Tell-Tale Hearts

by H A Blackwood

  The next day, I went back. I was mad at myself for not completing the workout yesterday. The one thing that has been constant in my life since my troubles in college has been working out. I’m almost thirty years old, and I refuse to let my body spread out and sag like I see happening to so many women my age. After aborting yesterday’s session, I was going to work extra hard today.

  And drag it out in case Gemma is late.

  I told my brain to shut up again and got to work. I did a thirty-minute circuit, hitting the weights, focusing on back and chest, and I threw in some leg work for good measure. Squats are my butt’s best friend, and my C-cups weren’t going to stay firm on their own! When I was done, there was still no Gemma.

  I put thirty minutes in on the treadmill, attempting to run at seven-point-five miles per hour like Gemma had. I made it ten minutes before I had to slow way down. I ended up walking the last few minutes. Still no Gemma. I supposed I’d have to wait to see her until tomorrow. I thought about texting her but told myself to wait. If I didn’t see or hear from her tomorrow, then I’d reach out.

  I skipped the stretch routine and went straight to the locker room. I’d worked extra hard and was too sweaty to leave without a shower. I stripped out of my shorts and top, wrapped up in a towel, and grabbed my shower kit. I slipped my feet into a pair of flip-flops and headed to the shower stalls.

  After pulling the outer curtain shut, I hung my towel on the hook and turned the water on, setting it to a warm—not hot—temperature and stepped in. I thought again about Gemma asking me if I’d been with a woman. A super-hot, very fit woman asked me that. She had to want me, right? She’d been forcing me to stare at that ass of hers while running. She must have ulterior motives.

  Of course, even if she did, how bad was that? It’s not like I hadn’t thought about her in that way. After all, I’d been staring at that perfect ass while running in place, and I let my mind wander. I’d seen the muscles in her thighs when she’d done squats and imagined what those legs would feel like wrapped around my head. I may have been dumped in the worst possible way recently, but I wasn’t completely dead from the waist down.

  I moaned and realized my hand had drifted down to my pussy. I was absentmindedly teasing my clitoris, thinking about Gemma! I pulled my hand away. I couldn’t do that here. I mean, I could—I’d masturbated in riskier places before—but I was worried I wouldn’t be able to keep quiet, and after the events of the last few weeks, I wanted to keep a low profile. I soaped up, washed my hair, rinsed it out twice, and turned the shower off.

  As I walked back to my locker, I could feel that my lips and clit were swollen, and that made me even hornier. I began to think about what I was going to do to myself when I got home.

  And there was Gemma. She was wearing Lycra running shorts and a coral tank top with a low-cut front. The supportive bustline was linked by a swatch of black elastic, and I knew it had an open back with corset laces. I’d seen her in this top last week. It looked fabulous on her. Of course, everything did.

  I smiled as I approached her, trying to act nonchalant. Yeah, play it cool. Hi Gemma, I was not just touching myself in the shower, thinking about you! I told my brain to shut up. “Hi, Gemma! It’s good to see you. I—uh—I missed you yesterday. Er, and today.”

  Smooth.

  She grinned back. “Sorry. I had a bunch of meetings. I do enjoy a lot of freedom, but every now and then I have to adhere to someone else’s schedule.”

  “Well, it’s not like we had a date. Er, plans, I mean.”

  Nailed it.

  “Speaking of plans, what are you doing tonight?”

  My heart jumped. “Tonight?” Nothing. You’re doing nothing. Tell her. I cleared my throat. “I don’t have any plans.” Sometimes I do listen to my brain.

  “Well, I just had to pay some unexpected bills, so cash is kinda tight. I know it’s late notice—I should have texted, but time got away from me—but I was going to see if you wanted to get something to eat. However, given my cash flow situation, I was wondering if you’d like to come over to my place instead of going out. I have some chicken that needs to be cooked today or thrown out. I hate wasting food, so you’d be doing me a favor.”

  I thought about it for about a half-second before I said, “Yeah, that sounds great. What can I bring?”

  “How about a loaf of French bread?”

