SEE HER
A “Turn it Up” Novel - Book 1
Natalie Parker
Contents
Dear Reader
Follow Natalie
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Epilogue
Acknowledgments
Playlist
Deleted Scene
See Her
By Natalie Parker
Book One in the “Turn it Up” Series
Copyright 2020 by Natalie Parker
Cover Design by: Lori Jackson
Formatting By: MadHat Books
Editor: Katy Nielsen
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places,
incidents, and organizations, are a product of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead is entirely coincidental.
All Rights Reserved. In accordance with U.S. Copyright Act of 1976, the scanning, uploading, and electronic sharing or distribution of any part of this book without the permission of the publisher is unlawful piracy and theft of the author’s intellectual property and hard work.
Thank you for your support of the author's rights.
Dear Reader
Dear Reader, Thank you for picking up this book and giving it a chance. I hope you love Jack and Mayzie’s story as much as I have loved writing it!
And if you do, follow me on Instagram and Facebook to chat with other readers, and stay up to date with upcoming sneak peaks and future releases!
Happy Reading,
Natalie
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P.S.- Stay tuned for a deleted scene at the end!
Prologue
“Are you joking?” asks my mother. “Mayzie, you’re joking right? Is this like the time you lost that bet with your brother? Is that what’s happening here?”
“This is so not like that,” I answer.
“No, come on, Ian’s the one who moves in with somebody after knowing them for three months,” my mother says, trying to lead the conversation down a logical path.
“And look how well that worked out for him!” My dad adds.
“Very funny, Mayzie. Good one.”
“I’m not joking, Mom. It really happened. Yesterday.” There’s an unsettling stretch of silence on the line, making me stare at my phone like it’s the Oracle.
“You’re serious.” It’s a statement.
“Yes,” I say, getting assertive. The next few seconds tick by in more silence before it’s finally broken by the siren sound of my mother losing her shit.
“MAYZIE LEEANN WALKER!”
“Ooh,” I say, recoiling from the phone just a little.
“Have you lost your mind?!” she continues.
“Have you lost your fucking mind?!” my dad echoes.
I feel Jack’s arms come around me from behind, his chin resting on my shoulder, giving me silent support, letting me know he’s in this with me.
“Mom, I’m kind of past the point in life where middle naming me has any real effect. Also, you got my last name wrong. It’s not Walker anymore…”
1
Mayzie
FOUR MONTHS EARLIER
“Bite me,”
“Hey, you asked.”
“Do something that scares me today,” I say into my phone. “Is that what you just said?”
“No,” replies my best friend, Annie. “I said do something that scares the shit out of you today.”
“I don’t want to.”
“You want confidence? You want to figure out who you are? Then that’s what you’re going to do,” she says, tough-loving me. “Otherwise, you’re going to keep right on with this whole ‘I don’t know who I am! However am I going to find myself?!’ crap you’ve been pulling for a half hour a day, every day, including just now while we’ve been on the phone,” she says, doing the worst impression of me. Ever.
“We’ve only been talking for ten minutes, so… in your face,” I rebut. “And besides, I had a creepy dream involving the bear from the Snuggle commercials last night. That scared the shit out of me.”
“Unintentional. It doesn’t count,” she says, and I huff at her. “Hey, you’ve come a long way since the insecure little pushover I met years ago.”
“Hey…” I say, totally affronted.
“But you are not living the life you want, because you don’t go for anything you want.”
“That’s not true. I wanted my job and my house, and I went after them.”
“One, those are not wants, they are needs. Two, those were both four years ago. And besides, copywriting is not what you want to write. Seriously, I can’t count that.”
“No, but I wanted to work from home, and I do.”
“Yeah, so you could keep living like a little hermit and never face anyone or anything new. How do you expect to come up with anything exciting to write about living like that by the way?”
“Uh…well…” I say, looking up at my ceiling.
“Uh-huh,” she says, all cocky and arrogant.
“I’m biding my time!”
“You’re hiding. You’ve gained a serious sense of self-worth over the years honey, but your confidence…” she trails off and I grind my teeth, stewing over the many points she has made so far.
Growing up, I was weird. Odd. Awkward. Only certain people would hang out with me in school. Not what you would call an ambitious group of people that had a lot of respect for themselves or others either. But I took whatever friends I could get, and keeping this type of company didn’t exactly lead me to explore any respect for myself. Confidence and self-esteem were foreign concepts to me, and my sense of validation depended on whether I was dating someone or not, just the way it seemed to be for the rest of my “friends.” And whether I was dating someone or not depended on what I was willing to do. No one wanted me for any other reason it seemed.
