[2018] Confessions From the Heart

by TB Markinson

  Annie whistled, but dollar signs shone in her eyes. She said to me, “Give me your phone.”

  “This bet is between you two. Ortiz is at bat.”

  She started to tip her beer into my lap.

  Jumping out of my seat, I said, “Cheater.” I handed over my iPhone. The phone buzzed. I glanced at the screen to see a text that read: Hope I didn’t get you into too much trouble. Call me if you need me to kiss any boobies to make you feel better.

  “Ha!” Annie showed Roger the screen.

  He furrowed his brow, his blue eyes darker than usual.

  I snatched the phone, scanning the words, my brain fumbling for an excuse. “She meant kiss any booboos. Autocorrect strikes again.”

  “The lies just keep pouring out.” Annie mimed a flood of untruths coming out of my mouth.

  “Blame Nell, not me,” I said.

  “You’re blaming your mom! Just when I thought you couldn’t get any lower…” She left the rest unsaid.

  I rolled my eyes. “The chick recognized me from an interview Mom made me do. That’s why she was hitting on me.” Being the daughter of a local celeb, coupled with my insanely wealthy uncle, posed certain obstacles in my personal life. “You know this.” My eyes bored into hers to remind her of our couple pact, hoping she wouldn’t bring up that I usually fended off celebrity hounds right from the start.

  Annie huffed, not wanting to give it up but doing so for the moment. “Pay up, Roger. My job drains my soul more than it pads my checking account.”

  “What you’re saying, then, is you love teaching.” I laughed, relieved she didn’t intend to tear into me further in front of Dad and Roger.

  “No one loves teaching. It’s what you do when you can’t do anything else.”

  “Wow. And you say I’m a bad person for getting someone’s phone number.” Dammit Cori. Why’d you circle back? How did playas manage the remorse?

  Laughing, Roger pulled a Benjamin from his wallet. “I’ve told you before, Annie, if you want to come work for me, let me know. I need more assertive women on my staff. Your dad’s Irish, right? I have a few openings in Dublin.”

  “Do you plan on ever hiring Cori?” The humor was slowly slipping back into her words and posture.

  I tossed an arm on the back of Annie’s seat to eyeball Roger over my shoulder. Dublin?

  “I don’t hire liars.” He winked at me, but his squared shoulders were an indication he’d be having a word with me later.

  I groaned. “Says the man who cheats at Monopoly.”

  He put a finger to his lips. “Shush, I’m trying to hire Annie.”

  I stood. “I need something to eat. Fenway franks, anyone?”

  All three of them nodded.

  In line, I responded to Brooke’s text, but I deleted it before sending. I typed another and then erased that one, too. I was already in the doghouse with Annie, so what was stopping me from my original intention—chasing a story? I typed another text: I might be black and blue all over. Dinner tomorrow? I added the name of a sports bar and sent the message.

  She responded before I made it to the front of the line: I’ll be there with bells on and nothing else. Let’s call it Xmas in July.

  It wasn’t July, but I really wasn’t going to argue the point. You can’t argue crazy.

  I returned with the franks, nachos, and an ice cream in an upside-down plastic baseball hat for Annie. “I come in peace.”

  “You even got sprinkles,” she cooed, hopefully putting the Brooke situation in the rearview mirror.

  “Only the best for you.” I bit into a tortilla chip smeared with fake cheese. “Where are Roger and Dad?”

  “Old men and beer. Where do you think?” Annie spooned in ice cream. “What’s the real story about earlier?”

  “You wouldn’t believe me if I told you.”

  “Try me. You aren’t the type to show interest in women while at your beloved Fenway.”

  “Dates and baseball don’t go together. Ever.” I sliced a hand through the air.

  “Is that because you can’t pick up chicks when on a date?”

  I put a hand on Annie’s leg. “Stop, please. I didn’t pick her up. You know me better than that.”

  “You didn’t turn her down, either.” Anger slipped into her words.

  I chomped down on my bottom lip, upset she was right. “I can’t win with you.”

