by TB Markinson
CONFESSIONS FROM THE HEART
PREQUEL TO THE CONFESSIONS SERIES
A novel by
T. B. MARKINSON
Published by T. B. Markinson
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Copyright © T. B. Markinson, 2018
Cover Design by Erin Dameron-Hill / EDHGraphics
Edited by Jeri Walker
Proofread by Kelly Hashway
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This e-book is copyrighted and licensed for your personal enjoyment only. All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any forms or by any means without the prior permission of the copyright owner. The moral rights of the author have been asserted.
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
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Chapter One
The game was starting in under five minutes and still no sign of Annie or her lucky top she’d been wearing since high school. The crowd streamed toward Fenway Park. I shielded my eyes, scanning for Annie. Every glimpse of a green T-shirt nabbed my attention.
I glanced at my phone. “Argh!”
The pandemonium increased with latecomers rushing to the gates, pushing their way through the tourists and Sunday afternoon gawkers, paraphernalia sellers, and the game goers who were more interested in the experience than baseball. Scalpers became increasingly desperate to unload their remaining tickets. One bald guy in his fifties, wearing a jersey three times too large, a feat considering he wasn’t a skinny mini, had already asked me five times if I needed one.
“Where is she?” I muttered.
“Behind you, fool.” Annie prodded the back of my shoulder, not budging me an inch. “It’s like shoving a rock.”
I flipped around, smiling. “That’s because I’m a jock and you’re a preschool teacher who’s half my size.” For emphasis, I placed my palm on top of her curly red hair.
“Bend down for a proper hug, freak.” She followed the insult with a motion for me to lean down so she could wrap her arms around my shoulders.
Breaking free, I motioned for her to get moving. “At least my height came in handy while playing basketball. What has being short done for you?”
“Whatever.” Annie smiled, going through the turnstile and then assuming the position to be patted down. With her arms and legs spread, Annie attempted to engage the grumpy security woman. “It’ll take you twice as long for this one.”
The woman didn’t crack even a hint of a smile and motioned me to come forward. I put my arms and legs out.
The concourse was fairly empty, except for the beer and food lines.
“Go to the seats. I’ll grab the beer. I know how much you hate missing any of the action.” She waggled her eyebrows seductively, followed by playful laughter.
“It’s the least you can do.”
She cocked her head. “Buying the first round of beers or the promise of…?” She made a crude gesture with her tongue for lesbian sex.
“Was that what your eyebrow thing meant? I thought your Tourette’s was kicking in.” I patted the top of her head again. “We’re in section forty-three.”
“Hey!” she shouted.
I had to stop myself from growling What? She knew more than most I wanted to get to my seat. Taking a calming breath, I popped my head around the tunnel wall. “Yes, short stuff?”
“You look good, Cori Tisdale.”
“You’re smoking hot, Annie McGuire. Scoot.” I dismissed her with a wave of the hand.
Climbing the stairs to our row, a crack of the bat snagged my attention. Craning over my shoulder, I saw it was a foul ball, luckily for the Sox.
Three people in the row had to get up for me to scoot by.
One unshaven guy in his twenties groaned and muttered, “Get a watch.”
The girl with him whispered to me, “Sorry, it’s his time of the month.”
“It’s okay. I understand. Unfortunately, my friend will be along shortly.”
“No worries, I know how to handle my brother.” She leaned closer to me. “Do you come here often?” Her sapphire eyes glittered.
The woman’s eager smile was somewhat off-putting. “Uh… as much as I can, but these aren’t my usual seats.” I added, “A buddy of mine got married yesterday and gifted me today’s tickets.”
“Fool.”
I laughed, put at ease. So many came to Fenway to tick it off their must-do list when visiting, not as a legit member of Red Sox Nation. “Me or my buddy?”
“Your buddy. What self-respecting Sox fan would get married during a five-day home stretch?”
“One who got his girlfriend pregnant.” I scratched the back of my neck.
“You’re only reinforcing my opinion of him. Hopefully, you’re a true fan.”
“I was born with a Red Sox foam finger.”
“Where is it?” She made a show of searching for it. At least, I hoped she was teasing and didn’t have a screw or five loose.
“At the cleaners. It’s my first game without it. I feel so exposed.”
She not so subtly looked me up and down. “I wish. Do you have season tickets or more connections?” I really had the curvy blonde’s interest now, for better or worse.
“My dad does and some of his friends do, too. I’m here a few times a week. You?”
“You look familiar. Have we met?”
“Not that I remember, and I think I would.” It was hard to forget the crazies.
That elicited a smile. “Oh, really?” Her voice was gravelly and alluring. She snapped her fingers. “You and your mom, the author, were on Good Morning Boston recently.”
“Guilty as charged.” I shrugged.
“Your mom is one of my faves, along with Jane Smiley. Not enough sex in your mom’s books, though.” She arched one eyebrow.
