“The view is just fine from where I’m standing.”
I looked over my shoulder to see Huck’s gaze fixated on my ass. Reluctantly, he let his eyes meet mine as a smile slid onto his lips.
“No argument there,” I agreed, allowing a little extra sway into my hips as I climbed the stairs. Hey, if he wanted to look, who was I to argue?
“You’re killing me,” he groaned. After a few steps, I heard him following.
I was proud of the third floor apartment I shared with Jay. It was within walking distance of all the things I loved, but it was still only a thirty minute drive from downtown Los Angeles where we both worked. I opened the door and Huck whistled in appreciation as he walked inside.
The walls of the apartment were stark white and the couches were black with fuchsia and olive green throw pillows. The artwork on the walls was in the same color scheme and the hardwood floors were a light brown color. Chrome light fixtures and accessories gave the decor a sleek feel.
“Not what I expected from you, but I like it,” Huck said.
“Jay is an interior designer,” I explained, setting my messenger bag and keys on the table inside the door. “I had nothing to do with this.”
“Who’s Jay?”
“The guy who’s usually with me at the beach. He’s my roommate. We met in college and he’s been my best friend ever since.”
Huck gazed around the living room, his eyes finding the indifferent lump of black fur on the window sill. The lump of fur was my arrogant, asshole cat who was eyeing Huck up as if debating whether he’d make a suitable scratching post.
“Don’t even think about it, Spooky,” I warned the cat.
“Your cat?” Huck asked, tilting his head toward the window.
“That’s Spooky. I’ve had him since college. Don’t worry though, he’s usually too lazy to move unless he’s hungry or Jay comes home. The only person he likes is Jay.”
“I thought you said he was your cat.”
“He is. He tolerates me because I clean out his shit box and keep him fed, but Jay and Spooky have some kind of love affair going on. Stupid cat even sleeps in his room.”
“Sounds like you could use some company in yours then,” Huck hinted.
Damn straight. I smiled, but ignored the comment.
“Do you want the tour?” I asked.
Huck nodded and it didn’t take long for me to show him around the small apartment. Jay’s bedroom, the office, and kitchen were all clean, sparse, and decorated in lovely hues and carefully chosen artwork just like the living room.
“This is my room,” I said, pushing open the door. The walls were painted a deep purple and the bed was covered in reds, oranges, and golds. Turquoise curtains covered the windows and the room was overflowing with kitschy, gaudy things I’d found at yard sales and antique shops. My room was very bohemian. I set my skateboard on my dresser which was painted the same turquoise as the curtains.
Huck looked around slowly, taking in every single item, but he didn’t say anything. The room was bursting with bold, vibrant colors—very different from the rest of the apartment. This room was my guilty pleasure. My haven.
“Jay hates this room,” I explained. “He told me I have to keep the door closed at all times so none of my bad taste can escape and infect the rest of the apartment.”
Huck turned to face me where I was standing just inside the doorway. He reached around me and shut the door with a shove of his hand. We were now locked in my room, together. “Fine with me,” he said. He remained close to me, his breath fanning coolly over my sun-kissed skin.
“Me too.”
“I’m going to kiss you,” he warned.
“It’s about time.” I barely managed to finish speaking before his lips were on mine, silencing me. It wasn’t common for people to be able to shut me up so easily. I had to give Huck credit. Kissing was a very effective method.
One of his hands was on my hip, pulling me against him while the other was on the back of my neck, fingers clutching in the loose weave of my braid. I ran my hands up his chest and he murmured my name in response before I linked my fingers behind his neck and pulled him in closer. His mouth opened to mine and our tongues met with heavy breaths and begging lips. Huck leaned into me, walking me up against the wall behind my door, pressing his hips into mine. My lips broke away from his as I let out a moan at the contact. He did it again and I closed my eyes, pleasure unfurling through my body with every heartbeat. His head dipped to the curve of my neck as he nipped a few hungry kisses along the skin there and at that moment, I thought I might stop breathing. How could the simple touch of his lips have such an effect on me?