  Annie turned in her seat with effort and crossed her arms. “I care about you, Cori—” She put a hand up to silence me. “I’ve never seen you react to a woman like that before. Hell, we used to mock skanks like her when they came onto you. How soon in the conversation did she mention your mom?”

  I rubbed my eyes.

  “I’m worried something’s not quite right in your noggin. Besides, I don’t want you getting any diseases or anything. If you do, we can’t continue being friends with benefits.”

  The guy in front of us leered over his shoulder.

  “What are you looking at?” Annie asked, her Boston brogue thicker than normal.

  Luckily, the guy whipped his head back around.

  “Can you lecture me later? Roger taught me to box, but I’d rather not put those skills to use right now.”

  “I’m not the one causing problems. You are.”

  I groaned. “You want to know why I gave Brooke my number?”

  “I can think of two reasons.” She put her hands out, suggestive of Brooke’s ample rack.

  “You’re partly right.” I scooted closer to Annie. “I’m having trouble getting inside one of my character’s heads, who is a legit playa, if you get my drift.”

  Annie stared at me, her mouth forming an O. Several seconds ticked by, and I wondered if she had frozen in that stance. Finally, she said, “What kind of fool do you take me for?”

  “I don’t. Never have. Never will.”

  Annie blinked. “You’re serious.” She stared at the pitcher’s mound, but I was fairly certain she wasn’t seeing a thing. “I really hope you know what you’re doing for the sake of your career, because the person I saw earlier wasn’t the Cori I know. And I didn’t like her one bit.”

  That made two of us. Surely the Brookes of the world weren’t the gateway drug to becoming assholes.

  Chapter Two

  The following night, I jumped off the green line at the Hynes exit. On foot, I hung a left on Boylston Street, heading to a popular sports bar. While I had a decent balance in my checking and savings, resulting from squirreling away what I could from paychecks over the past two years and cash gifts from when I graduated with my bachelors so I could take a summer off to write, I wasn’t rolling in the dough. And, I didn’t want to blow it on wooing Brooke, who I only wanted to know for the sake of the story.

  For a Monday night during rush hour, the traffic on the street was busier and louder than usual. I never understood the drivers who constantly laid on the horn as if the person in front of them had simply forgotten to press the gas pedal. Two busses crept by, spewing exhaust fumes.

  Covering my mouth with the neck of my T-shirt, I was about to set foot inside the bar when a dinged-up red pickup caught my attention. The truck was full-size, not typically seen in the heart of Boston traffic. The driver, obscured by tinted windows, was attempting to pull into a spot tighter than a puckered asshole. I considered myself a connoisseur of observing terrible parallel parkers. Convinced the driver would either cause serious damage or speed off in disgust, I stood in the shade under the bar’s awning to get an eyeful.

  Much to my surprise, after some creative maneuvers, including almost taking out a pedestrian, the driver killed the engine. The back tire was still on the curb, and the front of the vehicle poked into traffic.

  Shaking my head, I turned around to enter the bar.

  “You aren’t going to wait for me?” Brooke asked.

  I rubbernecked over my shoulder and spied my date sitting behind the wheel of the pickup I’d been w
atching. She swung her legs, barely covered by cutoff shorts, out the door, waiting for me to help.

  If there was a God, I hoped she was watching over me tonight, because I had a feeling I was in for much more than I expected, and I’d already imagined the worst. I walked over to help her out of the truck.

  “That’s better. Just because I picked you up while you were on another date, doesn’t mean you can treat me like dog shit.”

  “I would never think of doing such a thing. Besides, I wasn’t on a date.” I crooked my arm. “Ready, princess?”

  “Does that make you my prince?”

  I opened the glass door. “Why can’t we be two princesses? This is the twenty-first century, you know. Diversity, ever hear of it?”

  “Says the jock wearing jeans and a Harvard T-shirt on a first date.”

  I steered her to an empty table past the bar. “Rumor has it, my ass looks good in these jeans.” I was tickled by that reply. Damn, why didn’t I think to record everything?

  She sat. “Let me be the judge of that. Flip around and show me the goods.”

