Hooked

by Christine Manzari

  Jesus. She was doing an inverted air. I hadn’t been near a skateboard in at least a decade, but I knew the trick. I knew it was difficult and so did everyone else around me. There were whistles and catcalls and I felt a surge of jealousy erupt in my chest. I hadn’t considered I wouldn’t be the only one watching her.

  She made eye contact with me and gave me a devilish smile. With my camera still in hand, I snapped a photo of her before she looked away. Then she dropped back into the bowl to finish her run. When Ms. Unafraid reached the other end and hopped back on to level ground, she tucked her board under her arm and lifted her chin to me in acknowledgment, but she didn’t come over to talk to me.

  I continued to stay at my post against the railing and she continued to drop into the bowl and skate for me. I knew it was for me because every time she got close, she threw a ridiculous stunt and I photographed it. As the morning wore on and it got warmer, she took off her black and white shirt and tied it around her waist, letting it fly behind her just like her multi-hued braids.

  Around lunch time, she waved to a couple of the guys she had been bantering with, and she walked around the edge of the bowl to where I stood against the railing. I still had my camera in hand and continued taking pictures of her. She walked slowly and deliberately, allowing me to take as many shots as I wanted.

  Finally, she was standing in front of me. Some of the hair had come loose from her braids and it gave her a wild, untamed look. It matched her personality.

  “You’re still here,” she said.

  “I’m still here.”

  “And you’re still staring.”

  “Taking pictures,” I corrected.

  “Get any good ones?”

  “Of course.”

  “Can I see?” she asked, wrapping her fingers around the railing in front of me as she leaned forward to try to look at the screen on my camera.

  “That depends.”

  “On what?”

  “I still don’t know your name.”

  She chewed on the corner of her bottom lip, fighting back a smile. “You drive a hard bargain, Huck.”

  I loved the way her lips wrapped around my name and I could have sworn her eyes briefly dropped to my lower extremities.

  “You can call me Cat,” she said.

  Cat. What a perfect goddamn name for a perfectly wild girl.

  — CAT —

  5. A DATE

  “I’m starving, want to get some lunch?” he asked.

  “Follow me, Abercrombie. My treat.” I tucked my skateboard under my arm and led Huck back to the boardwalk.

  “You want me to carry that for you?” he asked, reaching for my skateboard.

  “No one touches my board. Sorry.” I pulled it out of his reach. None of that gallantry for me. Knights in shining armor made me nervous.

  “I’m not going to hurt it.”

  “I know. Because you’re not going to touch it.” I smiled at him. It was obvious by his frown that he was offended, but he didn’t push it.

  “I like the artwork,” he said. “Who did it?”

  “I did.”

  Huck looked surprised. “You’re an artist?”

  “I studied art in college,” I answered, dodging the question.

  “Does it have any meaning or is it just for looks?”

  I tilted the board up in front of me so we could both look at it. In the middle was a pink and purple cat. It was stylized and punk and a little edgy, but it was unmistakably the Cheshire Cat.

  “Of course it has meaning,” I answered. “But it’s personal, and not something I tell a boy on our first date.”

  “First of all, I’m hardly a boy. Secondly . . . we’re on a date?” he asked.

  “You asked to see me, I told you where I was going to be, and you showed up.”

  “I don’t think that really qualifies as a date.”

  “Really? Let’s see what the internet has to say about that.” I pulled my phone out of my back pocket and opened my browser. I chanced a glance up at Huck to see that his lips were fighting against a smile as he leaned over to see what I was doing.

  “You’re trusting Urban Dictionary?”

  “Of course. That’s where truth is found.” I typed a few keys and hit the search button. “Here we go. Date: An activity between two mutually attracted people which very often ends in one or both leaving sexually frustrated,” I recited.

  “Is that so?”

  “That’s what it says.” I looked up at him. “By this definition, I think we may have been on a date last night.”

  “Are you trying to tell me you were sexually frustrated after meeting me?”