I was vaguely aware that I’d been sweating in the hot sun all morning, had just eaten a huge hamburger, and probably tasted like avocados and salt. But I didn’t care. His lips were on my skin and I wanted to let him taste any part of my body he wanted. I pushed my fingers up into his thick hair, dragging my nails lightly across his scalp. He growled, bringing his mouth back to mine.
“Do that again,” he ordered, his lips moving against mine before his tongue was tracing the edges of my satisfied smile.
I did as he asked, allowing my fingernails to stray lightly through his hair, down his neck, and along his back until they found the hem of his shirt. Huck’s hands were framing my ribs, his thumbs circling lightly against the fabric of my tank top, inching it up as he kissed me. I bunched the bottom of his t-shirt in my hands, using it to push us away from the wall. He pulled away from the kiss, eyes stormy with desire and amusement as he allowed me to slowly force him backwards. When his knees hit the seat of my chair, I pushed him down into it. It was a garish, odd thing that I’d found at an antique store last year and asked Jay to re-upholster for me. It had always been more for looks than use, but as I stood staring down at the undeniably sexy man sitting in it, I was not only grateful I’d rescued it, but thankful it didn’t have arms either.
I placed my hands on Huck’s shoulders and then carefully walked forward until I was straddling him. I slowly sat down until the backs of my thighs touched the top of his, the juncture of our legs separated by only a few pieces of clothing that I suddenly wished weren’t there. He made a low noise in response but my mouth was already on his, swallowing his incoherent cursing with insistent kisses. He groaned as I gently rolled my hips forward.
“You’re too much, Cat.”
“Too much how?” I demanded, nipping at his lips with light kisses, dragging my nails through his hair, and pushing my hips into his again.
“Everything. All of you. God, I can’t think straight.”
He gripped the bottom of my shirt and pulled it up, allowing his body to fall into the rhythm my hips demanded. My shirt was soon off and discarded on the floor and Huck’s lips were following the edge of my bra, his kisses so hot and urgent I was sure he was branding me with every touch.
“Huck,” I forced myself to say.
“Yeah?” he answered between kisses as his fingers began to peel back my bra.
“This is our first date.”
His lips stilled, but he didn’t look up at me. “Yeah.”
“And it’s not over yet.”
“I know,” he growled. “I’m quite enjoying it at the moment.”
“But I have something I want to show you today.”
He leaned back, his eyes raking over my nearly naked top half. “I’m ready to look.” He grinned mischievously.
“Well then, we have to leave soon so we have time to do it before it’s dark.” His smirk was firmly in place. “You are such a guy. What I have to show you isn’t in my bedroom. Remember I told you I needed to get supplies?”
Huck’s smile slipped a bit with annoyance. “Vaguely.”
I stood up and grabbed my shirt. “I promise you’ll love it. Do you mind if I take a shower before we go?”
“Do you mind if I take it with you?” he countered.
I smiled. “It’s the first date. Sexual frustration, reme
mber? Besides, we’re in a hurry.”
He grunted in irritation.
“But hey, if you behave, we’ll see how the date ends up.”
— HUCK —
6. MAKE ART
She gave me a cat-that-ate-the-canary grin and hurried into the bathroom, leaving me sitting on her garishly decorated chair, wanting—no, needing her to come back and finish things off. Normally, I’d be pissed at a girl for doing something like that to me, but instead I was intrigued. I didn’t get the feeling she was playing games. It seemed she’d been just as taken off guard by the kiss as I had. I hadn’t planned on it, but once I was in her room and the door was shut, I couldn’t seem to stop myself from tasting her. Touching her. Letting her take control.
I was always in control—dominating and commanding in every aspect of my life, especially the bedroom. But Cat had awakened something in me that was both fierce and relenting. Damn, that had been hot. I heard the shower turn on and I imagined the rest of her clothes dropping to the floor like her shirt had minutes ago. I wanted to bang my head against the wall in frustration.
