Throbbing Hearts (Hearts Series)

by Sabrina Lacey

  Throbbing Hearts

  Part 1 of Hearts Series

  © 2014 Sabrina Lacey

  sabrinalaceybooks@gmail.com

  http://sabrinalacey.com

  Sabrina on Pinterest

  Sabrina on FB

  Sabrina on Goodreads

  Sign up For Sabrina’s Mailing List

  Cover Image © Alessandro Colle

  Licensed through: Shutterstock.com

  Published by Lacey Publications

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

  No part of this book may be reproduced, or stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without the express written permission of the publisher.

  Copyright © 2014 Sabrina Lacey

  All Rights Reserved

  Description

  Brendan Clark and Annie O'Brien aren't ready to meet, but that doesn't stop them. He's just out of college and she's another year to go, still heavy in her goth, sarcastic stage. Brendan's newly single - for the first time in four years - and he's decided women can't be trusted. Can she change his mind, and will he let her? When two hearts are destined to meet, they throb, but can they handle the call, or will they catapult each other into a whole new world...

  A Note From Sabrina:

  Brendan and Annie’s story originated from a small scene in the end of the “I Love My…” series. After three books of hearing about Mark being from San Francisco, I wrote a scene from his perspective in the final story (I Love My Man) and discovered Mark’s friend Brendan – a man who does not have the ability to let women in. You – my readers – wrote me by email, FB and even in some reviews, asking to know more about him. I was curious, too! He’d kind of popped up out nowhere, hadn’t he? So I want to thank you, the most wonderful readers in the universe, for encouraging me to explore his story. The foggy city is where I spent a great deal of my time at age twenty and twenty-one, dancing at raves, taking classes at A.C.T. and driving like a maniac. To visit it again has been a blast. I hope you fall in love with Brendan – and Annie, his unlikely little shadow turning into a butterfly – as much as I have.

  I couldn’t do this without you, and I look forward to entertaining you for a long time to come. I am so very, very grateful for you and hope you are well and happy, always.

  Xx,

  S.L.

  1

  Brendan

  San Francisco. Age: twenty-five. Five years before Mark meets his future wife and everything changes. Coffee: cold. Coffee shop: rife with gorgeous chicks to plunder.

  ________

  “You hooked up with an older woman, huh? Nicely done. How was it?” Mark leans back and eyes a hot brunette whose breasts shimmy in time with her strut. “Mmm.” Both of us scan her.

  “Incredible.” A growing line for lattes blocks our vision. We turn back to each other. Reluctantly.

  Mark takes a healthy slug from his coffee. “So… how was it?”

  My mouth turns up at the memory of the best blowjob I’ve ever had. “I just said it was incredible.”

  Mark laughs. “I thought you were talking about jiggles. Well, I’m glad you finally climbed the joy ride and joined the team. How you stayed with only one girl all through college is beyond me.” He looks back to see if the view has improved, but there’re still too many people and he looks back to me. Reluctantly. “What was her name?”

  “Rebecca. Rebecca…I don’t know her last name.” This hits me hard. “Wow.”

  Mark touches his tongue to his teeth and smirks. “So you go from Boyfriend Of The Year to hooking up with a cougar whose last name you never even got?” He whistles. “I like the new you, B-man. I like it a lot.”

  This makes me sit up straighter. Not really, because we’re both slouching as we should. But in my head? I’m standing tall. I’ve looked up to Mark in more ways than literally just his height. He is taller than my six-foot-one inch frame by a few inches, but it’s not just that. He’s also great at numbers, computer programming, speaking to strangers, gathering the respect of pretty much everyone. And women, they drop their skirts before he even says hello. The guy is a god.

  There were a ton of stunners at San Francisco State and not one of ‘em could hold his attention for more than a month. He’s my new role model. Following his lead will rip away the last remaining sentimentality I have for the fairer sex once and for all. Good plan, good plan. I’m glad he met me today and hadn’t given up on me. It’s no wonder he’s stoked. He’s been trying to break me down for years. I am never – and I mean never – going to let another woman under my skin. She can nibble and suck on it all she wants, but she’s not getting under it no matter how beautiful she is.