  We both laughed. As if that many carbs were going to pass either of our lips. “Why don’t I bring some wine?”

  “That would be wonderful. I’m cooking Caprese, so make it a red.” She stood up, and I noticed she looked me up and down in my towel as she did so. “I have some more errands to run. See you at six? I’ll text you my address.”

  “Six sounds great.”

  She left, and I hurriedly got dressed and left without drying my hair or applying any makeup. I needed to get home and get ready.

  Dinner

  I fretted over what to wear. I wanted to look nice—Gemma had never seen me in anything other than workout clothes—but I also didn’t want to overdo it. Nothing too sexy—I didn’t want her to think I was trying to seduce her. I needed to proceed carefully because there was the possibility that she only wanted to be friends. I was reasonably sure she wanted more, but I didn’t want to tip my hand yet, not after what I’d been through with the last relationship crashing and burning. I didn’t need to kill this one before it got off the ground.

  I went with what I call suburban casual. I wore a pair of stretchy jeans and a white spaghetti-strap top with crisscrossed strings between the straps in front that helped camouflage my cleavage. I tried it without a bra, but my nipples were poking out, and I didn’t want to send the wrong message. I shrugged out of the top, put on a low cut, strapless bra, and slipped into the top again. Much better.

  I followed Waze to a lovely two-bedroom house. I think realtors would call it “cozy.” It was in the older part of town, and like my place, the garage was a detached, single-car affair behind the home. Following her directions, I pulled all the way to the back and parked off to the side of the driveway. As I walked to the back door, I could smell the food and realized I was hungry.

  She answered the door in the same coral top as before. To be fair, if it looked as good on me as it did on her, I would never take it off. While it was a workout top, the corset straps made it suitable for casual wear too. She had swapped the tight Lycra for a looser pair of olive-colored shorts with an integrated fabric belt tied into a bow in the front. My suburban casual was the right call.

  I stepped inside, and the smell of the chicken cooking on the stove was a thousand times more potent than it was outside. My salivary glands cramped; it smelled so good. “Oh my god, what is that?”

  “Caprese chicken. Maybe it’s my Italian heritage, but the balsamic vinegar cooking drives me crazy. Trust me, you’re going to love it.”

  “I didn’t know you were cooking so fancy.”

  “It’s effortless, actually. Takes about twenty minutes to fix and uses like five ingredients. It’s no trouble at all. You’re doing me a favor because I hate leftovers, and I had too much chicken for one person to eat.” She handed me a corkscrew. “You want to open that wine?”

  “Of course! Can I help you with dinner?”

  “No help needed. It’s almost done.”

  I handed her a glass of wine, and she sipped it. “Oh, that’s good. Solid choice. Make yourself at home. You can do a self-guided tour if you want while I finish up.”

  “You don’t mind me poking around?”

  “Of course not. Oh, if you need the restroom, use the one in my bedroom. There’s something wrong with the one in the hallway, and I haven’t had the money to get someone to work on it.”

  “I can take a look at it. I had to fix mine a while back. Went to Home Depot and everything. I’m a pro.” The mention of Home Depot brought back a series of memories that ended badly. I pushed them into the back of my mind.

  Gemma laughed. “I might take you up on
that, but another time. Not tonight.”

  I walked through her house. The kitchen and dining nook took up the rear corner closest to the garage. Outside the kitchen, a hallway led to two bedrooms. The one on the front of the house was small and was clearly her office. She had a loveseat against one wall and a desk and laptop connected to two large monitors on the other. I noticed there was no closet in the room, which seemed odd.

  I walked across the hall to Gemma’s bedroom, which was much bigger than her office. She had a spacious king-sized bed, which was made up, of course. A six-drawer dresser occupied the wall opposite the bed. The walk-in closet had a wide pocket door that was half-open. I peeked inside and saw an assortment of tops and dresses, summer colors only, and a long rack that ran the width of the floor with three rows of shoes, from athletic to what I liked to call “fuck me” pumps. Even though she told me to take a tour, I didn’t want to get caught snooping.

