Hooked

by Christine Manzari

  “Good judges of character? But you said Spooky hates you.”

  “Well, that’s because he’s an asshole. And he’s broken, so his opinion doesn’t matter. I’m talking about real cats.”

  I laughed. God I missed her. I checked my watch to have something to do beside stare at her in that wickedly sexy costume. “You ready to go?” I asked, realizing it was already time to go.

  “That depends a good deal on where you want to get to,” she said impishly, quoting the Cheshire Cat.

  “I don’t much care where—“ I quoted back, stepping toward her.

  “Then it doesn’t matter which way you go,” she continued to quote.

  I wanted to kiss her and I could tell she wanted me to, but instead, I offered her my arm. “Let’s go to the party, Cat. We wouldn’t want to be late.”

  She sighed and took my arm. “It is a very important date.”

  ***

  Even though Cat and I were both invited to the party, it was clear that she was the one the executives were eager to woo and show off to. When we first entered the nightclub that Legend Records had rented for the night, Jason and Holly immediately found us.

  “These are the best costumes I’ve seen all night,” Holly exclaimed as she inspected Cat. Holly was clearly dressed as Little Red Riding Hood, basket and all. Her costume was expensive and sophisticated, not one of the skanky, cheap things you’d see in a party store. All of the costumes were high end.

  Jason was dressed in a dark pinstripe suit with a blue shirt, red tie, and a tan trench coat. He had messed up his hair and his mask was a pair of glasses with extra blue pieces with white squares added to it.

  “The tenth Dr. Who, David Tennant!” Cat exclaimed, pointing to him. “I love how you incorporated the Tardis on your mask. So clever.”

  It sounded to me like Cat was speaking a different language and I still didn’t know who Jason was supposed to be, but he was ecstatic she’d guessed what his costume was. I might have been the art director of the Legend Records account, but Cat was running the show, both in the office and now socially. I was merely arm candy, but I didn’t mind as long as I was her arm candy.

  Holly and Jason took us around and introduced us to more executives and other decision-makers at Legend Records. They even introduced us to all of the artists that were in attendance as well. Cat was in heaven. She was smiling so much and laughing so often, it was hard to believe she was the same ghost of a person who had been hiding out in her office for the last two months, creating brilliant designs like some sort of hermit genius. She was clearly a social butterfly, and people flocked to her to talk about her costume, compliment her on her work, and make her laugh. I stood by her side, ignored, but happy to see her so full of life.

  That is, until we were introduced to Neil Harper, the lead singer of The Wrong Idea, one of the most successful alt-rock bands signed by Legend Records. He wasn’t wearing a costume, unless wearing a shirt with a skeletal ribcage counted—which in my book it didn’t. Cat was nearly jumping out of her cat suit to meet a member of a band she admired. And if the greedy way Neil’s eyes raked over Cat were any indication, he was obviously ready to jump into her cat suit with her.

  “The cover version you did of Hotel California was one of the most amazing things I’ve ever heard in my life,” Cat gushed. “Your voice was so heartbreaking and raw. I have to admit I listened to it on repeat for three days straight.”

  Neil gave her a panty-dropping smile. “Thanks. I’m glad you liked it. I heard you’re going to be doing the cover art for our new CD.”

  “I am,” she agreed. “Holly just gave me a copy of the first single and I can’t wait to listen to it and brainstorm some ideas.”

  “I’m looking forward to seeing what you come up with. You definitely have style,” he said, taking the time to inspect her costume again. “Want to dance?” he asked, tilting his head toward the dance floor.

  Goddamn it. He just asked Cat—my Cat—to dance. Jesus. Why didn’t I think of that?

  She glanced at me quickly and I thought I saw a hint of an apology in her eyes, but when she turned back to Neil, the word “sure” fell quickly and confidently from her lips. I mentioned that I was going to get something to drink, and Holly and Jason told us to enjoy ourselves and that they’d catch up with us later.

  Neil grabbed Cat’s hand to lead her to the dance floor, and it took all my self-control not to punch him in his throat or break his arm in five fucking places. I headed to the bar and comforted myself with the thought that at least it was a fast paced song. When I returned to a table near the dance floor, however, I almost choked on my beer. His goddamn hands were all over her and so were his eyes. Neil had one leg between hers, his left arm around her waist, and he had pulled her up against his body. He was grinding his hips against Cat, and she was laughing at something he said, her arms draped lazily up to his shoulders. Watching them dance was the longest fucking three minutes of my entire life.

