HOOKED
by
Christine Manzari
This book is a work of fiction. Any references to historical events, real people, or real places are used fictitiously. Other names, characters, places, and events are products of the author’s imagination, and any resemblance to actual events or places or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
Published by Christine Manzari
Copyright © 2014 by Christine Manzari
www.christinemanzari.com
All rights reserved.
Photography & Cover Design: Vania Stoyanova, VLC Photo
Cover Models: Chandler Dollahite & Damien Michael Chase
TABLE OF CONTENTS
Copyright
Dedication
1. Boxers or Briefs?
2. Hooked
3. Abercrombie
4. Names
5. A Date
6. Make Art
7. Best Laid Plans
8. Lonely
9. The Edge
10. Late Night Swim
11. New Names
12. Silent Treatment
13. Scaling Mountains
14. Addiction
15. Fleeting
16. In Wonderland
17. Mickey to My Rocky
18. Day Off
19. The Beginning
20. Give Thanks
21. Junkie
22. Rumors & Promises
23. Loser
24. Break Down
25. Gala
26. Homecoming
27. Introductions
28. Confrontation
29. Burn
30. Missing
31. Sneak
32. Resignation
33. Found
34. Linger
35. Watching. Waiting. Winning.
36. The Last
37. Best Birthday Gift Ever
Acknowledgements
Play List
Contact
To My Mom —
There is something about a mother's hug, no matter how old you are, that's just the perfect place to be. It's knowing your heart is safe because your mother will love you unconditionally no matter how successful you are, or how much failure you stumble through.
I miss you, Mom.
— CAT —
1. BOXERS OR BRIEFS
There are only three people in this world I love. My mom. Jay. And myself.
Love is a funny thing. Once you decide someone is worthy of it, you have to trust that person not to break you. And some people—most people actually—aren’t worthy of that trust. I’ve learned the hard way that it’s just easier not to risk love. Broken hearts are too big of a pain in the ass.
Don’t get me wrong, just because I’m stingy with love, that doesn’t mean I’m one of those depressed people that hates the world and everyone in it. Quite the opposite. I know all too well that there’s a lot of fun to be had in life. As long as you see it for what it is—fun.
And I’ve always been really good at having fun.
That’s why I’ve always loved going to Venice Beach after work. All the old gymnastic equipment scattered across the sand is proof that no one is ever too old to act like a kid. My favorite place to play was the tunnel of rings. I’m not sure what it was actually called back in its heyday, but that’s what I called it. Ten sets of rings suspended from a series of metal arches that reminded me of a tunnel. It looked easy to swing on them from one end to the other and back again, which was why the line to use them was always at least twelve people deep. The tunnel, however, was a master of deception. It took me a long time to learn how to do the rings in a way that made it look effortless. Jay once told me that when I was on the rings, I was a beautiful force of nature. But then he usually followed that up with a comment about how I was just a freak of nature. His insult would earn him a punch on the arm, but it still didn’t deter him from repeating it often.
I was currently waiting in line for my turn on the rings.
“Don’t look now, but you have an audience.”
I dropped the block of chalk back into the bucket and slapped my hands against each other, a cloud of fine white dust bursting between them. I glanced over at the aforementioned audience. “Khaki shorts, tight black t-shirt, and flip flops?” I confirmed.
“I said don’t look, Cat. Obvious much?” Jay shoved me, annoyed that I couldn’t follow a simple order. I found it funny that he thought I would.
“What’s there to be subtle about? He’s the one that’s been staring at me for the last hour. Hard not to notice those hazel eyes raking over every inch of my body,” I boasted, reaching for the chalk again. I was so damn hot that my palms were already sweating through the first coat, turning it into a gummy paste.
“You can’t tell they’re hazel from all the way over here,” Jay argued.
He was right. My devoted fan was close enough that I could tell that he was drop-dead gorgeous, but too far away for specific details. Besides, it was almost too dark to see much of anything. The lights from the rides on the Santa Monica Pier were already flickering in the twilight.
“True,” I admitted. “I just hope they’re hazel because that would look fucktastic with his artfully messy hair.”
“Jesus. That’s one of the lamest things I’ve ever heard come out of your mouth. You sound like a thirteen year-old girl,” Jay said.
“Kiss my ass, Cupcake.”
“There’s the bitchy broad I know. For a moment there I was afraid you were going to pull out a copy of Seventeen and start gushing about Harry Styles’ perfect ass cheeks.”
I ignored Jay and glanced back at the guy who was watching me. He wasn’t my usual type, but I still had a hard time keeping my eyes off him, probably because he was totally out of place. He belonged in an Abercrombie catalog, not hanging around the gritty charm of Venice Beach and staring at a skater girl like me.
“He’s really been here for an hour?” Jay asked. “I can’t believe I didn’t notice him earlier.”
“I know. He’s your type, too.”
“Except that he’s staring at you, and not me.”
I pinched Jay’s cheek leaving a spot of chalk dust on his face. “We don’t know for sure which team he bats for, Cupcake. Go find out,” I said with a teasing push to his shoulder.
