Page 12 of Bourbon & Bonfires

The minute I spin her around and pull her to my arms, my heart rate picks up. Tiny as all get out, she’s a perfect fit in my arms. It’s been a long time since I’ve danced with a woman, especially a slow dance. When we were kids and went to dances, I was too busy counting the steps in my head, trying not to step on the feet of the girl I was dancing with, unable to relax. But dancing with Addison isn’t awkward, and I’m not thinking of anything except how natural she feels in my arms.

One song turns to another, and she settles into my embrace. As I lean my head down a little, I take in the scent of her shampoo. Strawberries with a hint of vanilla, it reminds me of dessert. Sam Hunt compares a woman’s body to a back road, I slowly move my hands down Addison’s back, settling them just above her very toned ass. The movement pulls her closer to me, and when she doesn’t tense or pull back, my mind drifts. It drifts to Addison. To her in my home laughing and flirting and then to her on my bed in nothing but these fucking heels.

The DJ lowers the music a little to signal the countdown for the new year, and I wonder how many songs we’ve danced to. Pulling apart, Addison looks up at me and time slows. I know it’s cheesy and like some damn television movie, but I swear it does. The once loud crowd is but a dull hum as the numbers decline in sequence. By the time everyone is chanting five, I’ve moved one hand from Addison’s waist and placed it on the back of her head, my thumb circling her cheek. I join the crowd with the final numbers as I lower my mouth to Addison’s.

The moment his hand cupped the back of my head and his thumb drew a slow circle on my cheek, I wanted him to kiss me. No, I wanted him to kiss me months ago when I saw him at that wedding my brother insisted I go to with him. Less than five minutes of conversation and this man starred in my dreams for weeks. I never imagined we’d see each other again. I knew Taylor was friends with him and that he likely spent time at my brother’s bar, but I’m not much of a bar girl so I didn’t see how our paths would cross.

Yet, here I am dancing with him, brushed up against his body, and begging him in my mind to kiss me. To lay his perfect lips on mine and give me the best New Year’s kiss of my life. And he does. Slowly his lips brush mine. It’s a small gesture, but I know he’s testing the waters, making sure this is what I want. I do.

I gather the back of his shirt in my hands, twisting the fabric between my fingers in urgency. With that single movement he sweeps his tongue across my lips, and I sink into him. My lips part, allowing him access. His tongue dances with mine, mimicking our dance. When his other hand cups my cheek, I let out a tiny moan of pleasure. This is the kiss I’ve of dreamed of. The kiss I knew a man who looked like Landon would give me.

It’s also the kind of kiss that may lead to irrational decisions. To put myself in a situation I’m not ready for. Attraction is one thing, but I’m not blind. I know Landon is younger than I am. As the realization of our differences hits me like a cold front, I abruptly pull back from his arms.

“Addison.”

“I ... I have to go. Happy New Year,” I stutter as I turn and run as quickly as my heels will let me back to where the woman is holding my purse. With a quick thank you, I snatch my purse and rush out of the bar toward my car.

What was I thinking? I had no business being there, and I sure as hell had no business flirting with and then kissing Landon. No, I’m an almost forty-year-old single mom who needs to get her shit together and help her son get through whatever it is he’s going through. I don’t need to entertain the idea of a fling with a younger man. Not even if that younger man ignited something in me I thought was long gone.

I realize as I’m pulling out of the parking lot that I never said hello to my brother. I never even told him I was there. I was so consumed with the attention Landon was giving me, Taylor wasn’t even a thought.

Landon.

Wow, I didn’t see him coming. Sweet, funny, and sexy as hell, he is the full package. And at least ten years younger than me if I’m guessing. Why can’t he be older? No. Why can’t I beyounger?I’d much rather be ten years younger. That’s not true, I like who I am now more than I ever did when I was in my late twenties.

Pulling into my driveway, I put the car in park and sit in the silence for a minute. The little house I’m renting is cute and welcoming. A small craftsman cottage, it’s much smaller than the home I shared with Dan when Mason was younger, but as sad as it is to think, this place already feels more like home than any place I shared with Dan. Such a shitty realization at this stage of my life.

I hear a woman’s laughter down the street and look over to see a blonde standing on the porch of a house similar to mine across the street. She’s waving at a couple as they climb into a Jeep and wave back. I smile to myself as I slide out of my seat and head to the front door.

Once inside, I bend and unclasp the straps of my shoes and kick them into a pile against the wall. I pad into the kitchen and set my clutch and keys on the counter as I pull out my phone and tap my messages and see one from Mason and three from Taylor. I quickly pull up the message from Mason and shoot him a Happy New Year text before scrolling through Taylor’s messages.

Taylor: Are you still coming?

Taylor: Addy, where are you? It’s almost midnight.

Taylor: Okay, well Happy New Year, sis. Love you.

I feel bad but know he was too busy to be overly worried about me. Still, I need to reply.

Me: Sorry I missed you. Happy New Year. Dinner this week?

Not a lie. Just a small omission that I was actually at his bar and didn’t speak to him. His response is almost instant.

Taylor: Meatloaf?

Me: If you insist.

Before leaving the kitchen, I grab a glass of water and take an ibuprofen. I’m on my feet a lot for work but never in four-inch heels, my feet are going to kill me tomorrow. I walk down the hallway to my bedroom and quickly go about getting ready for bed. Once I’m settled into my bed, I pull out my journal from my side table. I started journaling when I was a teenager, and it has always been a saving grace when my mind doesn’t shut down at night.

Last week I was on the phone with my best friend, Nela, and she made me commit to a year of positive self-talk. Each morning when I wake up, I have to write down a positive statement or word in my journal. The goal is for me to stop being so hard on myself and learn to live a happier life. Her words, not mine. Nela knows me well, and she knows this move and the reasons for it have been hard on me. She knows I’ve taken on the blame for Mason’s behavior and assumed the responsibility for most of it even if I know deep down it isn’t my fault. She reminded me of why I started journaling in the first place and swore that if she lived near us and not across the Atlantic Ocean, she would smack me upside the head instead of forcing me to journal.

Since it’s after midnight, I’m going to consider this my first entry of the new year. I’m going to start this one easily: Embrace a new experience.

Kissing a virtual stranger on a dancefloor at midnight qualifies as a new experience and I sure did embrace it. Look at me taking this new year by the balls.

“And then Jordy found a video of some dude freezing bubbles. It was the coolest. He’d just take the bubbles, blow them like normal. Except,” he says, taking a deep breath, “except, they froze! We tried it too and totally rocked it. Jordy’s dad kept talking about science and learning. I told him if science was like that I wouldn’t have a C.”

Hearing the enthusiasm and joy in my son’s voice has been music to my ears. For the first hour of this drive. Now, he’s retelling stories, and I kind of miss the brooding teenage angst he had going on. I know, beggars can’t be choosers and all that. But hell, this kid hasn’t stopped talking.

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