Whiskey Rebellion (Romantic Mystery/Comedy) Book 1 (Addison Holmes Mysteries)

where they can have a relationship without it being considered a rebound. Two years feels like a pretty long time right now.”
    I curled my leg around his hip and we both groaned as our bodies aligned perfectly. My nails bit into his shoulders and I hissed out a breath as his hand came between us and palmed my breast.
    “Oh, baby. You have no idea how good I feel.” He whispered the words against my lips and I all but melted beneath him. “But I can promise you’re going to find out a hell of a lot sooner than two years.” He kissed his way along my jaw to my ear and bit down on my earlobe, scrambling the remaining brain cells I had.
    “Oh, God,” I said. And then I passed out.

CHAPTER TWELVE

    Tuesday

    I woke up alone on the couch, the haze of sleep still clouding my vision, and the beat of a thousand tiny men marching through my skull. I leaned up gingerly and noticed the throw that covered me, and I looked to the table where dozens of sexual aids sat staring at me. If Nick wasn’t scared off by those maybe he was the man for me.
    The clock on the wall said it was almost noon, and panic gripped my belly before I remembered school was out. Thunder rumbled outside and I could tell by the water level in the buckets I had sitting around that it had been raining awhile. Storm clouds roiled menacingly, almost black, and lightning crackled through the sky like fiery whips.
    A raging thunderstorm seemed an appropriate backdrop for someone who had a monumental hangover. But rain or no rain, I had a hot date in less than seven hours to prepare for, and it was time to put on my big girl panties.
    I scooped all the sex toys back into the sack and shoved them in the far recesses of my closet. I took four aspirin, showered, and threw on a camouflage green short skirt and olive green tank top that matched my complexion. I felt almost normal by the time I opened my fridge and saw it full of the things that Nick had bought the other morning. I grabbed a Diet Coke and a bag of pretzels and went in search of the phone to call Kate.
    I’d gone through all but one of the surveillance cases Kate had passed my way and decided to see if she had a few more. I hadn’t started the surveillance on Harry Manilow because I hadn’t had a chance to get back to Savannah, and I still had John Hyatt and Fanny Kimble on the backburner, though unofficially since I’d kind of promised Kate I’d drop the case.
    I had to keep working because I still needed the money for my house just in case Veronica got saline poisoning and couldn’t follow up on her threat to buy it out from under me. As far as the other threats went, Nick assured me the police would be driving by to check on me, so I felt relatively safe there would be someone nearby if I ran into trouble.
    Before I reached the phone, I noticed the blinking red light on my machine. I had six missed calls . I hit the voicemail button and munched on pretzels while I waited.
    “This is Mark Mathers at Whiskey Bayou Bank and Trust. I’m the Vice-President for Mortgage Operations. I need you to call me back regarding your loan for the property at 522 Hutton Street.”
    He hung up and I took a drink of Coke. I remembered hearing the phone ring several times the day before and winced in regret as I’d shrugged off the calls as unimportant. But at least the bank was calling me. Maybe things were going to work out after all. The next message started and I ate another pretzel.
    “This is Mark Mathers again at Whiskey Bayou Bank and Trust. I still haven’t heard back from you regarding your loan application. I’m sorry to inform you that we’ve decided to opt out of our contract with you concerning the property on Hutton Street. Another buyer has met the full requirements for purchasing at this time, and as it states in your contract we have the option of going with a more qualified buyer. Your initial down payment has been deposited back into your account. Please contact me if you have any questions.”
    The pretzels in my mouth suddenly took on the consistency of sawdust, so I took another drink to clear the taste. The pretzels turned to paste in my mouth and I started to cry, big heaving sobs that would eventually give me hiccups and swollen eyes.
    “Well, so much for everything working out,” I said, hiccupping as I tried to hold back a fresh batch of tears. “Stupid contract. Stupid bank.”
    I dropped down to the floor in a little ball and cried my heart out. Maybe if I were