  I peered down into her blue eyes. “You think I’m that easy?”

  She laughed. “So far you haven’t given me the opposite opinion.”

  “Just for that, no.” I slipped into the other side of the booth.

  “If you don’t, I won’t take you home tonight.”

  “Those are fighting words.” I tapped my index finger against my cheek, studying her penetrating stare. “I think you’ll find I don’t back down easily.”

  “I’m counting on that.” She winked.

  Before I could ask what that meant, exactly, the waitress appeared. “You two want to order drinks while you look over the menu?”

  “Yes, please.” I looked to Brooke. “Shall we get a pitcher? Oh, sorry.” I tapped my forehead with a finger and then jabbed it in her direction. “I forgot you drove.”

  She waved me off. “I’ll be fine.”

  “You sure?” My voice made it clear I thought it was a terrible idea. Drunk driving was tied for first place on my list of things I couldn’t abide.

  Brooke turned to the waitress. “Sam Addams, please.”

  Was there a law a bar couldn’t serve someone they knew was driving? Even before they showed signs of inebriation?

  Apparently not, since the brunette shimmied through a pack of guys in business suits, heading to the table for twelve behind Brooke and me. The Sox game had just started, and every TV, five in this section alone, had it on. Journey’s “Don’t Stop Believin’” blasted through the speakers.

  Brooke bobbed her head to the beat, gesturing “Rock on!” with both hands. “I love this song. Do you like karaoke?”

  Shoving the alcohol situation to the side, I answered, “Are the Red Sox the best team on the planet?”

  “Another reason for us to get along.”

  “Pretending to be rock stars?”

  “Can’t speak for you, but I could be if I put my mind to it, not to mention a chunk of change. We should go sometime, and I’ll show you firsthand.”

  “Sure… maybe.” I grabbed a menu from the metal bucket containing full-size condiment bottles and a roll of environmentally friendly paper towels. “What do you want?” I tapped the laminated page.

  “Do you like wings?”

  I dramatically sucked in a breath. “I probably should have warned you I’m a vegetarian, minus the odd oyster here and there.”

  “How do you justify eating oysters?” She raised her brow, making her look even younger.

  “I’m from Boston. It’s the law.”

  “To eat slimy things?” She squished her face in an unattractive way.

  I put a hand to my jaw, pretending to force it closed. “You didn’t just say that.”

  “Is it a deal breaker?” She perched her arms on the table, pushing her tits upward. I had a feeling she’d spent hours practicing this move for total boob optimization. It was hard not to admire her dedication to her slutty shtick.

  I pursed my lips, doing my best to look deep in thought. “So far, here are your pros. You love the Sox.” I held up a finger and continued. “You like beer. You’re gutsy.” I tapped the three extended fingers against my forehead. “There’s something else… oh, karaoke.”

  She rolled her eyes. “My, you are a charmer. What are the cons?”

  “Not liking oysters and, seriously”—I spread my hands out—“your parking skills need some work.”

  She whacked me on the head with her menu. “That’s my brother’s truck, and it’s a beast. You try parking it.”

  “Not a chance. Besides, I prefer public transportation and walking. Helps me keep my girlish figure. We can walk home later.”

  “Oooh, I like the sound of that. My brother is picking up his truck”—she glanced at her phone—“right about now. Hopefully, before I get a parking ticket.”

  Shit, I hadn’t meant it that way, but she clearly had every intention of going home with me.

  “Speaking of your figure, you need to eat dinner. At least, I do.” She trailed the back of her hand down her side as if I needed reminding she had incredible curves. “What can you eat?”

  “What’s on the menu?” I mentally palm slapped my forehead for sounding like such a dude.

  Not that Brooke minded. She slowly leaned over the table again, like she did this routine once a day, and tapped an adorable red nail with a Red Sox B decal on my menu. “Here are your choices for dinner. If you behave, we’ll discuss your dessert options later.”

  I took her hand and inspected her other nails. “The green monster one is my fave. No, wait, the two red socks against the blue. Are your toes done?”

