Throbbing Hearts (Hearts Series)

by Sabrina Lacey

  Mark sees the booze-table in a far away corner. He gestures to us with a chin-jerk to follow him. We nod and work our way toward it while Tommy looks over his shoulder and says, “Mark tells me you went away on your own last weekend when we were in Hawaii.” He knows I was supposed to be in New York with Sara – that’s why I didn’t go to the islands. He’s doing me a solid by not mentioning her.

  I relax a little and smile. “Yeah. Went to Mendocino. Ever been?”

  “Nah. Never even heard of it ‘til you just said it.” Then I see the mocking smile he’s so known for, the one Sara always pointed out. “Was it beautiful?”

  “The cougar I banged was.” I blurted that out a little too fast. But his admiration is worth it. Almost as much as his silence.

  His eyes light up. “Way to fucking go, man!”

  “Yeah. Thanks.”

  Truth is, I shouldn’t call Rebecca a cougar. She’s not old enough to be one and by no way did she have that trashy, fake boob, tight clothes around an aging body look. But I remind myself to toughen up. Women don’t show us respect, so why should we show them it? But still, fuck Tommy for making me say it. I make a mental note to not fall victim to my pride again. Tommy’s a necessary evil. He’s not going anywhere. He was here before me, and the girls think he’s funny so I guess he has his merits. He comes with the package of my new life, so I’d better get over the way he grates on my nerves.

  6

  Annie

  Totally over stupidity-saturated college parties like this one. Wishing I was back in bed. Still heavy, heavy, heavy in my Goth phase. If you don’t like it you can fuck right off.

  ________

  I ask Corrine, “Why did I come to this stupid thing again?” as she snakes her way through too many faces I pretend not to know. These people are all friends (ish) with her, but with me? Not so much.

  “You came because I made you! You can’t stay stuck behind a computer every night, Annie! How are you ever going to get laid?” She throws a look my way that says I should know these things.

  “You mean fall in love. How am I ever going to fall in love,” I correct her. Even with the dyed black hair, black lipstick, black wardrobe – I’m a hopeless romantic.

  She snorts disapproval and stands up on the toes of her already high-heels so she can peek over the mass of stupid. “I see booze! Come on!”

  “I can’t wait.”

  My hand gets encased in hers and I am dragged by force. Corinne is the sitting-on-the-back-of-a-motorcycle kind of beautiful. No tiaras for this one. She’ll wear pink, but it’s gotta be hot pink. Her hair isn’t just dyed blonde, it’s platinum. Her jewelry is a little too heavily applied, as is her red lipstick. Makeup around her green eyes is the only thing she keeps low-key. She’s a little bit on the trashy side and I really like that about her. You wouldn’t catch me dead around a pastel-wearing girlie-girl. Corinne’s not afraid to swear, get dirty, and be maybe a lot slutty. Vicariously, I live through her wild side. She’s fine with that, because everyone needs a cheerleader and I’m her biggest. I just cheer from behind a sarcastic grin and dry witticisms, that’s all.

  When we get to the multitude of inebriation materials, she turns to me. “Falling in love is an antiquated notion. We don’t need men. They need us. We center them. And from them, we get sex. Hot sex, if we’re lucky. And if we’re not lucky, we move on.”

  I watch her grab the gin bottle, and I almost scream, “No! No gin. I can’t even think of gin without vomiting up the last three years of my life.”

  She drops it back to the table. “Oh yeah. That was a fun night. If fun equals a nightmare. How ‘bout this?” She holds up a bottle that says Chopin. I lean in closer and see that it’s some highfalutin vodka. “This good?”

  I shrug. “Let’s give it a shot.”

  “Shots! Yes!!”

  “Uh oh.” My tone is as dry as a scone left out for five days and then two more. “We’re doing shots. Great.”

  Corinne pours while talking. “Look, you. You’re making Marilyn Manson jealous with that outfit. Your social skills are bested by mutes. We need to loosen you up if we’re going to get you any action – like EVER.”

