The Book of Brooke

Chapter 13

I feel guilty for sucking off Blackjack. I know that Jacob and I aren't technically together, but I still feel a sort of connection to him as well as an attraction. My brain tells me that I shouldn't have done anything with Blackjack, that he's a mafia boss and almost got me killed just now, but my body tells me that he's worth the risk.

What was that just now?

Did he enjoy it? If he did, why didn't he finish? What am I to him? He probably has dozens of girls that he can sleep with, so why does he want me? Did he even want me, or was I just a warm mouth to relieve some stress?

I don't want to think about it. Instead, I walk into my apartment and try to catch up on some sleep.

*

I sleep until noon because I don't have work today, which I'm grateful for. I don't think I could face Jacob after having wanked off Blackjack's knob earlier in the morning. When I get up, I take a shower to try to wash off all the residue from the job that's stuck to my skin.

As the hot water runs down my body, I scrub away at my skin. I catch a glimpse of my fit body in the mirror, silky smooth and free of imperfections. Well, mostly free of imperfections. I have a scar on my back, the lower part of my torso going towards the left side. It's about an inch and a half wide and slightly raised above the rest of my flesh.

I close my eyes and can't stand to think about this disfiguration. That's why I never let anyone hit it from the back, because my ugly scar might chase them away. I got it on a family vacation to the Swiss Alps when I was 10. I was learning how to ski, but my instructor was so sexy and hot that I couldn't pay attention to what was happening and crashed right into a tree, one of the branches causing the scar on my back.

It was then that I knew I would never ski again.

It was heartbreaking considering that I loved to ski, and so did the rest of my family. Garrett made fun of me for a week after that despite mama and papa telling him to back off and that it's not nice to make fun of your little sister.

I loved my mama and papa, but that was before they both died in a tragic home fire caused by some reckless arsonist teenagers who wanted to get some kicks. They were brought to justice a couple of months later, but it didn't do anything to bring my parents back and they're probably out by now because they went to a juvenile detention center instead of an adult prison because of their age.

I miss them every day.

*

Sometime after I eat lunch, Corey comes over to help me find and get rid of the last of Blackjack's cameras.

"Sorry I'm late, I was just borrowing these sensors from my friend." Corey says as he comes through the door of my apartment. He's holding all of these fancy devices with wires and cables and everything in his arms. He sets them down on the couch and seems relieved to have them off his hands.

He has a nice smile, but he's more focused today. He's wearing a white long sleeved t-shirt underneath a flannel shirt, both rolled up at the sleeves. His blue jeans are straight legged and his shoes are converse. He reminds me of the guys at my college with his messy hair and his patchy, still growing beard. He's a nice guy, not sexy or hot, but just plain attractive.

He's a bit younger than I am, still in his third year of college. He's studying journalism, the traditional kind, not broadcast journalism, although I haven't really asked him about it.

"What do those things do?" I ask.

"They're sensors." He tells me. "People use them in hotel rooms and stuff to see if there are any hidden cameras or microphones. If it senses one, it'll start beeping."

Corey picks up one of the sensors and turns it on. It starts hissing and he runs it across the walls. When he gets to the left wall and next to the door, the device starts beeping loudly.

"Got one!" Corey calls me over and I search along the area to see what could have a camera or a microphone. I look behind one of the picture frames and see a tiny recording device attached to the back. A microphone.

Corey and I go through the entire apartment looking for and removing the cameras, collecting them all in a bin and making sure that they're all unplugged and blocked from recording or filming anything.

"This special material should stop any signals from going out. Just don't leave your phone next to it or anything." Corey explains as he closes the bin.

"Thanks so much, Corey." I say, giving him a hug. "I don't know what I would have done without you."

"No problem, Brooke! I was kind of a nerd in high school, so I know all about this stuff."

I don't really know what he means by that but I decide to leave that can of worms alone and sit down on the couch, sighing. Finally, I've got some privacy. Corey sits down on the couch next to me and I think that he can sense that something's wrong.

"What's wrong?" He asks. "I thought you would be happier now that you know nobody's watching you."

"I am happy, but I just can't stop thinking about the mafia." I confess. "Like, they legitimately kidnapped me."

"Yeah that's like... not good."

"Corey?" I turn to him. "Can I tell you something?"

He turns to me. "Yeah, anything."

I take a deep breath. "I've been pleasuring Mr. Cohen, you know. My boss. Like, sexually." I tell him. "We haven't had sex, though. I'm still a virgin. But I've been sucking him off and giving him handjobs whenever the kid I'm supposed to be watching isn't there."

Corey looks at me.

"Do you think I'm a whore for playing with a married man's popsicle?" I ask.

Corey laughs. "No, you're not. Exploring with men is natural and it's all part of the process. As long as you're both consenting adults, it's fine. Well, I mean you probably should be doing it with unmarried men, but still. Don't worry, you're still a virgin because nobody's technically put their penis inside of you."

I'm relieved that Corey understands.

"Thank you for the support, Corey. I don't know what I would do without you." I say. "I mean, yeah, he's married and all, but I have done things with an unmarried guy too so I think it cancels out."

"What? Who was the other guy?"

I giggle. "Uh... so don't freak out." I say, trying to prepare him. "But it was Blackjack."

Corey gasps, but in a masculine way.

"Blackjack!???!?! The mafia boss??!?!?! The one who kidnapped you?!?!?" Corey stands up with a jolt.

"Yeah..."

"I'm sorry Brooke, but that's messed up. You've got to break it off ASAP!" Corey doesn't even give me a chance to explain myself before rushing out of my apartment with all of his sensors in hand. He even leaves the cameras and microphones in my apartment!

I wish I got a chance to explain, but I don't know what I would have said anyways.