Zip, Zero, Zilch

by Tammy Falkner

  I grew up in a big family, so I’m used to the noise. But sometimes I just want to kick back in my boxers and watch some TV without anyone picking on me about the fact that I love cooking shows. And I want to make cupcakes without having to make a hundred of them at a time. I want my own oven and my own bed.

  I kiss Friday on the forehead and tell everyone goodbye.

  “Why don’t you let me drive you?” Paul asks. He’s already yanking his keys from his pocket.

  “No,” I say, and I hobble toward the door. “You have kids to get home to. And Friday to do.” I grin at him over my shoulder.

  He smiles at her. “I sure hope so,” he says. Then he smacks her on the ass.

  When the camera crew is here, they eat that shit up. It makes me want to throw up in my mouth a little.

  But it makes me envious, too. I want that.

  I stick my head back in the door. “What time tomorrow?” I ask.

  “Eight,” she says.

  I nod.

  “She might like it if you bring cupcakes,” Friday says. She waggles her eyebrows at me.

  Peck doesn’t like cupcakes. I think she’s the only person in the world who doesn’t like my cupcakes.

  One day, I’m going to get her to eat one. One day.

  Peck

  I sit out on the fire escape and try to avoid the Reeds and their offspring. I know it’s rude of me, but my wrist is hurting like crazy. I didn’t break it, but I did sprain it. It’s in a splint, and I’m not supposed to use it. I have to wear the splint for a few days and then I just need to rest it.

  Imagine that. A drummer who can’t use her wrist. The record label we signed with is already having a shit fit. I can’t say I blame them. They invested a lot of money in us. More money than I thought I would ever see in a lifetime.

  When you come from nothing, you expect nothing. Yes, Emilio and Marta have money, but we have always felt like it’s their money, and not our money. Yes, they’re our parents, but they instilled in us a sense of discipline and the value of hard work.

  I don’t need much. I need to know my sisters are taken care of. I need to know Emilio and Marta are all right. And I need to know that my birth mother is nowhere near me.

  The door opens behind me, and I turn to look to see who’s coming out on the deck. It’s almost winter, and it’s cold, which means that only smokers end up outside. I don’t smoke. But Emilio sneaks outside sometimes when he thinks Marta’s not looking.

  But it’s not Emilio. I lower my feet from where they were resting on the table in front of me.

  “Don’t get up,” Sam says. “I promise not to talk to you.”

  He gets closer, and then hooks his crutches in one hand, hops two steps on one foot, and drops down heavily into a chair beside me. It’s the only other chair out there, so I guess he didn’t have a choice but to sit there. Right next to me.

  He doesn’t say a word.

  For a few minutes, he sits quietly, and I get more and more nervous. He grunts and adjusts his leg, propping it on the table.

  I pull my drumsticks out of my back pocket and start to tap on the arm of the chair, making a rhythm that matches one of our new songs.

  “Did you hurt yourself yesterday?” I ask, my breath billowing in front of us.

  “Nah,” he says. “It’s fine.”

  I gnaw on my fingernail and try to think of what to say to him. Finally, I just say, “Thank you.”

  His head jerks up. “For what?” he asks softly.

  “For helping us yesterday. You shouldn’t have done that.”

  He heaves a sigh. “You should know by now that I would do just about anything for you.”

  “Sam…”

  “Shh,” he says. “Stop making me talk to you. I promised to be quiet.”

  I can see the flash of his grin in the dark. “You suck.”

  His gaze jerks to me. “I can, if you want me to.”

  My heart trips a beat. “Stop that,” I whisper.

  “Why?” he whispers back.

  Sam and I went out a few times, and I really like him a lot. But I’m not like most of the girls he dates, and I know that. I can’t compete with them. I’m tall, five-eleven. Six-foot when I wear shoes. Other women are petite. And small. And I’m an Amazon compared to them. But I’m not big compared to him. Not at all. He’s six-three. And wide. He’s an outside linebacker for the New York Skyscrapers. In fact, when I’m with him, I feel tiny. But I’m not. Not really.