  My tongue plays with the roof of my mouth as I suck on her game plan. “Why do you even hang out with me?”

  “Because I love you, Squid. And you make me feel good when I’m around you. You get me, and you don’t judge. Do you know how rare that is?” She calls me squid because of the black hair dye I’m addicted to. I’m naturally strawberry blonde and even though the lowest percentage of the population is born strawberry blonde – I could give a fuck. It’s too puppies, kittens and roses for me.

  “That’s very sweet. I may throw up.” We tap our cups together with no celebratory clink bouncing back, thanks to the plastic. Very low end, this party. I vow that when I’m all grown up and have got my own place, I will have enough glassware to throw a party without red plastic cups sullying the classy festivities. I drink the vodka and wince. “Blech… add some cranberry or something?”

  With her hand, Corinne shakes her platinum hair and musses it up all sexy style like she’s readying herself for battle against the weaker sex, and I don’t mean women. “Hello. Shots aren’t supposed to taste good. Drink up.”

  “Eesh.” I drink it back and cough once. Just once because her laser-beam eyeballs stop me from making a scene. “Sorry.”

  “You’re not a lost cause!” She chuckles. “You’ve still got these.” She points to my eyes, which – I have to admit – are probably my best feature. They’re bright cotton candy blue. I am fond of them. Why do you think I smudge so much eyeliner around them? “And these!” She reaches out and grabs my boobs, which are cleverly hidden behind a baggy shirt and jacket, not to mention several silver stone-pendant necklaces. Each stone has a different healing property: protection, communication and love. I fancy myself a bit of a witch. Or spiritual. Or whatever.

  “Anybody besides you touches my boobs and I’ll punch them in the face. And you can let them go now, too.” She laughs and obeys. I’m not into girls. Neither is Corinne. But I don’t really mind her grabbing them. Someone’s got to.

  “Hey!” she barks at a girl pushing through to the booze-table. The girl eyeballs her and a silent war is won by neither. Corinne looks back to me. “Does that include Brendan Clark? Would you punch him in the face if he did this?” She grabs them again and giggles.

  My heart jumps out and kisses her for saying his name. But then it goes dead all over again and I swat her hands away. “Brendan’s got a girlfriend, remember?”

  Corinne leans in and whispers, “Not anymore. Word is, he dumped her right before they were supposed to go away and celebrate their graduation with a good boinking.” She eyes me. “Interesting news, isn’t it?”

  See this is the problem with friends. They see things you don’t want them to see. Which means you can’t live in happy denial. I’ve not told anyone how I feel about Brendan Clark, not even her. But somehow she spotted me staring at him with my mouth open one too many times. Ever since, it’s been like dragging Lindsey Lohan to rehab to get her to drop it.

  But still my heart pirouettes throughout my insides at the news.

  Brendan’s single?

  I blink at Corinne, stunned and speechless. Though, Brendan has all of my heart, he has no idea who I am. He is beyond out of my league. I’ve only said “hey” to him once and it was a disaster. I said it because he said it first. But then it turned out he was talking to his buddy Mark who was walking up behind me. Needless to say, I slinked back into the shadows where it’s nice and quiet… and dark enough for me to cry.

  I shrug and look away so she can’t see me lying. “I don’t know how many times I have to tell you this, Marilyn, but I really don’t care what Brendan does.” She calls me Squid. I call her Marilyn after Marilyn Monroe, thanks to her hair and sexy goddess style. I may have gotten the short end of the nickname stick.

  Her eyes narrow and she leans in to see if
she can decipher my code. “Really?”

  Avoiding her, I mutter without care, “Yeah. I’m not interested.”

  “Not at all?”

  “Not in the slightest.”

  “He’s walking up behind you.”

  “Let’s do another shot.”

  Corinne laughs hard and turns to shove that girl out of the way. Successful, she starts singing “Shots shots shots shots” by the band LMFAO, and pours way too generously.

