Then, one day, someone asked him if he was ready for our big history test the next day. He mentioned that we were studying that evening. I felt the familiar squeeze in my chest that came every time I remembered how I’d been crushed by his betrayal. I rub my chest absently and drift back to that awful day.
“Why do you go to that girl’s house every night? She’s fugly,” one of the boys says in a jockeying voice. Its jovial tone is in such sharp contrast to the wicked words he’s speaking that it takes a second for them to register. My hand flies to my mouth and covers it just in time to stifle the gasp that a swift rush of hurt forces out of my chest.
But nothing prepares me for the way it feels to hear Chuck say, in an equally jovial voice, “She’s too ugly to eat lunch with, so I have to wait until the sun sets before we can study together.”
A sledgehammer collides with my heart and shatters it into a million pieces. I feel lightheaded. I don’t have to cover my mouth, there’s no air in my lungs to propel any words or sounds. When my vision blurs, I close my eyes and try to clear it. Tears, hot and unwelcome, roll out of the corner of my eyes and trail down my cheeks. Their laughter sounds like a horrible echo and I’m not sure if they’re still laughing or if the sound is trapped in my head.
I’m overwhelmed by the sudden need to leave. I force myself up on shaky legs and cling to the rail as I climb up the stairs toward the fourth floor.
“Man, thank God. I was worried you were kissing Maria Diarrhea after school.” I stop. I can’t take another step. The fragments of my heart feel like they are disintegrating in my chest and my stomach lurches violently.
I have to swallow back the saliva that fills my mouth from the nausea that rolls over me. Is that what they call me? They burst out laughing and I can hear Chuck’s voice loud and clear. That laugh, that I’ve loved and treasured now sounds as sinister as the cocking of a gun’s hammer.
The sound makes something inside of me snap. In the blink of an eye, my pain disappears. The betrayal I was feeling just minutes ago, withers and is replaced with cold fury. I’m not the one who has anything to be ashamed of. Why am I running? My daddy didn’t raise me to run from anything. I’m not going to let him turn me into a coward. He’s stolen enough.
I turn slowly, carefully on the small heel of the pretty, delicate champagne pink Sam and Libby ballet flats. I wore them in hopes that it would soften my distinctly indelicate, unpretty appearance. What a joke. It takes all of my strength to hold my head high and walk down the stairs. Each step took careful concentration. But I did it. I knew when they became aware of me.
Their laughter died off in a trickle, like dominos falling as the one next to it collapsed. Only when I stepped onto the landing where they were gathered do I take my eyes off the step. I don’t even acknowledge the other boys. I just stare at Chuck. His big hazel eyes, with impossibly thick, curling lashes that would have made him pretty, if the rest of his features weren’t so strong. Those eyes that normally smiled at me, were staring at me in what can only be described as horror.
“Maria,” Chuck says, his voice cracking on the last syllable of my name.
“Diarrhea?” I snarl and surprise myself with how strong my voice is.
He winces, but I don’t miss the self-conscience flick of his gaze toward his friends. Even now, he cares what they think. “Listen—”
“No, I’ve heard enough. It’s fine,” I say my voice still holding strong.
“It’s not.”
“Yes, it is. Now I know you’re a terrible person,” this time he flinches like I splashed water into his eyes. I scoff and feel my rage starting to lose some of its cool. “Yeah, I forgot. You think I’m too hard to look at in broad daylight.”
One of his friends snickers and Chuck shoots him a dark glance before he looks back at me. “Listen, that was just—”
“That was how you really feel,” I say quietly and I feel the first prick of tears in the back of my eyes. “Stay away from me. Don’t come to my house. I never want to talk to you again.”
His face pales and his mouth drops open. I step around him and walk down the stairs. I don’t look back, but there’s a part of me that’s hoping he will call my name. Run after me and tell me he’s sorry. But he doesn’t.