  As soon as the song was over, Cat looked around the room for me. When she caught my eye, I held up the glass of water I’d gotten for her. She turned to Neil to say something and then to my immense relief, she made her way to me. She perched on the edge of the other chair, euphoric.

  “I can’t believe I was just dancing with Neil Harper,” she said excitedly. “From The Wrong Idea,” she clarified, as if I could forget the pervert had just had his hands on her. Then, she squealed, which was very un-Cat-like. “They’ve been one of my favorite bands for so long. This,” she said indicating the room, the celebrities, and the activity around us, “is mind blowing. I can’t believe we’re here. At a Halloween party with Legend Records.” Her eyes were wide as she reached across the table for my hand. “Thank you for not firing me.”

  “Thank you for not leaving,” I said. “It would have been terribly embarrassing if I had to come here alone and dance with Neil Harper myself.”

  She laughed and I handed her the water.

  “Thank you for remembering,” she said, raising her glass of water. “Most guys just bring me a beer or glass of wine. The quicker to get me drunk and find a way into my pants.” She took a long sip.

  “I prefer to find my own way,” I responded, lifting the beer toward her in a half-toast before pressing it to my lips.

  “Will,” she warned.

  “Huck,” I reminded her.

  “You can’t say stuff like that. Especially here.”

  “Why not?”

  “You know why.”

  “So I’m not allowed to make jokes?” I asked.

  She rolled her eyes. “Of course you can, just not those kind.”

  “Do you want to dance?” I asked instead.

  “That’s not a good idea.”

  “Why not? You just danced with one of your clients. How is it any worse to dance with me?”

  She considered the question. “Because I like you. A lot. But I also still kind of hate you. Either way, dancing with you would mean something.”

  “Dance with me,” I demanded.

  She balked.

  “Come on. You dressed me up like this. You owe me.”

  “What do you mean? That costume kicks ass: you should be thanking me. I don’t owe you anything,” she challenged.

  “Then just do it because you want to. It’s only one night. One dance.”

  “It would mean too much, Huck.”

  “It’s only a dance,” I said again.

  Cat stared at me and then drained her water, slamming it onto the table like it was a shot glass. “Fine. One dance.” She grabbed my hand and I discarded my unfinished beer on the table as I followed her onto the dance floor.

  The last two months apart meant nothing as Cat’s body pressed against mine like a magnet drawn against its will. All of my empty spaces were filled when she was against me—I was whole. Cat was in my arms, her fingers brushed my neck, and our bodies began to move together. Her costume was thin and clingy and her body slid along mine in time to the mus
ic. My hands moved greedily along the pink and purple fabric and I had to force myself to keep them well-behaved, even though Cat’s body was beyond rebellious. I wasn’t going to complain and I certainly wasn’t going to stop her. What I really wanted to do was find an unoccupied closet and remind her why we were so good together.

  One song turned into two, and then three, and then I lost count as the hours rolled by without my permission. We never left the dance floor. I was afraid if we did, Neil or someone else would take her back out.

  A few hours later, the band stopped playing so that Holly and Jason could introduce Clap for the Right Reasons, the newest members of the Legend Records team. Cat whistled and clapped, bursting with pride to see a local band making it big. After the band played one of their popular songs, she grabbed my wrist and checked my watch.

  “It’s almost midnight,” she said.

  “Are you getting tired?”

  “No, but can you take me home?”

  “Really?” I was disappointed. I wasn’t ready for the night to be over.

  “There’s something else I want to do tonight. I’m afraid it might be a while before I can do it again, so I was hoping we could leave.”

  “Sure,” I agreed. “No problem.”

  “I’ll just go say goodbye to Jason and Holly. Then I’ll get my coat and bag and meet you out front.”

  While I waited for Cat outside the night club, I gave the valet my ticket so he could get my car.

  “I’m driving,” Cat said as the valet pulled my car up to the curb.

  I turned to argue with her and saw that she’d changed out of her cat costume. She was wearing a dress.

  “You changed,” I accused.