  I don’t dare look around, but I don’t need to. Before I even lay eyes on Brendan, I hear his voice, low and deeper than most other guys and already my knees feel like noodles. His voice boasts his advanced levels of testosterone, and the place that aches for him between my legs moistens instantly. He’s here. He’s walking up behind me. Now is my chance to talk to him! To let him know I exist. I eavesdrop and hear him talking about Mendocino, something about a…

  “Here you go.” Corinne slides a half-full cup back in my hand and I lose the last part of what was being said.

  I take it from her, head down, focusing hard on the red plastic. I know that when I turn around, I will be face to face with the man I plan to have babies with. First I should probably tell him my name.

  “Thanks.” I drink it before she even has a chance to toast or join me.

  She stares at my speed, reads correctly into it, and whoops loudly, “Now it’s a party! Here, have another!”

  I don’t argue, holding my cup out. I turn my head, say nothing, and stare at the man I have every intention of marrying. He’s exchanging words with jerkoff Mark and that asshole Tommy, but all I can see is Brendan’s mouth moving like the world just slowed down to make me the happiest girl in it. His lips are so full and pouty, and his teeth are straight from the braces he still had on during the beginning of his sophomore year, the I first time I saw him, three years ago. I was a freshman, and apparently invisible.

  Nothing has changed, because he does not see me staring at him right now, either. As I watch him, I wish he had a bad ear so I could lean in and whisper, “Is this the ear you can’t hear out of? Brendan Clark, I’ll love you ‘til the day I die.” I may or may not have watched It’s A Wonderful Life a gazillion times too many, because I am hoping for a day when we’re dancing over a hidden pool, fall into it, laugh our butts off as we continue to dance in the water. That would be amazing.

  I will love him ‘til the day I die.

  I’ve never known (from afar) a more loyal, kind, smart, funny and GORGEOUS man than Brendan fucking Clark. The fact that he was faithful to his girlfriend while being friends with a player like Mark and the rest of his ridiculously good-looking crew, only made it fireworks-explosion obvious that Brendan is one of the good ones. A capitalized neon sign follows him around blinking repeatedly: KEEPER.

  I met his now ex-girlfriend Sara once. I may have been biased, but I thought she was a stuck-up self-entitled bitch who flirted with everyone and barely even seemed to notice Brendan. But him breaking up with her? The way he always looked at her, I would have expected it the other way around. She must have done something really, really horrible. I want to kiss her for it.

  Tonight is my lucky night!

  “To having a great time!” Corinne announces, batting her plastic to mine, both newly refilled.

  Thanking the gods above, I smile and silently add, to Sara Brighton’s absence.

  7

  Brendan

  Ass ass everywhere, ass.

  ________

  I’ve given the basic details of my trip to Mendocino but I’m bored of talking about it because around me is a plethora of pussy waiting to be touched. All of these girls I said no to for four years, they’re everywhere and smiling my way. It’s like they know I’m single now. Which is ridiculous because we just broke up. How would they know? Whatever. I’m looking around. Who will be the lucky lady?

  Mark’s on the same page, rooting for me. Tonight’s the night of initiation into the single life. Last weekend was great, but Mark wasn’t there to see it. For all he knows, I’m making it up. He shoots me a look that says, check it out. I follow his eyeline, landing on a pair of steel-blue peepers that belong to a girl who may or may not be carrying a voodoo doll hidden in her pocket. Yeesh. She can’t be who Mark wanted me to look at, so my eyes shift right, catching sight of the real prize – a platinum blonde number doing her best Madonna impression, circa not at all Like A Virgin. Her dress is smoking. Those green eyes are off the charts hot. And she’s not looking at Mark. It’s like he doesn’t exist. She’s looking right at me like she’s waiting for me. Well, Blondie, here I am.

  Mark takes his cue and moves out of the way. Smacks Tommy, too. Tommy does a discreet double take and clears the runway. I lock eyes with Blondie and smile my sexiest smile. “Hey. What’s your name?”

  Blondie’s eyes dart to the Queen of Darkness. Impatiently I watch a secret communication going on between these two. Not interested in waiting, I step forward and stand in between them, fully blocking any further dialogue. “I said, what’s your name, gorgeous.” I made my voice extra deep for that line. It hits the target. I smell it in her pheromones. She’s mine… I think.