I step out of the shower and check my texts. I see his message with the address of a restaurant that’s in my neighborhood. I’m not surprised. The Heights is the new cool kids hang out in Houston. Lots of new restaurants opening up and old ones remodeling and reinventing themselves to fit the hipster, eclectic vibe of this neighborhood.
I take my time and arrive almost thirty minutes later than we agreed. He texted a few minutes ago to say he had ordered us drinks. I sit in my car gathering my composure. I scream when there’s a knock at my window. I smile apologetically and hold up my finger to ask the valet to give me a minute.
I barely register him slipping the claim ticket into my hand. I feel like I’m floating as I walk into the restaurant. Here goes nothing.
Two
CHUCK
When Maria walks in, I have a quick flash of doubt. Will this work? Will she be able to keep up her little charade long enough for me to apologize properly? The memory of that day always sparked a current of shame that I felt in every single pore of my body. I will never forget the look on her face when she had called me a terrible person. She had been right.
When I moved back to Houston last month, I was determined to find her. When I googled her, I found her Facebook profile right away and I remember staring dumbstruck at how beautiful she had become.
I stand up as she and the hostess approach our table. I force a smile even though my heart is racing. I hate not being in control. I hate not knowing what’s coming next. But, I have no choice. “Luscious Cutie Pie?” I ask before I lean forward and brush a kiss across her soft, lightly fragrant cheek.
She’s smiling wryly when I pull away, but it doesn’t reach her eyes. Her entire face is bracketed by tension.
“It sounds awful when you say it aloud, doesn’t it, CockedandLoaded?”
I grimace at my own awful screen name. “Call me Nicholas,” I use my full name and hide my smile when I see the spark of recognition in her eyes. She was one of the only people who knew it. “Nice to meet you,” I step around her to pull out her chair.
“I was worried that maybe you weren’t coming,” I say honestly. Our waitress appears with two margaritas and sets them down in front of us and slips away.
“Well, you sort of left me no choice. And you can call me Anna,” she picks up her drink and takes a delicate sip. Her lips are the color of dark plums, the lower one has a prominent seam down the middle and when she puts the glass down, her lipstick has left an impression of her mouth on the side of the glass.
“Okay, Anna. You had a choice. We could have stopped talking instead,” I say with a raised eyebrow. She acknowledges the truth of my statement with a small shrug but, doesn’t respond. She reaches for one of the salty tortilla chips that someone dropped off right before she got here and busies herself with piling it with salsa. I watch her hands. They’re still the same. Long fingers, with big broad palms. Her nails are longer and painted the same burgundy as her lips. She’s wearing a dark blue sapphire ring on her right ring finger, but otherwise, her hands are bare.
“I’m glad you’re here. You’re beautiful,” I tell her and her head snaps up. Those eyes, the color of my favorite bottle of brandy, transport me back to the time when we met.
“Thank you,” she says with a tight smile before she turns her attention back to her chips.
“So, here we are,” I say and try to break some of the tension.
“Yeah, here we are.”
“I have to say that I was pleasantly surprised when you wrote. I thought to myself, now that’s the prettiest girl I’ve seen on this app the whole time I’ve been using it. But damn…” I drawl and wait for her to look up again before I continue.
“That picture didn’t do you any justice.�
�� I have to bite my lip to fight the grin that wants to show itself when she blushes and runs and hand absently down the side of her neck. She did that when we were kids, too. When she was nervous or excited. I don’t know which one of those inspired the gesture, but it’s comforting and encouraging to see.
“What’s your biggest regret?” She asks suddenly.
“That’s a heavy question for a first date,” I chuckle nervously.
This time, it’s her cool eyes that are direct and mine that want to hide. I’m prepared for this question. Just, not yet. I thought she was going to try to keep up the same act she’d been playing since we connected two weeks ago. I had planned on being CockedandLoaded until I could see I’d gotten her guard down.
“This is hardly our first date. We’ve been talking online for two weeks,” she says, her gaze not wavering.