  I’m ready for unattached, unbridled fun. And who knows fun better than Mark? No one. If Mark ever settles down, I will keel over from shock.

  I rake my fingers through my wavy hair and look out the window. “Yeah, well, I had to get rid of Sara first. That bitch had to go.” Even though she broke my heart, it hurts a little to call her that out loud. Or maybe this ache in my stomach is just a hangover from having drunk too much booze last night. Alone. Mark doesn’t say anything. I wait for a response and none comes so I turn my head and meet his skeptical eyes. “What?”

  He waits a second. Decides if he wants to remind me how much I fell all over Sara during my entire college education, even the first year when she was still in high school and I had to deal with her fucking curfew. He probably wants to tease me about how I never let anyone say a bad word about her even when she was rude and snobby, which she more than sometimes was. How I’m calling her bitch now because I’m heartbroken. I really don’t feel like talking about her or the ring I still have to refund. Leave it alone, Mark. Just drop it. But he’s no mind reader.

  He purses his lips and opens his stupid mouth anyway. “You okay?”

  My eyebrows twist up the middle of my forehead and my eyes go ice-cold blue. “Are we going to have a moment? Should I break out a violin? She cheated on me. You saw it coming. I didn’t. I’m over it.”

  “It ended two weeks ago.”

  “It ended a year ago when she moved away. I just didn’t know it ended. So I had plenty of time to get over her, because she wasn’t really here anyway. You want me to cry on your shoulder?”

  He concentrates on me and says nothing for an uncomfortable amount of time. I glare at him, challenging him to push the sword in deeper. Slowly, he brings his hand up and pats his own shoulder. “Come to papa. Let it all out.”

  Smiling, I look away. “Shut it.” Sipping the end of my cold, weak, coffee while he picks up the paper to read the business section, I stare out the window some more. Passing locals soon blur me into a trance and a sneaky flash of not Sara, but Rebecca sleeping next to me last weekend in Mendocino, creeps in without my noticing. The way her hair fanned out in dark sheets on the pillow. How her mouth was open and the light sounds that came out of it. How one beautiful rosy nipple was exposed, laid bare thanks to a pushed-down corner of the quilt. A smile starts spreading on my lips.

  Stop it, Brendan. I shove it back down in the depths of hell it came from. I know that she’s just like them all – she showed me that. I’d stared at her a little too long before I’d left, though. The moonlight from the windows made me stay.

  Fuck! The old me is still clinging on like he wants me to get my heart crushed a few thousand more times before I learn. Well, screw that faster than a whore on prom night. I
can’t take the kind of emptiness that comes from getting attached and having it not work out. Not again.

  “You know what I think?”

  Sucked into an interesting article, Mark doesn’t look up. “Mmm?”

  “I think we’re going to make a good wing-man team. We cover both bases. I’m Black Irish, dark hair, and blue eyes. I’m normal height. You’re tall as a mountain and you’ve got that golden skin, hair and eyes thing going for you. Between the two of us, we offer whatever suits their taste. We can take it all, if we work together.”

  Mark looks up halfway through my speech, very amused. After I finish, he says, “You’ve given this some thought.”

  “Just now, yeah.” I lean back in the chair, legs spread out and my hand resting just below my crotch. “A blinding flash of inspiration comes when things are meant to be.”

  Mark looks back at the paper. “I’m in.”

  I stare, taking in his answer. Holy shit. It’s on! I’ve got the King Of Pussy to lead the way! A new life full of tits, ass, and zero commitment! I grab his newspaper with a big laugh. “We are going to kill it!” I crinkle it up in an extremely tight little wad and throw it at the ceiling.

  Mark grins and slouches against the backrest. “I feel sorry for them already. You should move in with me, too.”

  I didn’t see that coming. I lean back in my chair, cock my head to the side. “What about Greg?” Greg’s been Mark’s roommate all through college, the yin to Mark’s yang. Greg is quiet, introverted, serious. Not at all a ladies man, but Mark brought pretty women home and Greg was so happy about it, he never griped about the late hours or the sexual noises coming through the walls at all hours. “It seemed like the perfect scenario. Why give that up?”

