”—I start—“were very disrespectful to my mother. I am not apologizing.” Accurate as hell, but nonetheless.

  “I only call it like I see it.” Rue sweeps over me as if she were dismissing the help.

  “Well then, I’m going to call it like I see it.”

  Ryder sags a little because he knows this isn’t going to end well.

  “Go ahead,” he whispers. “I want you to.”

  A new sense of resolve fills me. With Ryder on my side, I’ve already won. I’ll have to reward the Big N.P. later with a treat of vaginal proportions, but I was already planning to do that anyway. Maybe we could involve chocolate somehow? But his bedroom is so damn nice it’d be a pity. Hey, we should totally go to one of those twenty-four hour convenience stores and invest in a tarp. Nothing says bring on the chocolate syrup like a ten-by-fourteen piece of waterproof poly.

  “Well?” Rue barks, and I snap out of my chocolate-inspired stupor.

  Here it goes. “I did hit you, but you were very inconsiderate.” Honest to God, I swear that qualifies as an apology somewhere in this twisted world. “I can only take so much before I snap, and apparently tonight that line was my mother. She may not be perfect but she’s not here to defend herself either, and I’m a big believer in saying things to people’s faces. So the next time you decide to call me a whore, make sure I’m in the room to hear it. Or maybe you prefer your lackey to do your dirty work for you, which brings me to my next point—Meg. If you had a boyfriend, I could guarantee you I wouldn’t throw myself at him at a Christmas party even if I were shitfaced off century old eggnog and desperate to get laid. You have no right to lock lips with anyone without their permission, and I doubt very much Ryder was a willing participant. Hands off, bitch. He’s mine.” That ought to get the point across. And, if it doesn’t, I happen to be wearing my roach killing FMs courtesy of the Whitney Briggs drama department, and they look like they could slide nicely right up her ass.

  “Is this what you want?” Rue tosses her hand in my direction while challenging Ryder with a guilt-riddled stare. “Someone who curses in the presence of the elderly—people of noble character?” She pans the grey-haired mafia, all of which happen to be scowling at me. “Someone who accosts your mother over words? The truth no less?” She shakes her
head with a frown dripping down her lips. “This isn’t the kind of wife your father and I envision for you. When you come to your senses, I’m sure someone with grace and good character will be waiting for you.” She wraps her arm around Meg. “Sow your oats quickly, Ryder. This is disheartening for everyone involved.”

  A loud clatter comes from the entry as an entire swarm of Hollow Brook’s finest pour into the overgrown house.

  “Wait,” Ryder roars it out and garners the attention of the entire room. “I’m not marrying Meg—not now or ever. And Laney is right.” He jabs a finger in Meg’s direction. “You can’t dry hump me in public or in private”—he points over to his mother—“and you can’t talk to the woman I love that way. I don’t care how many five-star meals I miss, you won’t see me coming around here anymore.”

  Five-star meals? He really is sacrificing big time.

  Rue flicks her wrist. “She’s left you once, she’ll do it again.”

  “You should watch your back, Ryder.” Meg pipes up and stuns just about everyone. Who knew she had hormones and a voice? And to think she’s wielding them both like a weapon on the very same night. “Since we’re on the topic of her mother, didn’t she poison one of her many husbands for his money?”

  Boy the rich really know how to take that whole “your mama” thing to an entirely new level.

  I choke trying to get the words out. “My mother is not a murderer.” And why the hell are we stuck on my poor mom anyway?

  “No.” Meg sharpens her eyes on me. “But maybe you’re a gold digger.”

  I suck in a breath. Good God if the Hollow Brook P.D. weren’t out in force tonight, I would have gladly clocked her.

  Oh, what the hell.

  I lunge in her direction, and a tall, navy suited officer catches me in the air like a pop fly. He kindly escorts me off the premises backward, with my heels dragging, my hands swinging into thin air. But it still feels pretty damn good because all the while Ryder is by my side.