“I’ll mention that at our Sunday family dinner.” I smiled, knowing my mom’s public image didn’t match her private life. Not many fans knew my mother was sex-crazed.
She looked me over before making a decision. “Give me your phone.”
I had two options. Brush her off or feed into the scenario. I’d been struggling with a short story I was writing about a former basketball star who was a playa. While I used to play ball, I never considered myself much of a playa. The situation offered me a chance to gain some insight.
I placed it in her hand, not releasing right away. “Be gentle. It’s seen better days.”
The girl flashed a crooked smile that was sexy as hell. “Just like its owner. Not.”
I offered my hand. “Cori or, as most simply call me, Nell Tisdale’s daughter.”
“Brooke.” She ran her thumb over the top of my hand as we shook. “This friend of yours, should I—?”
“Just a friend, kinda,” I stuttered, avoiding her eye. Was there really a need to mention that, after years of friendship, Annie and I ended up in bed together when both of us were drunk. A p
erfect example of a not-so-innocent game of Truth or Dare having consequences. Over the past month or so, since it happened, we occasionally slept together, usually after drinking. Even before we’d tumbled into bed, many mistook our closeness and assumed we were a couple. And, truth be told, I didn’t mind because it saved me from uncomfortable interactions with the likes of Brooke. Annie, a beautiful woman who always attracted attention from both sexes, after a torturous relationship and breakup, repeatedly proclaimed she was done with dating. Our couple ruse provided a cover for both of us.
Brooke laughed, shaking her head in a you’re a dawg way, clearly taken with the idea that I was. “Does she know that?”
Come on, Cori. What would your character say? “You going to tell her? It’s possible you could destroy a friendship dating all the way back to elementary school. You wouldn’t want that on your conscience, would you?”
“Haven’t decided. Gotta check out the competition first.” Brooke squeezed my thigh. She tapped the screen of my phone and then dangled it in the air like an offering. “Call me, promise?”
“Absolutely,” I said. Annie appeared at the bottom of the stairs, holding the beers victoriously in the air. “Here she comes,” I said with a trace of guilt I hoped Brooke didn’t pick up on. A playa, of course, wouldn’t show any weakness.
“Jimmy, go get me a beer,” Brooke said.
“Get your own beer,” he growled, not taking his eyes off the field.
“I paid for the tickets. Go get your sister a beer.”
Jimmy threw a handful of peanut shells onto the cement. “I knew it was a bad idea coming as your guest. Now I’ll be your bitch all afternoon.”
Annie arrived as soon as Jimmy finally got out of his seat.
“Excuse me. I’m so sorry,” Annie said as she squeezed by Brooke. Brooke, in an effort to make room for Annie, I guessed, pressed against me, placing her hand on my chest, giving my nipple a pinch through my T-shirt and bra. “Oh, excuse me. I was just making sure you didn’t have the foam finger underneath, after all,” she said coquettishly.
Was this woman for real?
Annie took her seat to my right, and Brooke was on my left. I kissed Annie’s cheek, something I hardly ever did, but I thought it necessary to clue in Brooke it would be bad for her to… do whatever it is women like her do. Not in front of Annie. Strangers were okay.
“I was about to send a search party,” my voice quavered some.
Annie scrunched her brows, clearly trying to put her finger on why I was acting out of character during the short separation.
Brooke tittered quietly, mumbling, “Yeah, right.”
When you play with fire, sometimes you get burned.
I offered Annie my everything’s fine smile.
Seemingly shaking it off, she asked, “What did I miss?” Annie sipped her beer, her eyes scanning the field.
“Not much.” Unless you counted the woman next to me who was starting to worry me. Although, she would make for an interesting twist in the story. Was the craft worth it, though?
Annie locked her eyes on mine. “The bases are loaded. What have you been doing, because you clearly weren’t watching the game?”
I laughed. “I meant there aren’t any runs yet.” A quick check of the scoreboard informed me there were two outs. “Don’t worry. The Sox have a handle on it.”
The Angels’ batter chased a pitch that was heading for the dirt, fouling the ball.
“See, the count’s three–two. Just one more strike—”
The batter swung again, missing.
Brooke leaned forward in her seat and said to Annie, “Don’t ever doubt the Sox.”
“I never do. It’s this one I’m not so sure about at the moment.” She placed her fingers to my forehead, not in her typical playful way, determining if I had a fever, and her concerned tone caused my heart to skip several beats. Annie was usually quick to figure things out. “Did you have a stroke or something when I was in the beer line?” The fact that her voice didn’t contain a trace of humor made the guilt swirling inside like the Tasmanian Devil kick into an even higher gear.
Did Charles Dickens ever get himself into a situation like this? He did have an affair with an actress who was nearly thirty years younger. That wasn’t in the cards for me. In addition to despising cheaters, I was blissfully unattached and had zero plans to change that in the near future. Or ever.
Feeling like I should toss in something to settle Annie’s concern, without upsetting the vixen, I said, “Now that I have a beer, thanks to you, I can enjoy the game in good health.”