“I don’t chase. I like to be chased,” Jay retorted.
I laughed because that was a complete lie. Jay chased. Often. “Don’t worry. You have plenty of time to come up with a way to make him come running. He’ll be back tomorrow.”
“How do you know that?”
A lanky guy with dreadlocks reached the last ring and dropped down to the sand in front of me. Finally it was my turn.
“Because,” I explained, eyeing up the metal rings that swung enticingly from the chains above me. “This is the third night in a row he’s been here watching.”
“And you haven’t talked to him because . . .”
“. . . I’m not desperate.”
“You don’t have to be, you just have to be interested,” Jay protested.
“Well, there’s the problem. I’m not interested.” That was sort of true. Abercrombie was attractive, but he looked like the kind of guy you took home to meet your mother, and that was definitely not my type. The only guy I ever took home to my mother was Jay.
“It’s time you tried something other than one-night stand losers,” Jay accused me.
What I didn’t say, but what Jay understood about me, was that I liked the one-night stand losers because they were fun and didn’t ask for more than I was willing to give. “I don’t need anything more,” I said.
“What you need is to spread your wings and trust one of the good guys for once.”
“And by wings do you mean legs?
” I winked at him.
“If you keep pretending you only care about sex, you’re going to end up alone forever. Is that what you want?”
“I’m not alone,” I argued, bending my legs and then jumping to catch the two rings dangling above my head. “I have you. And this,” I added, nodding my head around the beach.
Jay rolled his eyes in disapproval. He didn’t really care for Old Muscle Beach. Whenever we came, which was most nights, he spent the majority of his time complaining about the sand in his shoes. He came because I liked it and because I bought him “The Best Fries Ever” at Mavericks almost every night. Jay was a sucker for potatoes of any kind, specifically the fried variety they sold on the Venice Beach boardwalk. French fries were his fatal flaw, a flaw I took advantage of way too often. Not that I couldn’t come to the beach on my own. I just liked hanging out with Jay. Probably because I knew there could never be anything besides friendship between us. There was no risk in having Jay in my life, only reward.
“I love you,” I said, puckering my lips in a kiss as I hung from the rings.
He grunted in response and I laughed as I began the rhythmic pulls that swung my body back and forth. My shoulder and arm muscles strained with each pull as my body swung underneath the rings like a pendulum. When my momentum was strong enough, I let go with my right hand and allowed my body to sway forward. I easily caught the next ring, gliding above the sand as the salty breeze whipped across my skin. It didn’t take long before my fingers were gripping the last ring and I started making my way back to the beginning.
I glanced over at Abercrombie to find that his eyes were following my every move. His arm was draped lazily over his knee as he shamelessly watched me. His black t-shirt was stretched tightly across his chest and I was so distracted I nearly missed the next ring, only managing to catch it with the tips of my fingers. I had to adjust my grip on the next swing forward to avoid crashing to the ground like an idiot.
Finally, I dropped from the last ring, my feet sinking deliciously into the sand. I grabbed my canvas messenger bag and boots off the ground before making my way over to Jay who was sitting on the low wall that surrounded the playground.
“That was quite the display,” Jay teased. “One might think you actually wanted him to watch you.”
I ignored Jay because he was right, and he knew it. I did enjoy having that guy’s eyes on me, even though he wasn’t my type. Even though I knew we were two totally different kind of people. Even though guys who looked like Abercrombie never really wanted girls like me. They wanted forever girls and I definitely wasn’t one.
I sat on the sand in front of Jay so I could put my boots on. When I was done, I leaned back against the wall, listening to the laughter of those around us, the crash of waves on the beach in the distance, and the bells and music of the rides on the pier. I could sit in that spot all night long and never get bored.
“I’m so glad it’s the weekend,” I said.
“Shitstick still riding your ass?”
Shitstick was the nickname I’d given Will Stone, an art director at the media firm where I worked as a graphic designer. Despite the fact that I’d never met the man in person, he did a bang up job of being a total jackwagon whenever I had to work with him. I dreaded every conference call, every email, and every project that we had to work on together. Shitstick was the only thing about my job that I absolutely loathed.
“He’s so fucking condescending. You can’t imagine how often I’ve fantasized about physically maiming him.”
“I guess it’s a good thing his office is on the other side of the country.”
“You mean was on the other side. Shitstick is coming out to our L.A. office, which means I’ll probably have to work with him more often.”
“Should I have bail money ready?”
“It might not be a bad idea,” I agreed.
“That pretty boy is still watching you,” Jay said, changing the subject. “I dare you to go talk to him and see what his deal is.”
I smiled. “You dare me? That’s so junior high, Jay.”
“I double dog dare you.”
“Shaking in my boots here,” I said vibrating my knees and hands in mock fear.
“I triple dog dare you.”
I turned around to look at him, eyes narrowed. “You what?”
“I triple dog dare you to go talk to the pretty boy.”