This continued through life. I wandered through it, lost, taking whatever scraps anyone would toss me, and conforming myself, always desperate to fit in.
Then came Annie. My game changer. The one person who showed me friendship and love for no reason other than to have mine in return.
“You need to let more people know you, the way that I know you. You’re fun, beautiful, smart, weird, goofy… and it should be shared with the world.” Annie adopts a more delicate tone. “You want to be a serious writer, which means taking a piece of yourself and putting it out there. Tell me, how are you supposed to do that if you won’t give yourself any experiences? Or make any human connections?”
“I make connections,” I say adamantly.
“Me, your family, and Penny don’t count.” The last name she mentioned would be t
hat of my one-year-old Rottweiler.
“I dance,” I say quietly, but the defeat is evident in my voice.
“But you don’t dance for anyone. It’s just for you.”
“So?”
“Okay, I gotta go,” she says with a sigh, sounding like a mother that’s exhausted from arguing with her teenager.
“I hate you,” I say obnoxiously.
“You hate that I’m right. Call me later.” She ends the call before I can say anything else.
I return my attention to my laptop screen and the blinking cursor, where I should be producing some text for my work assignment. I’m supposed to be writing why Hunk ‘o’ Rubber tires are the best, and I’m stuck. I’ve been stuck on it all morning, which is why I’m so frustrated and irritated that my job can be so mundane and unfulfilling. That spiraled into the whole, ‘what am I doing with my life?’ convo with my so-called best friend. She wants me to get out of the house? Fine. I’m not getting anything done anyway, and Hawthorne’s, a new record/bookstore/café, has been open for months and I haven’t been there yet. I can take my laptop, peruse some books, get a latte, and see if that clears the fog.
I’ll even get out of my yoga clothes and put on my new cute ankle boots with jeans and a spring top. And then, that bitch can suck it. But I will not scare the shit out of myself.
I get dressed, brush my long brown hair, and take a look in the mirror. My dark purple top has billowy sleeves that only go part way down my forearms, revealing the black tattoo on the left one. It doesn’t represent anything symbolic, and it’s not original. It’s only a variation of many others like it. A black feather dissolving into many tiny birds fluttering away. When I saw the picture, I felt peaceful, and decided I wanted to see it everywhere I went. After applying a little mascara to bring out my grey eyes a bit, I decide I could actually dare to be seen in public.
This was a good idea. Getting out of the stuffy house and into different surroundings is helping me to concentrate, and the words are flying out of my head and onto my laptop screen. The low din of background music and chatter seem to be what I needed to keep my mind from wandering. I’m making serious headway on this project until the bell on the door chimes, signaling another customer walking in. What is it about the need to look up when that happens? You’re in an establishment that you don’t even run, yet you feel the need to look up at whoever is walking in like you need to acknowledge them, or see if maybe you know them. Unsolved mystery. Anyway, back to the moment, because the man who walks in is going to throw my world off its axis. I feel my world shift and go sideways at the sight of him.
It’s hard to see his face. He has long sandy brown bangs hanging in straight, silky strands as he briefly gazes around like he’s taking the place in for the first time. When he heads over to the counter, I can tell he’s laid back and confident just from the way he carries his tall frame - standing straight but with his shoulders relaxed. He casually looks around while he waits for his order, and my eyes are drawn to the way he’s lightly drumming his knuckles on the counter in perfect time with the beat of the mellow background music. It seems so natural that he doesn’t even appear aware he’s doing it. It’s endearing. It makes me smile to myself, involuntarily.
His arms are lean but toned and muscular, with tattoos peeking out from under the short sleeved black button-down he’s wearing. His shirt is open over a black beater of a tank top which shows the top of another tattoo on his chest, accented by a cross hanging from a silver chain. My attention is then drawn to his dark, worn jeans as he reaches in his back pocket for his wallet (my inner idiot is biting her fist right now).
My eyes definitely like what they see. He has a bad boy look to him and it’s almost intimidating, but when he picks up his coffee, he gives the barista a friendly nod and a faint smile, revealing a dimple on the right side of his mouth. Well damn if that doesn’t give my insides the slightest little glow. He seems so cool, yet there’s a warmth about him. He hasn’t even seen me, yet I can feel myself blushing. It’s a good feeling, and it makes me wonder what it would be like to know someone like him; if I’d get that feeling from them all the time.