  I went to her bathroom and was immediately jealous. What the house lacked in living space, it made up for with this bathroom. A two-piece counter with a makeup station took up most of the outside wall. I noticed that Gemma used many of the same brands of makeup that I did. Of course, Gemma didn’t wear a lot of makeup, as she was blessed with a beautiful complexion and dark Italian skin that didn’t need much help. She wore her eyes on the smoky side, but that was about the extent of it. I, in contrast, had a light Irish complexion and counted myself fortunate to have smooth, clear skin.

  But that shower! That was what impressed me the most. It had no door or curtain, just a short, knee-high wall with an opening on one end for the entry. It was six feet deep and ran the width of the room. It had a built-in bench on the far end that wrapped around the length of the back wall. On the ceiling, there were multiple rainfall showerheads, and on the wall, at the end above the bench, there was a detachable handheld showerhead with multiple stream and pressure settings. I recognized it immediately because I had a similar one. It was also the result of a Home Depot project. I wondered if Gemma used hers in the same way I used mine on occasion.

  I rejoined Gemma in the kitchen, where she was plating the chicken breasts with a side of cauliflower and a small patch of Caesar salad.

  “Just in time! It’s ready!” Gemma beamed.

  “Gemma, I could live in that shower. Oh, my god! It’s amazing!”

  “Right? That was done by the previous owner. They took out the closet in the second bedroom to expand the master so they could do that bath. To be honest, that’s why I bought this place.”

  “That’s a good reason! I’m surprised you even shower at the gym!”

  “Well, I like being naked in public, so that fulfills my kink.”

  I was stunned for a moment before Gemma said, “Kidding! Sort of. It all depends on my schedule. Sometimes I do just come home to shower, but only if I’m not too sweaty and gross.”

  “You never look gross.”

  “Aw! You’re sweet. Come on, let’s eat.”

  Too Much Wine

  A fter dinner, Gemma put a downtempo chillout station on Pandora, and we moved from the kitchen to the family room. We sat on the couch—me, on the right side, and her on the left. I noticed that we simply took our spots, like a couple who already knew each other’s preferences.

  The Caprese chicken was amazing, and before we sat down, I made Gemma send me a link to the recipe. If it were as easy as she said it was, I would be cooking that dish a few times a month.

  She poured me another glass of wine, my third. I smiled and took a sip. “Are you trying to get me drunk?”

  “No! It’s just a habit when I see an empty glass. I used to tend bar in college.”

  “That’s funny! I used to go to a lot of bars in college!”

  She laughed her musical laugh. I loved hearing it.

  “What else did you do in college? What was the craziest thing you did?”

  I scowled. “We’re back to this again, are we?”

  “Don’t run out on me again! You just made it sound so mysterious, I’ve been dying to know what happened. Based on your reaction in the coffee shop, I think it involves a woman, but that can’t be all there is to it. I mean, you can’t get coffee these days without seeing girls making out. Hell, I’ve been with a woman before.”

  I’d be lying if I didn’t feel a tingle when she said that, but I wasn’t sure she wanted to go where this conversation would take us.

  She persisted. “So, if it’s not a woman, it must be worse than that. Threesome?”

  I didn’t say anything.

  “Foursome?”

  I just kept staring.

  “Donkey show? Please tell me it’s a donkey show!”

  I couldn’t keep a straight face after that one. “How the hell do you go from foursome to donkey show? You skipped right over orgy.”

  A sly smile spread across her face. “An honest-to-god orgy? Like with Hef in the grotto? You must tell me all about it now! Spare no detail.”

  I sighed. “You’re going to think I’m a tramp. I don’t want to kill our friendship before it even starts.”

  “I promise you, even if you went raw dog on an entire frat house, I wouldn’t think you’re a tramp. I’ve done some crazy things too, and besides, you’re grown up now. It’s all a part of who you are.”

  I tried to deflect the conversation. “Well, let’s hear your stories first then!”

  She shook her head, her raven-black hair shimmering around her head. “No. My house, my rules. You go first.”