“Jay, you do know the severity of triple dog dares, right?” I asked, attempting to keep my voice serious despite the absurdity of a 24 year-old man triple dog daring me to talk to a good-looking stranger. This was just one of many reasons why Jay was my favorite person, in the whole wide world, in all of ever.
“Triple dog dare you or you buy me fries.”
I stood up and brushed the sand off my pants. “You know I’m going to buy you fries no matter what. I can’t have you going into slobbering, incoherent withdrawal tonight. I just cleaned the floors.”
“No you didn’t. I cleaned the floors.”
“Yeah. Because I told you to.”
“Cat, you wouldn’t notice the floors were dirty if you were bit by mutant dust bunnies.”
“Are you still talking?”
Jay sighed. “You gonna go talk to the pretty boy or is it time to buy my fries?”
I scanned the beach, pretending I wasn’t eager to talk to Abercrombie. “Any particular information you want me to find out?”
“Five things.” Jay put up his finger. “Name.” A second finger flipped up as he said, “Age.” The rest of his fingers followed as he counted off the last three items. “Sports team of choice. Favorite body part. Boxers or briefs.” He held his palm up to me, fingers splayed wide before he wiggled them.
I raised an eyebrow. “Boxers or briefs?”
“Inquiring minds want to know!” His eyes shifted to where Abercrombie was sitting. “Oh shit, he’s looking over here again. I think he knows we’re talking about him,” he stage-whispered.
“Then I guess it’s time to go make his dreams come true.”
“You do realize your over-confidence is in no way appealing.”
“You do realize your judgment on my appeal can’t be trusted since I don’t have a penis.”
“A penis is not a pre-requisite for me to find someone appealing.”
I gave him “the look.” He wasn’t fooling either of us.
“Okay, you’re right,” he relented. “But I’m telling you, you’re going to chase him off before he even gets to know you.”
I slung my messenger bag over my shoulder. “Oh, I’m counting on it.”
— HUCK —
2. HOOKED
She was making her way over to me. She’d left the other guy behind, the one that I’d seen her with every night so far. Although they didn’t seem to be a couple, not in the traditional sense anyway, I still wasn’t sure whether she was approachable.
Let me rephrase that. Almost everything about her said she wasn’t approachable. Especially that devious smile she wore as she stopped in front of me.
“It’s rude to stare, you know,” she said.
Not what I was expecting her to say, but I wasn’t going to complain now that I was getting a good look at her up close.
“I wasn’t staring. I was admiring.”
Her head tilted to the side as she studied me and it caused a few strands of her dark red hair to come loose from the messy bun on top of her head. She was sexy in that not-trying-too-hard way.
“Are you a lawyer?” she asked.
“No. Not even close.” Did she need one? She definitely had a dangerous edge to her. It looked like she flirted with trouble frequently. Hell, she was trouble personified. I normally steered clear of girls like that. So why was I completely obsessed with this one? Why couldn’t I just walk away?
I didn’t have an answer yet. All I knew was that I kept coming back to watch her. Because I had to.
“A politician?” she asked.
“No, why?”
; “Because that’s the kind of slimy, evasive answer a lawyer or politician would give.”
I grinned. “It wasn’t evasive, it’s true.” What was even more true was that I couldn’t stop admiring her. She was irresistible, even hidden beneath all those gender-neutral, baggy clothes.
Her tongue peeked out and quickly wet her lips and in that moment I would have given just about anything to be her mouth. She was attractive and confident, just the way I liked them. Sure, she was different from the bottle-blonde beauties I usually dated, but I couldn’t deny that her dark charisma was strong and addictive—and just what I needed right now.
I needed a change. I wanted a change.
I wanted her.
“To admire means to hold in high regard. Staring means to gawk, ogle, gape, watch, leer,” she said, listing off words like a sexy thesaurus. “You’ve been sitting here for the last hour staring at me.” She allowed the devious smile to take control of her mouth and I had the undeniable urge to grab her face and kiss her just to see what trouble tasted like.
She cocked an eyebrow when I didn’t respond right away.
“Oh, trust me. I hold you in very high regard,” I said.
“You’re still staring,” she accused.
“I can’t help myself.”
“Clearly.”
This girl was nothing like any other woman I knew. She wasn’t just beautiful. She was smart, funny, and unafraid. That was the best way to describe her. Unafraid. Maybe that’s why my eyes were immediately drawn to her Wednesday night when I first stumbled across Old Muscle Beach. Maybe that’s why I found myself making my way to the beach every night, searching the strange collection of over-grown playground equipment until I found her. Maybe that’s why when I finally did find her, I couldn’t make my eyes look anywhere else.
“Fine. I was staring. Does it bother you?” I challenged, knowing the answer even as I asked the question. She didn’t care if I watched. In fact, I could tell that she enjoyed it, that she actually flaunted more if she knew I was looking.
“Not really,” she said, confirming my thoughts as she hooked her thumb in the strap of her canvas messenger bag. “What’s your name?”
Hooked Page 1