My gaze quickly darts back to my laptop as he turns to find a seat, carrying a newspaper at his side. I stare at my screen without actually typing for a few minutes, my only focus being to not gawk at the stranger who has hooked my attention and will not let go, who doesn’t have any idea what he’s done to me by simply moseying into the place with the confident yet casual way he carries himself. It’s like he already knows who he is and is comfortable and at ease with that. Something I wonder if I’ll ever have. If only…
He takes a seat and opens the paper while keeping one hand on his cup, occasionally taking a sip while peering at his paper over the rim. Okay, fine, I peeked; now back to my intense staring at my computer screen. Alright handsome guy, I got a good look, now back to work. I put my fingers back on the keyboard annnnnd…. nothing. I’ve got nothing. I let my mind wander back to him. My first instinct is to stay hidden over here until he leaves, and then maybe I can move on with my freaking life. I can go back to focusing on myself and he can fade back into the world. I have never been one to make a move or draw attention to myself anyway. Besides, good looking guys are everywhere, you don’t need to chase everyone you see. It’s just, there’s something about this one. He looks dangerous but sweet. I dare another glance at him. He lifts his head to look out the window, but doesn’t seem to be actually focusing on anything outside. It’s as if he’s just giving his mind a moment to wander, and I find myself wondering where it goes. After a moment, his head turns back down to the paper, and he once again seems content in his own company.
Something in my chest starts to hum. Maybe I’m envious because he’s displaying this sense of self-certainty I wish I had. Maybe it’s just a chemical reaction, as they say, but so be it. I’m definitely feeling something; a desire to be near him, to hear his voice, to find out what he smells like. It’s like I can see his energy, coming off of him in waves that float over to me before grabbing onto me and pulling.
Then it hits me. I don’t want to not see him again. It could be the end of me. But this pull I feel inside is too strong. I can’t begin to explain to myself why. He’s just another person in a sea of people. For once, I find myself wanting to take a risk. Then again, why does simply saying hello to another person have to be a risk? I decide to think about it and go up to the coffee counter for a refill to buy myself some time. I do my best to not look over my shoulder to see if he’s noticed me. When I grab my coffee and turn to face him, I see that he hasn’t. I should go back to my seat and forget about this, I think to myself.
Or… maybe I could be brave? I’m never brave. I’m insecure and lost. I’ve never had confidence in who I am because I’ve never figured out who I am. I always went along with what other people wanted. The only difference now is that I know it. Since we met, Annie has always said that she knows who I am, but if I want to figure it out for myself, I need to challenge myself and take chances, that each time I do, a small piece of my true self will reveal itself.
Talking to this guy would be going after what I want. And it scares me.
I decide I don’t want this stranger to go back to his life without knowing I’m alive, so I’ll take care of that, and then I will see what happens once he knows. Then I can go back to figuring out my life, and more importantly, I can tell Annie to shove it for hopefully another couple of weeks. I suck some imaginary courage into my lungs and walk over to his table.
“Hi,” I say. He looks up at me, so I finally get a look at the part of him I hadn’t yet seen. He has large eyes that are such a dark blue that they could probably be mistaken for brown at a distance. His expression is one of surprise that immediately shifts to interest.
“Hi,” he returns, his dusky blues meeting my eyes and holding on.
I smile naturally at him. On top of everything else, he has sharp and rugged facial features, including a strong jaw, bu
t his eyes are kind. He looks at me expectantly with his eyebrows raised, the edges of his mouth seeming to be trying to decide if he wants to smile back or find out why I’m here first.
“Are you done with your sugar?” I ask. Wow, smooth. I should be a columnist for how to hit on guys.
He looks confused for a few seconds before offering me a real, full-on smile as he reaches for his sugar canister and hands it to me. “Oh… yeah. Here.”
“Thanks,” I say, taking him in for just one more beat before walking back to my table. I grit my teeth and curse myself and my stupidity the whole way back to my table, squeezing the canister like it’s done me some huge injustice and I want to strangle it. Basically, I pretend it’s Annie. I chance another look at him when I sit down. His eyes are cast back down to his paper, but then come back up to meet mine. I quickly look back down at my coffee, proceeding to dump about half a cup of sugar into it. What? I love coffee just fine… once I sweeten the ever-loving shit out of it. I look back up to see an amused smirk on his face, like he just can’t help it. I feel my chest flush red as I put the canister down. I know how bizarre that must look to him, so I offer him a quirky smile and a shrug as he stares, like he’s waiting for me to take a sip of my over-sugared concoction to see if I immediately drop into a diabetic stupor. I take a drink, concentrating hard on showing him that it doesn’t faze me. I set it down and look up one last time to see him press his lips together in a smile and look back down at his newspaper. I go back to working on my laptop, doing my best not to look up at him again.
See Her (Turn it Up Book 1) Page 1