  “Not a chance, Abercrombie, but I have a feeling you’ve been dating me for the last three nights.”

  He laughed. “That’s what you think?”

  “That’s what I know. But I think I’m going to make it up to you by buying you lunch.”

  “Here?” he asked, looking around warily at all of the greasy eateries along the boardwalk.

  “Hell no! I don’t want to get food poisoning. Do you? Even my roommate Jay and his stomach of steel can’t handle 90% of the food on the boardwalk. I just have to stop in here real quick,” I said, pausing in front of a store called Titanic Boutique where my friend Brodi worked. “I’ll be right back. Don’t go anywhere.”

  Huck nodded as he stood just outside the entrance, fascinated with the two large, metallic sculptures of Transformers. I think Brodi told me once that the Transformers were named Bumblebee and Optical Pine. Or was it Optimal Prime? Who the hell cares. I never really paid much attention, but I hadn’t met a guy yet, including Jay, who wasn’t mesmerized by the huge piles of recycled metal that resembled the favorite childhood toys of the ‘80s.

  There were a lot of things I loved about Venice Beach, but Titanic Boutique was the store that I loved above and beyond any other. The shop sold recycled metal fashioned into sculptures of all types. Bolts, screws, washers, bits of metal—all assembled into just about anything you could dream up. It also sold hats. Lots of hats. Hats and sculptures. Sculptures and hats. Titanic Boutique was weird, beautiful, and random. It was so Venice Beach.

  “Hey, Brodi,” I said slipping behind the counter and reaching beneath it for my messenger bag. He always let me keep my bag at the store when I was at the skate park.

  “You’re done early,” Brodi pointed out.

  “Yeah, I’ve got a date,” I said, gesturing to Huck who had moved on to the life-sized Predator sculpture. Even from clear across the room I could see he was salivating in manly appreciation at both the skill and subject of the artwork. Typical guy.

  “With the pretty boy?”

  I tilted my head and narrowed my eyes to look at Huck and see him the way that Brodi did. Huck was wearing a pair of khaki shorts paired with a dark grey t-shirt and flip flops. It was a simple enough outfit, but I could tell it was name brand stuff. Not the kind of clothing most of my friends wore, except for Jay. Huck was definitely not the kind of guy I was normally attracted to, but there was something about him that I couldn’t put my finger on. I smiled to myself. There were definitely parts of Huck I wanted to put all of my fingers on.

  “Yeah, the pretty boy,” I said.

  “What are you doing with that guy? You’re going to eat him alive.”

  “Oh, I hope so. He looks delicious.” I let my eyes prowl over his well-muscled arms as he reached up to touch a part of the Predator. Definitely delicious.

  “Seriously, Cat. You scare off the freaks around here. There’s no chance that guy can handle you.”

  “Maybe not, but I’m kind of curious about him. He likes to stare at me.”

  Brodi turned to look at me, his face pulled into a look of disgust. “Really? Man, he has bad taste.”

  “Don’t be an ass just because I won’t let you in my pants,” I teased him. I slung my bag over my shoulder and across my chest, pulling my board close to my side again. “I’ll see you at Tony’s party on Monday?”
<
br />   “Yeah. I’ll be late because of work, but I’ll see you there.”

  I leaned in to kiss Brodi’s cheek. “Thanks for watching my shit, I owe you.”

  “More than you could ever pay back in this lifetime,” he called as I made my way back over to Huck. I gave Brodi the one finger salute, which between us, was just as good as a hug.

  “Ready to go?” I asked, interrupting Huck’s inspection of the statue. “I’m hungry.”

  “Me too,” he said, allowing his eyes to greedily roam over my body.

  I let him look for an uncomfortable amount of time. When he finally met my gaze, I asked, “Done yet?”

  “Just getting started. But it’ll be much better with a full stomach.”

  “I hope you don’t mind walking,” I said. “26 Beach Restaurant has awesome food, but it’s over by Marina del Rey where I live. It’s a little bit of a hike.”

