Read Online Confessions From A Coffee Shop by T. B. Markinson - Free Book Online

Her hard nipples prodded my back, distracting me. Until I met Kat, I hadn’t understood why some men became blathering fools around beautiful women. I thought that, being a woman, I’d never be sucked in by a woman’s wiles.
    Dead wrong.
    Kat had me wrapped around her little finger the moment she spoke to me. I’d been standing in line at the grocery store when she tapped me on the shoulder.
    “Excuse me, would you mind if I cut in front of you. I only have two items, and I’m in a huge rush.”
    When I saw her, I couldn’t utter a single word. I tried to mumble, “Sure, go ahead” but found I could only motion for her to step in front of me. All of the men in the line gawked along with me.
    When Kat didn’t have enough money, of course I paid for her stuff. What else could I do? In fact, I blocked the way of the man standing behind me, who was also going to offer to pay.
    “I got it,” I asserted.
    “Are you sure? I feel like an idiot.” Kat had blushed, and the reddish tint to her cheeks excited me even more. “I don’t know how I can thank you.”
    “No worries. It happens to all of us.” I waved my hand, dismissing her humiliation.
    Kat had thanked me and left. Her absence immediately sucked the air out of my lungs. I felt as though I would never be able to live my life to the fullest, knowing I missed my chance of being with the most stunning woman I had ever encountered. The mysterious beauty had opened a door for me, but I hadn’t entered it.
    Two days later, we ran into each other near Harvard’s campus. I couldn’t believe my luck. Not wanting to blow my second chance, I offered to buy her a cup of coffee and clinched our first date.
    Smiling at the memory, I patted Kat’s arms where they wrapped around me, and melted into her embrace.

Chapter Four
    Before heading out to Fenway for the game, I sat at my desk and eyed a stack of mail. Correction‌—‌bills. Just once I would have liked to receive a letter that didn’t send shivers down my spine. I flipped through the envelopes: Gas bill, electric bill, cable bill, chiropractor‌—‌that one went to my mother‌—‌and then…‌AmEx bill. Slowly, I separated it from the rest and placed it on my desk. Each month, I sat down and went over the purchases. I picked up the envelope, weighing it with my hand. It wasn’t massive. Last month’s bill had nearly given me a coronary. Moving my hand up and down along the envelope, feeling the pressure, the weight of it, I tried to guess the amount. Outside, I heard Kat fire up the espresso machine. She knew I was in my office, taking care of the monthly expenses. I think she dreaded this day each month more than I did.
    We never discussed her spending habits openly. It was always the eight-hundred-pound gorilla in the room.
    I never knew how to broach the subject. Should I say, “Hey, what in the hell did you buy at Urban Outfitters that cost five hundred bucks?” Or would a more gentle approach work, such as, “Eight hundred bucks at Bed Bath & Beyond?‌—‌I hope we have some new satin sheets to break-in tonight. Oh, and I see you went to Victoria’s Secret as well,” and follow it up with a suggestive wink.
    A year ago, sitting in our hot tub during a dreadful snowstorm, we had talked about our childhoods. Kat had mentioned that we could both benefit from therapy. She was joking, because we had both been mad enough to get nude and hop into a hot tub during a blizzard. I had seen the comment as a small window of opportunity. Maybe if she started therapy, she’d recognize her shopping addiction. The words to tell her that formed in my head, but when I tried to speak, I choked on them. How could I tell the woman I was madly in love with that she was making my life hell by spending every dime I made? And even spending dimes I hadn’t even made!
    I grabbed my letter opener and tore open the AmEx bill.
    Five pages.
    Whew! Last month it was ten. Thank God. I scanned the charges.
    Let me be