Instead, I got up and wandered around her room, which was full of things to look at. There was a frame on her dresser that held a picture of her and an attractive older woman who was clearly her mother. Cat was dressed in ripped jeans, combat boots, intentionally messy ponytails, and a tank top that showed all of her tattoos. Her mother had perfectly styled hair and was dressed impeccably in an expensive looking suit. Cat was standing behind her mother, her arms wrapping the older woman in a carefree way. Despite their differences, their smiles were so genuine and full of love it was hard to believe that it came out so unfiltered and strong in a picture. Another photo on the dresser was of Cat and Jay, the guy she was always hanging around with. He had an artsy edge to him like Cat, but his was polished and refined, whereas hers was wild and uninhibited.
The other thing on Cat’s dresser was the skateboard, and in an act of defiance, I picked it up to look at it. The painting was exquisite and I ran my fingers over the lines, imagining the passion that must have been flowing through her when she painted it. It must have been done recently since it was barely scratched or marred by use. I set her prized possession down and continued through her room, picking things up and examining them. She had quite a few items that looked like they’d been purchased from that shop we’d been in earlier, Titanic Boutique.
I was starting to run out of things to look at when the bathroom door opened and Cat exited, surrounded by billowing clouds of steam like she was in a sci-fi movie. She was once again dressed in all black and her hair was hanging down her back in wet waves.
“Ready?” she asked.
“I’m all yours,” I promised. I was kind of impressed that she was comfortable enough to go out freshly showered without all of the time-sucking primping most girls usually needed. She was naturally beautiful anyway.
“Good.” She grinned and led me out of her room to the office next door. She opened the closet door and pulled out a thick canvas bag that rattled. She slung it over her shoulder before grabbing her keys and wallet off the hall table and shoving them into a pocket of the bag. “Time to head back to the beach,” she said. “Up for another walk?”
***
I don’t think I’d ever walked so much in one day in my entire life. It’s not that I was lazy, I was just usually in a hurry. But more walking meant more time with Cat and I was far from finished with her.
“Here, let me carry that for you.” I grabbed the strap of her canvas bag and tried to hoist it off her shoulder—with no success.
“I got it,” she answered defiantly, clutching it to her body.
“Got something against me touching your stuff?”
“Not really. I just let you touch quite a bit of my stuff back in my bedroom.” She raised an eyebrow in challenge.
That brought too many vivid memories to mind. “Are you trying to kill me?”
“No, that would kind of ruin the date.”
“In that case, keep it PG-rated and don’t bring up what happened on that ugly chair in your room. I can only survive that kind of disappointment once a day.”
“My chair is not ugly.”
It was my turn to raise an eyebrow.
“And were you really that disappointed?” she asked, casting a look down my body.
“You could hire yourself out as a torture device to extract secrets from international spies.”
“Not a bad idea. I wonder how the pay is.” The naughty smile she threw my way caused me to wish I was being tortured by her again. I didn’t need the ugly chair, I’d lay down right in the middle of the sidewalk for her.
“Come on,” she said. “There’s only so much daylight left.” She grabbed my elbow and hurried me along the sidewalk.
Had I really only met her last night? She treated me with a comfort level that most people attained only after years of being together. I think it was because she honestly didn’t care what I thought. I could like her or hate her, but either way, she was going to be herself. And that made me want her even more. I’d never been around a woman that exuded so much confidence. It was addictive.
Several conversations and a mile-long walk later, we were back at the graffiti walls.
“So . . . this is the next part of the date. We’re going to make some public art.” She held up a lanyard with a card on it showing that she was permitted to paint on the walls. And I guess the trash cans and trees, too. “Any specific place you want to leave your mark?” she asked.
I stared at her lips. I’d start by leaving a mark there and then make my way south . . .
She snapped her fingers in front of me, bringing my gaze back to her face. “Focus, Huck.”