  “Corinne. And this is…” she tries to get around me, but I block her again.

  I look at her lips, thinking how I want to suck the red right off them. “Corinne. Corinne…” I lean in to grab her full attention. “Beautiful name.”

  Blondie melts. “Thank you,” she breathes, her eyes turning sultry, despite herself. I’m getting the hang of this. Something in her stare shifts like she wants to bring Ghouly Girl into the conversation. I’m not having it.

  “Is there a place we can go and talk?”

  “Oh. Uh… I really shouldn’t… uh.” Her eyes dart away guiltily.

  “Are you afraid of leaving your friend?” I turn to Blacky McBlackerstein and raise my eyebrows a little. “You’re okay on your own, right? You’re a big girl?”

  Something in my veins tenses as I look into her eyes. They’re so blue it’s crazy. She looks at me like I should know something. With enough sarcasm to make Vince Vaughn jealous, she mutters, “Whatever will I do without her.” She holds my stare despite my own will power. It’s like I can’t look away. It’s she who breaks our connection first, turning to push past Tommy who’s watching like he’s got front seats at a 49ers Playoff game.

  “What the hell was that about?” I ask him, staring after her. He shrugs. Mark watches her, too, and I turn back to Blondie, who’s also watching Gollum’s exit with her bottom lip twisted worriedly to the side.

  “She’s hard to get to know,” she explains.

  “Who’d want to try?” I chuckle, taking her hand. “You however, I want to learn all about you. What makes you smile…” I lean in and hold my lips by her earlobe for a very long beat. “What makes you moan. What makes you scream my name.”

  “Oh… my.” Her breasts lightly rise in surprise and accidentally touch my chest.

  I take her hand, flip on my heel and lead her off to a dark corner where we can talk. I shoot a triumphant look to Mark who’s coolly impressed. “The Power of Intention,” he calls after me, quoting the title of the book he has on his toilet. He’s obsessed with that thing.

  “Looks like I could have wrote it!” I call back, receiving a sly grin from him. Blondie of course hears this, but she doesn’t care. She’s not the kind that takes us guys too seriously, which means she’s perfect.

  Taking lessons from what Rebecca did to me, I expertly push Blondie up against a wall, silently telling her with my eyes that I plan to do things to her that she can’t imagine. The effect is instantaneous. She looks back at me with pure lust. A smile flickers across her 1940’s style pin-up-girl lips. She leans her head back in invitation and never stops holding my stare. I brush my lips against hers.

  “Hang on,” she says and smears off her lipstick with her hand. “That better?”

  “That’s very considerate of you.”

  “This isn’t my first ro
deo.”

  “Fuck yeah. Do you want to get out of here?”

  She bites her bottom lip as her eyelashes flicker to my mouth. “I don’t know…” There’s a war inside her that’s surrendered to faster than the French. “Yeah. Let’s go.”

  Who knew life could be this easy? There is no way I’ll get attached to a girl like Blondie. She has love-her-and-leave-her written all over her clothes, her hair, her smile. And I appreciate the clear signal. Man, do I.

  I take her hand. “Come on.”

  8

  Annie

  “Come on!!!” I plead to the line for the bathroom. Bladder: threatening. Heart: deflated. Head: against wall. Eyes: closed.

  ________

  “You okay?” a small female voice asks.

  I peer at the source and shut my eyes again. “I’m wonderful. Don’t I look it?”

  “No.”

  I peer at her with new appreciation. “Honest. I like that.”

  Her face crinkles up as she studies me. “You seriously don’t look so good.” I’ve never seen this girl before but she’s no more than eighteen. From the innocent fear seeping from her pores, I deduce that she snuck into this college party.

  I press my forehead into the wall and close my eyes again. “I’m drunk. Don’t they teach ‘drunk’ at your high school?”

  “Oh. Oops. That obvious? Let me just see…” She holds her hand up to my cheek to check my temperature.