“Yeah, you’re right. Well, it’s actually not that hard of a question to answer,” I start slowly and try to make sure I say exactly what I intend.
“Really? Lots of regrets, or none?” she asks.
“Only one,” I say with an expression that I hope is meaningful.
Her eyes widen slightly, and she glances around the restaurant as if to make sure no one can hear her before she leans across the table toward me. Her long red hair spills over her shoulders and the tips brush the top of her hands. I want to reach out and touch it. It’s the most fundamental change in her drastically changed appearance. It used to be dark brown, curly and cut short.
“Well, what is it?” she asks, her voice slightly breathless.
I take a deep breath and go for broke, “Well, I had a friend. A girl. I did something stupid, hurt her feelings and never apologized,” I say and watch her eyes start to soften before she collects herself and turns them into flinty chips of amber again.
“Well, what stopped you from apologizing?”
“My pride. I was a cocky little shit,” I say with a dry, self-deprecating laugh.
She gives me a withering glance and raises her dark eyebrows in blatant skepticism. “And you’re not anymore? Mr. Cocked and Loaded?”
I laugh nervously, “Yeah, I guess the name is a little dumb, it was my dad’s call name in the Air Force and after he died—”
Her sharp inhale of breath stops me speaking.
“What’s wrong?”
“Your father died? When?” Her expression is stricken. I’ve forgotten that she’d known my dad. Only a little, because I’d gone over to her house more than she’d ever come to mine.
“It’s been nearly seven months, he was an adrenaline junkie to the very end and died doing what he loved,” I smile at the memory of the last time I saw him. He was so fucking happy. “He was flying, hit a really bad thunderstorm and it blew his plane apart. Even for an accomplished Naval test pilot, there was nothing he could do.” I shrug and take another sip of my drink. I miss my dad, he was the only person I told about what I did to Maria all of those years ago. And he always encouraged me to find the balls to apologize.
“I’m sorry,Cole,” she says softly. She used my real name. She doesn’t catch her slip up and I don’t let it register on my face that I did. I loved hearing it on her lips again.
“Thanks. What about you? Your folks alive?” I ask.
“Yeah, they’ve moved to Guatemala. Bought a place down there and only come here twice a year. I miss them, but it’s fun to go and visit.”
“Nice,” I say and then bring us back on topic. “We were talking about regrets. That was mine. Messing up that friendship. Not apologizing sooner.”
She stares at me in surprise for the briefest of moments before she shakes her head.
“Do you have any?” I ask.
“Nope,” she says glibly and then picks up her margarita and chugs it. I watch as some dribbles out of the corner of her mouth.
“Let’s get out of here,” she says and slams the drink down. She wipes her mouth with the back of her hand.
“Uh, okay,” I say and lift a finger to call our server. I signal that I’d like our check and take one sip of my drink.
“Where are we going?” I ask.
“Your place.” She says easily.
I can’t hide my shocked expression. “I thought you were worried I was going to kidnap you and hand you over to some Mexican cartel,” I joke. But I’m not amused. I didn’t expect this. I mean, I’d love to take her home. But I have the distinct feeling that her request to go to my place is more of a “Plan B” than a spur of the moment whim.
Something about what I said was unexpected and threw her off.
“I’m sure you’re not a murderer,” she says as she grabs her purse and stands up in one fluid motion.” She stands in front of me, her stance closer to that of someone who is preparing for battle instead of sex.
“You called me all talk, today. I’m ready for action,” and without another word, she spins on her heel and marches through the restaurant. I watch her walk away, marveling at how gorgeous the view is from the rear. Oh yeah, I can’t wait to have that ass in my hands tonight. I stand up and follow her out.
Three
MARIA
Oh, my God. I rush out of the restaurant, my thoughts jumbled. This isn’t what I expected. In every conversation we’ve had by text, he’d been exactly who I had expected that boy in the stairwell to be. Confident to a fault, unrepentantly sexual, someone who believed his own hype.