  ***

  By the time we reached the pea-green restaurant with the obnoxiously pink sign and black and white striped awnings, both of our stomachs were growling as if they were going into battle. We grabbed a table out on the sidewalk and the waitress brought us menus.

  “What’s good here?” Huck asked.

  “Everything. But get a burger.”

  He flipped open the menu. “I’ve never seen so many burger selections in my life.”

  “Just so you know, I’m totally judging you on the burger you choose.”

  “I wouldn’t expect anything less.” His mouth lifted into a devastating half-smile and I had the strangest urge to lean over the table, press my lips to his, and see how cocky, pretty boys kissed.

  “I’m getting the Olé Burger, because I can’t resist guacamole. What about you?” I asked, pushing the menu away from me.

  “I think I’ll try the Brunch Burger.”

  “A burger with a fried egg on top? Are you trying to have a heart attack?”

  “I’m trying all kinds of new things these days.” His eyes pinned me to my chair as he studied me.

  “Do new things include staring at strange girls?”

  “I’ve seen plenty of strange girls before. New things include staring at bewitching girls.”

  I flipped my braid over my shoulder and leaned forward on the table, narrowing my eyes. “Did you just call me a witch?”

  “Maybe,” he said. “Is there a penalty for that?”

  “Obviously. You have to answer more of my questions.”

  Huck smiled his all-American perfect smile. “I was hoping to ask you questions this time.”

  The waitress came up at that moment and we ordered our lunch. When she left, Huck leaned forward over the table, meeting me halfway.

  “You said you had questions?” he reminded me. His dark hair was just as tousled as the night before. Not in an I-just-got-out-of-bed-and-I’m-too-lazy-to-brush-my-hair kind of way, but in a sexy and slightly tamed way. His hazel eyes were like pieces of burnished gold. Staring at him, I suddenly had to remember how to breathe. And I had to come up with a question so I didn’t look like one of the many dimwitted beauty queens I was sure he was used to dealing with.

  “What’s your favorite book?” I asked.

  “The Count of Monte Cristo.”

  We spoke in low tones, as if we were conspiring. I guess in a way, we were. Why else would the skater girl be with the all-American guy? But as he stared at me, I could see the hunger in his eyes that had nothing to do with his stomach and everything to do with his body, my body, and just how we might fit them together.

  “Why The Count of Monte Cristo?”

  “It’s inspirational. His perseverance through the betrayal of his best friend, the amount of scheming and planning he did to escape, and then his ultimate success. He overcame all odds to get everything he wanted. And he destroyed the competition in the process.”

  “I guess you really do like the underdog.”

  “It’s really more a story of revenge.”

  “Why would you like a story about revenge?”

  He shrugged and the smile slipped from his lips briefly. “Sometimes revenge can be satisfying. That’s life,” he said, staring at me.

  “If someone wrote a book about your life, what would they title it?” I asked, wondering if his comment was personal, or just a general observation.

  “Huck,” he answered, allowing his grin to return.

  “No. That’s too boring.”

  “What’s wrong with Huck? What would you name yours?”

  “This isn’t about me. You have to answer it in a way that tells me about you.”

  He stared at me for a moment and neither of us blinked. Finally he said, “Driven.”

  “Better. Okay, have you ever faked an orgasm?”

  He shook his head, trying to force back a smile. “No. I’ve never faked an orgasm, Cat.”

  “Would you rather be rich or healthy?”

  “Healthy.”

  “Would you rather have the power to be invisible or the power to read minds?” I fired back at him.

  “Read minds,” he answered quickly.

  “Do you know what I’m thinking now?” I asked sitting back in my chair and staring at him. I was thinking that I’d like to fast-forward this date to the part where we kissed.

  Huck studied me before answering. “You’re thinking that if you were invisible, you would sneak into my room to see if I’m telling the truth about the boxers and briefs question.”

  Damn. That wasn’t a bad idea, either.