“Maybe I could if you hadn’t left me hanging back there.”
“Oh, don’t be so dramatic. I doubt anything was hanging.” She grinned as she flicked a quick look below my belt. Again. Jesus. This girl was going to destroy me in less than twenty-four hours after meeting her. “So, where should we paint?”
“You choose,” I said.
She nodded and walked along the wall, choosing a spot in the middle that faced the ocean.
“This will give us good light until we’re done,” she explained.
She slipped the lanyard over her head, opened up her canvas bag, and started taking out supplies. First, she snapped a breathing mask over her face and slipped gloves on. Then she took out two blue spray paint cans and began covering a portion of the wall with paint to create a clean palette. I sat down on the sand nearby to watch.
“Oh no,” she said, once she was done creating the blank space. “You’re helping me.”
“I’m not an artist.”
“You don’t need to be. This is about expression, not talent.”
“I’m not permitted to paint,” I said, pointing to the card hanging from her neck.
“Live a little.” She handed me the mask, lanyard, and a clean pair of gloves. “Come on, Huck. Leave your mark.” She nudged the bag of paint cans toward me.
Right. I’d come to Los Angeles for a change. Maybe I wasn’t an artist, but I wasn’t a coward. I could do this. I could leave my mark. I looked through the bag to find the color I needed.
“Make it meaningful,” Cat encouraged. “Impress me.” Her eyes danced with excitement and I felt like this was a dare, a challenge of some sort to see if I was worthy to make it through the rest of the night with her.
With the yellow paint can in hand, I started to free-hand a large star. It wasn’t pointy and precise. It was organic, pulsing, growing. I grabbed the can of orange and started adding depth to it. My lines were a little shaky and my technique was far from good, but I’d spent some time watching the man earlier this morning as he painted and I must have picked up a few pointers because my star wasn’t completely awful. I was concentrating so hard on my painting that it was a moment before I noticed that Cat was beside me, a breathing mask covering the lower half of her face as she painted bro
wn curves from the base of the wall, curving upward toward me and my star. I continued to work, relishing every moment when her body brushed up against mine. She didn’t apologize or move away. It was like we were one organism, one body, working together to birth an idea. It was creation. Expression.
It was intimate.
I stepped back for a moment to see how my star looked and I could finally tell what Cat was painting. She had created a tree and when I gave her more room, her paint can flew along the wall, creating a branch that made it look like my star was hanging from it. I continued to watch as she became lost in the creation of the piece. She began adding dark blues and purples to the background behind the tree so that it looked like night had fallen, and the star growing on the tree was the only thing to keep the darkness away.
I couldn’t help myself. I took off the breathing mask and pulled my camera out of my bag. Cat didn’t flinch as I took pictures of her and the wall, zooming in on her hands, her eyes, and the golden smoothness of the muscles of her body as she reached, and stretched, and painted.
“Put the camera down,” she finally said. “I need more stars for our tree.”
I put my mask back on and did as she ordered. Following someone else’s orders was so out of character for me that a chuckle escaped my throat as I began hanging more stars on Cat’s tree with the yellow paint can. When we finished, the sun was hanging low in the sky, reaching for the horizon with streaks of purple and orange.
“We have to sign it,” she said, holding out a can to me.
I grabbed the can of white and crouched down near the base of the tree. I wrote “Ms. Unafraid” in strong, jagged letters.
“Oh, that’s how we’re going to play?” she asked, delighted. She grabbed the pink paint can and wrote “Pretty Boy” in loopy, girlish letters.
I took a few pictures of our finished project because I knew how nebulous its existence was. Maybe tomorrow someone would come along and paint right over our tree of stars. But for now, it was still ours.
“You want to grab some dinner or is your time up?” she asked.
“Dinner. It’s not even close to my curfew.” There was no way I was letting the date end now. I couldn’t imagine what else she had in store for me, but I was game for whatever it was.
Hooked Page 4