  “What’s on your mind, cupcake?” he asks. “Spill your guts. You’ll feel better.”

  I doubt it. I shake my head.

  “Why won’t you return my calls, cupcake?” he asks.

  “You said you were going to be quiet,” I remind him. Tap. Tap.

  “I lied.”

  I laugh. I can’t help it.

  “So…” he says, drawing out the O so that it lasts forever.

  Tap. Tap. “I was really afraid for you when I found out about your car accident,” I say. I bite my tongue, because if I keep talking, he’s going to drag all my secrets from that place in my heart where I keep them hidden.

  “You could have fooled me. You didn’t even call.”

  “I came to the ho—” I catch myself and stop.

  “I remember your being at the hospital,” he says, sitting up a little.

  I nod. “I came.” Tap. Tap.

  “Did I sound stupid when I talked to you?”

  He did. But it’s what he said that was important. And not what he said to me. “No.” Tap. Tap. “I didn’t stay long.”

  “Why not?”

  “You were busy.”

  “Busy with what?”

  “Busy with someone else.”

  “Who?” His voice is whipcord strong and fast.

  I shrug. “Some girl.”

  He thinks back and then I see recognition on his face. “Pete said Amanda came by. She’s just a friend.”

  I nod.

  “Really, she is.”

  “It doesn’t matter.” Tap. Tap.

  “It does fucking matter!” he whisper-shouts. “We used to date. That’s all. She came to check on me. She’s a friend.”

  “You sleep with all your friends?” Tap. Tap. Yes, I Googled him. And her. She was a cheerleader for the team. She was gorgeous and petite and all the things I’m not.

  “We. Used. To. Date.” He says the words slowly. “We don’t date anymore.”

  “It doesn’t matter.” I try to smile at him. But I can’t. It matters. It matters so much.

  “You came to see me.” I can hear the grin in his voice and it makes my heart skip.

  I wish he would shut up.

  “God, cupcake,” he says. “I wish you wouldn’t do that.”

  “D-do wh-what?” Crap. I forgot to tap.

  His eyes narrow.

  Tap. Tap. “Do what?” I say again.

  He lays a hand over his heart. “You just gave me hope.”

  I don’t say anything, because I can’t.

  “She was just a friend,” he says again.

  “Maybe you should tell her that.”

  “Okay. I will if I ever get in another car accident and almost die and she’s nice enough to come and see me.”

  I close my eyes and breathe.

  “I’ll send her packing, as soon as I wake up, cupcake.” He laughs. “In fact, I’ll have my family send her packing before I wake up. Will that work for you?”

  “You used to date her.” Tap. Tap.

  “Yep.”

  “For a long time.”

  “For a while.”

  I don’t say anything.

  “You want to know if I had sex with her, cupcake?” he asks quietly.

  “N-no.” I bite my lips together.

  “Is that why you won’t go out with me? Because I’m not a virgin? Because if that’s the case, I need to tell Sally Parker that she ruined my life when I was fifteen.”

  My chest heaves with a sigh.

  “I sw
ear to God, cupcake, if I had known my virginity was what you were after, I would never have given it away.”

  I shake my head. He’s teasing me. I can feel the corners of my lips tilting up.

  “Don’t smile,” he says.

  I can’t help it. I finally grin. “F-fuck you,” I say.

  He looks at my sticks. “What’s up with the sticks, cupcake?”

  Tap. Tap. “Nothing.”

  “Oh, it’s something,” he says quietly.

  I sit forward and rap them on the table, and take a rim shot off the top of his head. I barely tap him. And he laughs.

  “So you won’t take my calls because…” He stops, prompting me by nudging my knee with his. “Don’t tell me it’s because you found out I’m not a virgin, because this was before you saw the cheerleader in my hospital room.”

  I shake my head.

  “Was it because of the lights?”

  Oh, holy hell. The last time we went out, we were about to get it on, and he wouldn’t turn out the lights.

  I might as well get this out of the way.

  “It was just too intimate,” I admit. Tap. Tap.