Brooke brushed her bare thigh against mine, opting to leave it there. It was possible Annie would miss Brooke staking her claim. Unfortunately, Brooke had zero intention of being subtle. “I thought I was making your day.”
Realization dawned on Annie’s face. She whispered in my ear, “Are you sure I’m not crimping your style?” She leaned forward to give Brooke a once-over, not masking her obvious distaste for the much-too-forward Brooke. Women in our circles didn’t act this way upon meeting.
I waved in hope of easing the… emotion I couldn’t figure out in her eyes. “You could never.”
“Quiet, please. Some of us came to watch baseball, not listen to you whine.” Brooke motioned Annie was flapping her lips.
I started to defend Annie, but she cut me off with, “Excuse me?” Annie stiffened in her seat. “Who do you think you are?”
“Just a passionate fan.” Brooke put her hands up in mock defense, failing miserably to control the sneer on her face.
“I’ve been coming here since I was five, and I’ve never…” Annie’s face pinked, adorably so.
“Four decades, then.” Brooke, who didn’t look a day over twenty-one, smiled innocently.
“You think I’m in my forties?” Annie lurched out of her seat. “Would you like to say that again?”
I stood, blocking Annie’s view of Brooke. “Let’s go find Dad and Uncle Roger to say hello. There might be seats available near them. I’ll grab the beers.” I jerked my head for her to exit on the other side.
Annie sucked in a lungful of air but flipped around, clenching her hands into fists.
I followed, carrying both of our beers. Glancing over my shoulder, I spied Brooke miming call me. I shook my head but couldn’t help smiling. She had guts and a great figure in her cutoff shorts and white Red Sox tank despite the chill in the late spring afternoon. Besides, writers needed experiences. At least, that was how I attempted to settle the devil in my belly.
Safely on the stairs out of Brooke’s sight, I asked, “You okay, pip-squeak?”
Annie pulled my head down and kissed me hard. Unsure about her motivation, I reciprocated cautiously at first but quickly ramped up the heat factor. Who was I to refuse a beautiful lady? My character wouldn’t. Was this all it took to be a playa? To find a fast and loose woman like Brooke to set everyone else off? Even the usually unflappable Annie? My mind, though, wasn’t thinking clearly enough to focus on exactly why Annie had reacted so strongly to Brooke. How could I with her tongue in my mouth?
When she broke free, I asked, “What was that for?”
“That’s how a real woman kisses. Call that bitch if you want to slum it with a skank.”
“That’s why you got so worked up? You thought I was actually interested in her?”
“She certainly got that impression. I get you used to be a big shot college hoops player, and women used to throw themselves at you, but it’s time to grow up.”
I tried to brush the incident off with a salute, but I only managed to dribble beer down my hand since I still held a cup in each hand. How could I explain the real reason for putting up with the likes of Brooke?
We started to walk. “By the way, it was hot as hell watching you throw down the gauntlet. You’re one sexy preschool teacher.”
“Just you wait until I get you back to my place.”
I stopped, turne
d on by Annie’s intensity. “Want to head there now?”
“Oh, no. I’m not missing the game. And you better be prepared to buy me a nice dinner. I know we aren’t actually dating, but hitting on someone while I’m buying beer is… I don’t even know what to say about what happened.”
I didn’t either. I pirouetted around a group of tourists taking photos of their Fenway franks. “Come on. You make me sound horrible.”
“Need I remind you about what happened several minutes ago?”
I’d rather she didn’t because my brain was having issues wrapping around Bombshell Brooke, who quite frankly intimidated the hell out of me. “You don’t do so poorly yourself. And, I’ve never muzzled your muffin.” Did I really just say that?
Annie huffed but dropped the issue. She was the type who picked up random women, not me. At least before the heartache. She yanked my arm. “Get the lead out. I’ve already missed too much.”
We found Roger and Dad a couple of sections over from our seats. The two seats in front of them were open. Dad was buddies with the season ticket holder, and ever since his wife had triplets, he hadn’t been seen at a game and his bandwidth to parcel out the tickets ebbed and flowed.
“I was wondering when you two would show up. I texted about the seats before the first pitch.” Roger handed fresh beers to Annie.
“Your niece was busy collecting a ho’s phone number, not reading texts.” Annie stashed the extra beer under her seat and took a sip from the one I’d carried for her.
Dad raised his eyebrows in a way that suggested he wasn’t sure if he should be proud or admonish my behavior.
Roger dug his hands into my shoulders, sticking his head between Annie and me. “Cori isn’t the type to act that way.”
His words made me cringe, not solely due to the guilt, but Roger was the type to act in that manner. While I loved my uncle, there were certain behaviors I swore I’d never mimic. Chasing women was at the tippy top.
“Care to make a wager, Roger?” Annie asked.
“One hundred bucks.” My silver-haired uncle didn’t seem worried about losing.