  “Greg’s moving in with Diana. Bought her a ring and everything.” Mark shakes his head. Marriage, the noose none of us want to fall into.

  “Diana Cross? How’d they hook up?” Mark points a thumb at his chest. “Ah. Wow. Diana and Greg. I can’t really see it; Diana’s hot. Hey, wait… didn’t you hook up with her?”

  “Oh yeah! Lots of times. But she wanted something I couldn’t give her.”

  I smirk and scratch an itch on my chest. “Monogamy.”

  “You got it. So, you want his room?”

  It takes me a second to answer because moving in with Mark means leaving the place Sara and I got together. She hasn’t been in there for a year, except when she came back to visit, but it’s always been ours in my mind. I’m taken aback by the fear of leaving all of it behind, but the fear is definitely there. “Let me think about it.”

  I can see Mark understands why I’m hesitating. He picks up his coffee cup and goes to chuck it in the trash. “I can always offer it to Tommy.”

  The instant I picture Tommy taking my place, I know I’m on the edge of being shut out. Tommy already has been closer to Mark than me. Plus he’s an asshole. I don’t want him blocking my new life. I pick up my coffee cup that’s been emptied out already, and pretend to drink the last sip just so that I come off appearing nonchalant. “Fuck that. I’ll take it.”

  Mark sees more than I think. He nods. “Good.” He picks up the rest of the paper – the part I didn’t send to the ceiling – and hands it off. “You want this?”

  A woman in her early thirties with a corporate vibe and a permanent frown line, smiles at him. She gratefully takes it. “Sure. Thank you.”

  “No problem,” he smiles. He holds her look just long enough to give her hope. “Have a good day. I like your blouse. Matches those pretty eyes of yours.”

  Really pleased, she smiles and touches it. “Thank you.”

  He walks back to me like he didn’t just make her day. He does this stuff and always acts like it’s nothing.

  I stand and we head for the door. “Why do you do that when I know you’re not going hook up with her?”

  “Who says I wouldn’t?” I raise an eyebrow and he laughs. “Nothing wrong with brightening up someone’s day.

  I make a mental note of this. “When’s Greg moving out? Or is he already gone?”

  “Oh, he’s gone alright.” He means metaphorically, and walks out the door with me following him out onto the sidewalk. “He’s moving out today. What is it – Saturday? You could move in tomorrow if you want. Or whenever. He doesn’t have a whole hell of a lot to remove.”

  “Wait a minute. He’s moving out today?”

  “Yeah?” Mark side eyeballs me like what’s the big deal?

  A couple of hippy granola-eaters pass by, taking up massive amounts of sidewalk. I move out of their way, holding my breath to avoid the Patchouli oil. As soon as I can breathe again, I ask, “How were you going to cover his half of the rent until you found someone?”

  Mark shrugs, the sunlight catching in his eyes and making them look pretty cool. I idolize the guy. Sue me. I’ll never tell Mark I look up to him. That would take the kind of conversation we guys don’t have. Women compliment each other all day long – but we don’t. Because then we’d be girls.

  He hits me on the shoulder, a knowing look in his eyes. “I wasn’t going to. You were. Come over whenever you’re ready.”

  Totally sideswiped, I watch him walk off, a slow smile spreading on my lips. “You’re so fucking smart, aren’t you, Mark?” I call after him.

  He raises a hand up and yells back without turning around, “You know I am!”

  “Fucking guy,” I mutter to myself, feeling good, like I’m looked after, like I’ve got back up. I don’t have to do this whole getting over my ex and starting a new life thing on my own.

  Back at my place, I open the door and look around with new eyes. Evidence of Sara is everywhere. She’s off with that fuckhead who stole her, and here I am with all of her things mixed in with mine like I’m some dweeb who doesn’t matter. Most of this stuff belongs to both of us and I don’t know what to do with it. Sitting on our couch, I pick up one of her stupid flower pillows, remembering the day we began our downhill trek.