  His brows rise. “You were going to let me make love to you, but doing it with the lights on would be too intimate?” His voice rises almost comically. But there’s nothing amusing about it. This is serious. Too serious.

  “You wouldn’t understand.”

  He puts his bad leg down on the floor and leans forward so that we’re almost nose to nose. “So me putting my dick inside you wouldn’t be as intimate in the dark?” he asks.

  My heart flutters.

  “Cupcake, now that I know that, I’m damn glad I didn’t fuck you in the dark.”

  He’s angry. I can hear it in his voice. “I didn’t mean to offend you.” Tap. Tap.

  He tips my chin up. “If I ever got to have you, I’d want to do it with all the lights on. Because I want to see every part of you.” He drags a finger across the upper slope of my breast, and the hairs on my arms stands up. “I want to touch you and see you and feel you and taste you and smell you. And when you make those little noises that come out so much easier than your words do, I want them to be right beside my ear.”

  He sniffs the spot where my neck meets my shoulder. “Because you smell so fucking good, and you taste better than anything I’ve ever had in my mouth, and you feel so soft under my fingers.” He grabs my hip and squeezes me in his strong grip. “These hips.” He groans and slides his hand down my thigh. “And these thighs. Oh, my God,” he breathes out. “They’re fucking perfect.”

  I snort. I can’t help it.

  “You don’t believe me?”

  I’d like to. I’d really, really like to.

  He grabs my hand and pulls it to his lap. “Feel me, cupcake. Dicks don’t lie.”

  I can feel the hard ridge of him behind his zipper, and I press down, because there’s a little part of me that wants to believe him.

  “Easy,” he says. “He’s been a little lonely.”

  “It’s not like you’re celibate.” I blow out a heavy breath through my lips. I’d be stupid to think that.

  “There hasn’t been anyone for me since I kissed you. Long before my accident, cupcake.”

  My heart jolts.

  Sam sits back quickly when the door opens. Marta calls out, “Dinner’s ready!”

  I get up and start toward the door. But Sam doesn’t come with me. “C-c-coming?” I ask.

  “I’ll be there in a minute,” he says. He looks down at his lap and chuckles. “Dicks don’t lie, cupcake. Mine likes you. Almost as much as I do.”

  I leave him there on the porch and go in the door. “You okay?” Marta asks. I nod my head, and help her put dinner on the table. “You look a little flushed.”

  “It w-was c-c-c-cold out th-there.”

  “Didn’t look cold to me.” She laughs and pats my cheek. “Looked kind of warm.”

  I can’t say anything, because Friday and Emily come into the room. Each one has a baby on her hip, and I reach for the tiny one because I need something to do with my hands. I murmur to him. I can talk to babies, because they don’t judge me. Not like everyone else does.

  Sam

  I let myself into my empty apartment and toss my keys onto the granite countertop. I can’t get last night off my mind. Sitting there in the dark with her, it was better than any make-out session I’ve ever had, and I didn’t even get to put my mouth on hers.

  Peck does things to me that no one has ever done. And she does it without spreading her legs or putting my dick in her mouth. Not that I don’t want to do those things, because I do. But she also challenges me. She makes me want to be more. To be different. To be hers. But she doesn’t want to be mine.

  My phone rings and I see Pete’s number pop up.

  “Joe’s Ho House,” I say. “You got the dough, we got the ho. What would you like to plow?”

  Silence.

  I bite back a laugh.

  “Dude,” Pete says, “that was so fucked up.”

  Now I finally laugh. “What do you want?” I ask. I jerk my shoe off my good foot and get a beer from the fridge.

  “I’m at Bounce with Edward. Come and join us.”

  “Why?” I take a swallow of beer.

  “Because, man. Edward needs a girlfriend. And every man on the prowl needs a wingman.”

  “You want me to be Maverick to his Goose?”

  “Are you seriously talking Top Gun right now?” He laughs. “And he’s more like a moose than a goose. Have you seen him lately? That son of a bitch is tall.”

  When Pete met Edward, he was a gangly youth from the correctional institute. He had bad teeth, a penchant for killing people who harmed his little sister, and he had few prospects. Now he’s had a lot of dental work, grew about a foot, and has a good job as a mechanic at a local vehicle repair shop. He’s made something of a reputation for himself, just by being reliable and hard-working.