  She stretched her leg out from the table before swinging her foot into my lap. I slipped off the flip-flop. “I need to inspect them closely.” Each toe was perfectly round, pink, and without a fleck of polish. I massaged her foot, earning a satisfied moan. As much as I hated to admit it, her routine was working on me to a certain degree.

  “I knew you’d be good with your hands,” she purred loud enough for me to hear her over the din in the joint.

  Upon entering Brooke’s apartment, she shoved me up against the wall by the kitchen. Her lips were on mine, hungry for a taste. For a first kiss, it wasn’t bad. Much too aggressive for my taste, but I had a feeling Brooke only had two types of kisses. The take-charge type and the kiss-off. She’d make a wonderful character in my story. That was if I got out alive.

  Her hand was under my shirt. Nails scratching the skin on my abs.

  “Whoa, slow down.” I pulled away.

  “Can’t handle a real woman?”

  “Is that how you want it?” I forced a smile.

  “Show me what you got.” She stripped her shirt off.

  “I love a woman in a sexy bra.” Channeling my playa main character, I licked my lips and cupped the red satin. “Of course, it’s better without.” In one swift motion, I unhooked her bra, letting it plummet to her feet. “Your shorts, and I’m using the term loosely, have to go.”

  She obliged, revealing she wasn’t wearing panties, which I should have guessed. “Better?” She asked.

  “We’re getting there.” I peered around her. “I’m not going to fit on that adorable two-seater couch. Take me to your bed. Now.”

  Brooke grabbed my hand and whisked us down a short hallway into the first of two doors. “Will that do?”

  “You know the best thing about a king-size bed?”

  She put a hand on her hip, sticking it out to perfect effect. “Do tell?”

  “I fit top to bottom and side to side.” I shoved her onto her back. After stripping down to my birthday suit, I climbed on top.

  She leaned up and spied my feet dangling over the side. “So much for fitting.”

  “Scoot all the way to the side, and while you’re at it, get on your stomach.”

  “Yes, boss,” she let loose a seductive giggl
e.

  I straddled her ass. “You have a tattoo.” The only light in the room came from the streetlamp on Commonwealth Avenue. Leaning closer, I said, “I can’t see it clearly, though. Maybe if I do this, it’ll tell me its identity.” I licked the four-inch ink on her shoulder blade. “A heart?” I guessed.

  She shook her head, trying to reach behind her to touch me.

  I pinned her arms above her head. “You wanted me to show you what I’ve got. Let me.” My mouth explored her creamy skin, savoring the saltiness of her desire. I repositioned along the side of her body, wrapping one leg around in the middle of hers. Kneading her ass, I said, “Fuck, you have curves. Soft. Squishy. Inviting.” My hand slipped between her legs, feeling her warmth.

  After the naked tango, Brooke lay on the wrinkled sheet, the top corner stripped from the mattress, with her arms out and her legs closed.

  “You look like Christ on the cross.”

  “Don’t say that!” Her tone meant business.

  “Sorry. Are you Catholic?” I asked, dumbfounded.

  “Got something against that?” She glared.

  “Not one bit. Just surprised considering all the times you said his name in vain. Why is that allowed but not my comment?” I tickled her side.

  “It just is. And I don’t like your tone one bit.” She sat up against the headboard, clutching a pillow.

  “Oh, come on. Don’t be like that. We’re having such a good time.”

  “How am I being?” She arched a combative eyebrow. “Sensitive?”

  “And cuckoo crazy.” I laughed, showing I didn’t mean it.

  “I’m crazy because I’m Catholic?” Her voice was rigid, teetering on threatening.

  “Of course not. I was kidding.” I reached for her leg, but she slapped my hand away. Hard.

  “Get out of my bed!” She motioned for me to make haste.

  I stood up and grabbed my shirt off the floor. “Okay, I get it. You don’t have much of a sense of humor after coming.”

  “Another one of the flaws you think I have. What else is wrong with me?”

  It didn’t seem wise to tick off any other negatives until I finished dressing. I’d never been kicked out of a girl’s apartment half-naked, and I didn’t intend to start now.