  2

  The Old Brendan

  Summer. One year ago. Before my last year of college. San Francisco. Age: twenty-four. Living with the girl of my dreams. Making sandwiches on a Sunday. Happy as a clam before it gets yanked open for the treasure inside… that used to be only his.

  ________

  I hear the door open and call out to the only person it could be, “Hey babe! I’m in the kitchen.” Sara doesn’t respond, which isn’t like her. I pause with the knife stuck in the mayonnaise jar. “Babe?”

  She appears around the open refrigerator door, looking worried, her sweet brown eyes darting from me to the two plates, then back to me. Her 5’2” frame makes her always have to look up when we talk, giving her the illusion of being tiny, but my Sara isn’t tiny. She’s the type of girl other girls want to be. She’s extremely confident, really pretty and a little prone to entitlement issues. I couldn’t love her more. “I don’t want a sandwich, Bren. I just ate with Laurel.”

  I look down at the ham and cheese fixings, pick up the bread that was meant for her and drop it onto my plate. “Boom. Problemo solved.” I say this with the voice I always use to make her laugh, but she doesn’t. She just stares at me with an unreadable expression. “You okay?”

  Picking up her honey-colored hair, she begins to braid it while listlessly staring off. “Yeah. I’m good,” she whispers, and walks off into the living room.

  Something isn’t right. I can feel it. Mentally, I review our recent conversations, as well as her schedule, searching for what could be upsetting her. I know she was talking about how summer has been boring. How she’d wanted to go away. That’s probably it. Well, I can fix that. I’ll take her for a drive down to Santa Cruz. She loves that place. An image from the last time we went there pops into my mind, of her holding my hand, the sun shining in her hair as she smiled up at me and said, “do you know how much I love you?” Then she’d popped a too-big cluster of caramel corn in my mouth and laughed when it gave me chipmunk cheeks. “You need mor
e!” I’d let her shove more in while I made cartoon-like grunts with eyes as big as Beeker’s. Her laugh is everything I live for.

  That’s what I’ll do. I’ll take her back there. Help her snap out of whatever’s dulled her out.

  With my sandwiches towering, swaying on the plate and fit for a giant, I join her in the living room where she sits in her long white summer dress, her legs tucked underneath her on the couch. Her eyes flit up for a half a second and take in my feast. “Be careful not to get any of that on the pillow,” she says, half-heartedly, as I move said flower pillow out of the way.

  “I’m already moving it. I know how you feel about these things.” These pillows have long been a source of fun for us. She bought them when we moved in despite my begging her not to. They’re the shape of different flowers, girly and ridiculous. With over-the-top delicacy, I place it next to her. “There. Now it’s safe.” Usually my ribbing her about them gets a smile, but today, nothing. With her hair hanging in one long completed braid, she plays with the end of it, her expression still blank.

  I start chowing. The TV is off and the clicker sits on the coffee table, ignored. I’m happy to just sit in silence with her. I put my bare feet on the coffee table and don’t notice as she looks at them. I’m too immersed in my massive ham and cheese… and the knowledge I’m about to make her day with my plans. So good.

  Talking through a mouth full, “I know what will make you happy.”

  “Taking your dirty feet off the coffee table?” she asks, staring at them.

  I lift them up, “Sorry,” put them on the floor and adjust my pants to accommodate my jewels.

  She looks at the thick end point on her hair, toying with it.

  “Let’s go to Santa Cruz.” I wait for her inevitable happiness, but see only a flicker of recognition that even she heard me. A zombie would show more enthusiasm. From the corner of my eye, I watch her. The look on her face is telling me something is rotten, and it isn’t this ham, though I’m beginning to lose my appetite now. I muscle through bites, wondering if I should explain how Santa Cruz is awesome and she will again love it. Even scarfing down a couple potato chips does nothing but make me feel ill. She’s not looking at me. She’s not watching TV. She’s not talking about her girlfriend’s relationships. Something is definitely wrong.