  I can’t help but ask. “Why can’t you be his wingman?”

  “Because Reagan will fucking kill me. Get your ass down here.”

  I finish my beer in a few swallows. “Give me a few minutes.” I heave a sigh and get to my feet, hitching my crutches under my armpits. The things I do for my brothers.

  “Cody and Garrett are here, too.”

  Cody and Garrett are friends of Paul and Friday, and all the rest of us too. Friday was a surrogate for them when they wanted to have a child.

  “What are they doing there?”

  He chuckles. “Right now, they’re grinding on the dance floor. It’s date night.”

  “Where’s Tuesday?” Tuesday is their daughter.

  “With Paul and Friday. Where else?”

  I swear to God, Paul and Friday should just turn their apartment into a daycare center. “I’m on the way.”

  He hangs up on me. I hate it when he does that.

  ***

  The music is thumping so loud that the street vibrates with it as I get close to the club. Bounce is the local hang-out, and it’s always busy. I used to be a bouncer here and I loved every second of it. I pass by the line waiting to get inside, and bump knuckles with Ford, who is managing the line all by himself. He lets me crutch my way right past him.

  I see Pete and Edward, and Edward is talking to a pretty little blonde. She asks him to dance, and he shakes his head. She tries to pull him out onto the floor, but he won’t go.

  Pete shoves his shoulder and points him in the direction of the dance floor. The dude is never going to get laid if he won’t participate in the game. I walk up, introduce myself, and suggest that he buy the pretty lady a drink instead. He blushes, but she nods, all smiles, and he goes to order a fruity drink for her. She looks me up and down and her eyes narrow.

  “Aren’t you—” she starts, but I put my finger to my lips to shush her.

  “I’m just a guy who wants to get a drink.” I really don’t want anyone to know that I play pro ball. Not tonight.

&nbs
p; She nods, but her eyes are bright all of a sudden. She wraps her fingertips around my bicep and squeezes. I lift her hand from my body and put it back at her side. “No thanks,” I say.

  She huffs.

  I point toward Edward. “Go talk to Edward.”

  “I’d rather talk to you.” She bats her heavily coated lashes.

  I narrow my eyes at her. “He’s available. I’m not.”

  She lifts her pointer finger and draws a circle on my inner arm. My skin crawls. Edward comes back with her drink, and she reaches to take it from him. I block him and take it myself. I tap a pretty little brunette on the shoulder and say, “My friend here wanted to buy you a drink.”

  The brunette’s cheeks grow rosy and she looks up at Edward from beneath lowered lashes. “Thanks,” she says.

  Edward looks confused, but he forgets all about the blonde when the brunette sticks out her hand and introduces herself.

  The blonde huffs away.

  “See?” Pete says. “This is why I needed you.”

  I shrug. “You could have done that yourself.”

  I put both my crutches in one hand and hop over to a barstool. Abby, one of my oldest and dearest friends, is behind the counter, so I bang on the bar. Loudly. She looks up at me and scowls. But then she realizes who it is and gets up on her tiptoes to kiss my cheek.

  “Long time no see,” she chirps. She pours a draft and puts it in front of me. “On the house.” Now that I have enough money to buy my own beer, people want to give them to me. I’ll never understand that.

  Abby is married to Ford, the bouncer at the door. They’ve been together for a long time.

  “How’s the leg?” she asks.

  “Better.” I can’t say more than that.

  “Hey, are you still baking?” she asks, grinning at me.

  “Depends on what you want.” I steal a cherry from a bowl on her counter and toss it into my mouth.

  “I need about four dozen of those red velvet cupcakes.”

  “When?”

  “Sunday?”

  I nod. “I can do it.” I’ve been itching to bake something, anyway.

  She kisses my cheek again. “I’ll call you.” Someone smacks the other end of the bar and she spins around. “If you touch my fucking bar one more time like that…” I can’t hear the rest of it. I laugh. I love Abby.