Why is he not an asshole anymore?
Why is he even more beautiful now than he was when he was a boy?
Why the fuck did he apologize?
I hand the valet my ticket and just as he’s walking away, Chuck appears at my side, slips a hand around my waist and calls out to him. “Hey, give me that ticket, we’ll come back for the car before you close tonight.”
I jerk my head back in surprise and gawk at him.
“You can’t do that,” I say indignantly.
“You drank that margarita really fast, and there’s no harm in me driving us over,” he reasons. The traitorous valet walks back and hands the ticket to Chuck, as if I’m not the one who gave it to him.
“Excuse me,” I say and he pauses. His nervous gaze darts between Chuck and I, but I don’t feel sorry for him.
“Do you normally ignore the women whose cars you park when their men tell you to?” I demand and fix him with an imperious stare.
“Uh no,” he stammers.
“Good, then, please go get my car,” I say.
“No, don’t go get her car. But, please get mine,” Chuck says to him. The poor young man starts to look distressed. I glare up at Chuck. “Look what you’ve done. Maybe you should try asking instead of demanding next time.”
I look at the valet driver and decide to show him some mercy. It’s not his fault Chuck thinks he’s the master of the universe.
“That’s fine. I’ll come back for my car later.” I say a little embarrassed at conceding, but also deciding that this is one battle I’m prepared to lose if it means that I can get on with my plan.
Chuck squeezes my waist slightly and a shudder runs through me. Then he dips his head and whispers in my ear, “Save that attitude for when we get back to my place, where I can spank your ass for it.”
I erupt into gooseflesh. “As if—” to my horror, my voice comes out in a breathy whisper. I clear my throat before I continue. “As if I’d let you,” I dismiss him. Even though the thought alone is melting my insides.
“Oh, you will. You’ll beg me for it,” he says gently but with a tense edge in his voice that excites me in a way I can’t remember being excited before.
“You wish,” I say feebly and step out of his grasp when I see the valet driving back in a big black Range Rover. Of course, he would drive a flashy car.
I open the passenger door as soon as he stops in front of us and almost laugh at the surprise on his face before he hops out.
“I’m in a hurry, too,” Chuck says when he climbs in behind the steering wheel. When he grips it, I notice h
ow big his hands are, and think about the sting they would make if he were to spank me. I hate how much that turns me on.
I think about what else those hands and fingers could do and I start making some revisions to my plans.
I’m still going to leave him hanging, but what harm would there be in letting myself have a little fun first. Just a little and then, I’ll confront him and leave.
We pull out of the parking lot and onto San Felipe. This is one of Houston’s most congested streets. And tonight is no exception. As we crawl up toward the 610 Loop, a comfortable silence descends and I let my mind wonder.
. Half of me is filled with anticipation. I wonder what it will be like to kiss him. I feel the attraction between us, but it’s at a simmer. He’s bantered in sometimes outrageously sexy ways over text, but he’s been subdued in person. The rest of me is dreading this. How will he respond when I tell him I’ve been playing him all along?
How will I feel when I walk away from him? Will I be able to? Because, I have to admit that being with him is easy. I’ve spent the last twenty years loathing him. Yet, since we started talking weeks ago, that’s diminished some. Because, the thing about him that drew me when were kids is still there. Even more so now that we are adults. He’s funny, and his confidence is actually attractive. I have a strong personality. Most of my relationships have ended because the men I was dating didn’t like that I wanted to take the lead sometimes. Or they liked it too much and left me feeling dissatisfied in bed and in general.
Chuck isn’t intimidated by me. He seems to like my stubborn streak.
“We’re here,” he says and my eyes focus. We’ve pulled up into a covered driveway of the Houstonian Residences. A man in a dark red bellhop’s uniform is hurrying out of the revolving glass doors of the building.
“This is where you live?” I ask gawking. I’ve never been here before. It’s one of the most exclusive and expensive addresses in the entire city of Houston.
Cocktales Page 2