  ***

  “Where are we going now?” Huck asked as we left the restaurant nearly an hour and 453 questions later. I always had another question and he was a good sport, always giving me an unexpected answer.

  “I have to go drop off my board and pick up supplies for the next part of our date.”

  “Supplies? Sounds kinky.”

  “You are such a guy. Want to see where I live?” I asked.

  When he turned to look at me, I could see desire in the golden brown of his eyes. To be honest. I felt the same way. “That sounds even better,” he finally said.

  Yes. It did.

  “So what do you do during the day?” Huck asked as we began the long walk back to my apartment.

  “What do you mean? You’re looking at it,” I answered, evading the question.

  “No, I mean, do you go to school? Have a job?”

  “No,” I said, “we’re not talking about this.” I waved my hands as if I could ward off the subject matter.

  “About what?”

  “Cliché topics—work, family, childhoods, exes, last names. Everybody talks about that kind of stuff. It’s boring.” What I really meant was that it was dangerous. I broke eye contact. “What was the most exciting vacation you ever took?” I asked, desperate to change the subject.

  Huck was quiet for so long that I finally looked at him. He was staring at me with a puzzled expression. I wanted to tell him it was no use trying to figure me out. I was an expert at secrecy.

  “Okay,” he said after a moment. “We don’t talk about boring stuff.” I wondered if we were getting close to the point where he’d turn tail and run away from the strange skater girl who avoided normal like the plague.

  He didn’t run, though. He merely took his camera out of his sling bag and took pictures as we talked about his trip to Italy and my favorite topics: movies, books, music, and what-ifs. I found the longer we talked, the less we were the skater girl and all-American boy. We were just two people who were clearly attracted to one another. It didn’t take long for our bodies to start talking, too. At first it was just an intentional brush of an arm, but soon he was tucking hair behind my ear and I was playfully punching him in the arm when he said something funny. Okay. So maybe I was still a little bit of the skater girl, but if he hadn’t been scared off yet, there was a pretty good chance he might stick around for the kissing part of the date.

  As we walked, Huck would stop every so often, mid-sentence, to take a picture of something that ca
ught his eye. Every click of his shutter was another insight into the type of guy he was. It was very telling to see what he found captivating or riveting or just worth his time.

  “Are you a photographer?” I asked as I watched him focus the lens.

  “I thought that sort of topic was off-limits,” he said as he gazed intently through the view finder.

  Right. Shit. Breaking my own rules without even realizing it. When I still hadn’t answered after he finally took the picture, he looked at me, his eyes full of mischief. “Photography isn’t my day job. I only wish it was,” he finally said.

  I wanted to ask him why he didn’t just do what he loved, but I didn’t. “You know, I never did get to see the photos you took of me,” I said. “I told you my name and I was supposed to see the pictures. I thought we had a deal.”

  “Well, you didn’t let me carry your board. In fact you told me I couldn’t touch it. If you’re not going to share, I don’t see why I should.” He smirked.

  “I don’t know you well enough to let you manhandle my skateboard. It’s very important to me.”

  “Exactly,” he said. “My photos are personal. Maybe when I know you a little better . . .” His smile was dangerous and provocative. I felt as if my clothes wanted to fall off my body and worship at his feet. My clothes hadn’t wanted to do that for a guy in a long time.

  “Here’s my place.” I gestured to the unfortunately named, Dolphin Marina Apartments. “I know,” I said, glaring at the cheesy logo on the wall. “That dolphin and waves logo looks like it’s straight out of the 70s. Makes the place look like a shoddy motel, doesn’t it?”

  “It’s pretty bad,” Huck agreed. “Maybe you should paint them a new one.”

  I had an uneasy feeling in my stomach. This was a little too close to that personal information I didn’t like to share. He didn’t need to know that I could design a much better logo in about five minutes flat. “Yeah, well, it’s much better on the inside. Plus, it has a nice view,” I promised as I led him up the steps.