  I sighed again. I was afraid if I told Gemma the story, she’d be disgusted with me and send me home. But on the other hand, if we were going to be friends, or whatever was going on here, she needed to know me and accept me for who I am. There’s no way I could keep it secret now that it was half in the open. “Well, it’s funny you should mention a frat house…”

  “Shut up!” She topped off her wine and offered me the bottle, which I gladly took. “You did not! Tell me everything!”

  I emptied the bottle into my glass. Gemma was looking at me with bright, expectant eyes. I felt like I was at camp, sitting in the bunkhouse with flashlights talking about what guy we thought was cute. Except this camp had just two people, and we were not going be as innocent as that. I took a long pull of the wine, feeling its warmth spread through me. Maybe it was the alcohol taking over, but I was about to share something with a woman I barely knew that I hadn’t shared with anyone in a decade.

  I let out a long breath. “You really want to hear this?”

  She was eager. “Yes. More than anything at this moment.”

  “Okay, here goes, but remember, you asked for it. It was ten years ago, and I was in my sophomore year of college, or what I called my second freshman year…”

  Forgetting Phillip

  Ten Years Ago

  I t was a Friday night, and the Sigma Omega guys were having a party. My roommates, Sheila and Kelly, were dying to go. They were alright as far as roommates go, but they insisted on dragging me out all the time when I didn’t want to go anywhere, and this was one of those nights. I was determined to sulk because I’d just broken up with my boyfriend. His name was Phillip—not Phil, Phillip—and he was a year older than me, and he was good looking, but he was a dick. He dumped me for a girl who went down on him in the bathroom at Hennigan’s Bar. Classy, I know.

  “Come on,” Kelly pleaded. “Phillip is a dick. Don’t you dare sit here tonight and pine for him. You know he’s not alone tonight. You need to go out with us and find a rebound guy and get that loser out of your mind.”

  “Yeah,” Sheila piled on. “Here, have some liquid courage and get lubed up.”

  Of the two, I liked Sheila more than Kelly. She was kind, and honest, and would do things for you—you know, like a real friend. Kelly only did things if it served her interest or she got something in return. Fair-weathered friend, I believe, was the term. If she were going to the mall, she’d give you a ride, but if it was five minutes out of her way, forget it. But
she had parents who ensured she was never late with the rent, so I put up with her sometimes shitty attitude.

  Sheila handed me a double shot glass filled with tequila. In my experience, very few nights had ever gone well when they started out with tequila. I took the shot and tipped it back, then fought the urge to cough it back up.

  “Yeah! Atta girl!” Sheila praised me and handed a glass to Kelly, who downed it and gagged worse than I did. I hoped for a second that she’d throw up, and we’d stay home. Alas, she recovered her composure.

  “Is that what you’re wearing?” Kelly asked me once she’d recovered from the shot and could speak.

  I looked down at my sweater and capris. “Yes?” It definitely came out as more of a question than a statement.

  “No, not to a Sig Om party. Come on.”

  She dragged me to my room and picked out a halter top and a knee-length, flowy denim skirt. I stripped down and dressed in the outfit she picked out for me. I was a B-cup back then, so I didn’t bother with a bra. I walked out to the living room and did a dramatic twirl. “Satisfied?”

  Kelly nodded. “Much better.”

  We walked the half mile to the party. Uber hadn’t made its way to town yet, and we were too cheap to pay for a cab. Plus, we knew we were probably going to get pretty wasted and didn’t want to be tempted to drive. Kelly was really keen to go to this party because some guy from one of her classes was in the frat and invited her. Of course, he told her to bring some friends, so that meant Sheila and I had to go.

  The ratio of women-to-men at the party was easily five-to-one. The frat guys really liked to stack the odds in their favor. Of course, we got in for free and had drinks pushed on us right away. I was tipsy in no time, but it wasn’t really my scene. I’d made an appearance, and that fulfilled Kelly’s obligation to whatever guy she was trying to hook up with, but I wasn’t really having fun.

  I pulled Kelly close to me. “I think I’m going to head back,” I said to her. “I’m just not into this scene tonight.”