  “I told you I wanted to go somewhere, I can’t walk around wearing a pink and purple Cheshire Cat costume.”

  “Where did you have that thing hidden?“ I gestured to the dress. It was a black sundress and very small.

  “My bag,” she said, tilting her black bag toward me.

  “You got anything in there for me?” I hooked the edge of her bag with my finger, trying to peer inside, but she pulled it away. All I managed to see was plenty of pink and purple fluff—her costume.

  “You look fine.” She snatched the top hat off my head. “Even better now.”

  “I wouldn’t mind losing this, too,” I said, unzipping the purple leather jacket.

  “No, leave it. I like it.”

  I rolled my eyes. “You would. Weirdo.”

  She grinned and snatched the keys from the valet as I tipped him.

  “You’re not driving,” I called to her back. “This is my baby.”

  “You were drinking. So yes, I am driving,” she retorted.

  “Half a beer,” I argued.

  “Doesn’t matter. Get in, Pretty Boy.” She got in the driver’s seat and I realized I’d have the next thirty minutes to get a good look at her in that barely-there dress while she was concentrating on driving.

  Not a bad deal at all. Argument over.

  — CAT —

  17. MICKEY TO MY ROCKY

  There were no lights along the boardwalk late at night, but there were also no rules against walking it. And that’s what I wanted to do. I’d spent the last two months at my mom’s house and I missed the beach so much that just setting foot on the boardwalk again made me feel like I’d come back home. I parked Huck’s car down by the Santa Monica Pier and even though everything was shut down for the night, the air was still warm with the scent of popcorn and cotton candy. The slight breeze rolled over my skin and I could hear the waves that battered the sand in the dark distance. The moon was a small sliver of light barely tugging at the black sky, leaving us to the mercy of the few lights from surrounding businesses and homes.

  I took off my shoes so I could feel the wooden planks of the boardwalk on the soles of my feet, gritty with the scattered grains of sand.

  “What are we doing?” Huck asked.

  “I just want to walk. I’ve missed it, that’s all.”

  “Fair enough, but why’d you want me along?”

  “It’s the middle of the night. Not very safe to be walking around by myself.”

  “But according to you, I was too intoxicated by my half a beer to drive. How will I ever protect you?” he teased.

  “Oh, you wouldn’t. You’d be the bumbling distraction while I wreaked vengeance and retribution on any would-be attackers.”

  “So, my role for the evening is the dude in distress?”

  “Obviously.” I grinned, swinging my shoes as they dangled from my fingers.

  “Want to go see if there’s anyone on the playground?” he asked.

  “Yes.” The tiny word came out in a thankful breath.

  “You didn’t really dress for playing you know.”

  “I had to choose something that could fit in my bag and this dress was one of the few outfits that was small enough. It feels weird. I usually only wear dresses to work.”

  “Which I appreciate.”

  “What?” I asked.

  “I appreciate when you wear dresses to work. They do inexplicable things to your body,” he said, arching his eyebrows. “They do inexplicable things to my body, too,” he muttered.

  “You like when I wear dresses?”

  “If I say yes, will you stop wearing them?”

  “Is it really that different than regular clothes?”

  “Remember that vintage polka dot dress you wore to work a few weeks ago?”

  I nodded.

  “I had to hide out in my office for half an hour after seeing you in that thing.”

  “But I was a blubbering, crying mess that day,” I pointed out.

  “I hate to be the one to break it to you, but there are parts of me that have a one track mind and that one track doesn’t include sympathy for beautiful, crying girls. Especially when they’re wearing fuck-me dresses.”

  “That was not a fuck-me dress,” I argued. “That dress was sophisticated and classy.”

  “True,” Huck agreed. “But pretty much anything you wear begs me to fuck you.”

  My mouth was hanging open. “What if I wore muddy overalls?”

  “I’d want to take a proverbial roll in the hay with you.”

  I hadn’t realized how much I missed this banter with Huck.

  “Cute. What about a nun’s habit?”

  “With a wimple?”

  “Of course.”

  “I’d be a very bad boy to earn a smack with the ruler then.”

  I laughed. “You’ve got issues. What about sweat pants and a Christmas sweater?”

  “More fun to unwrap you,” he said, using his hands to mime opening a gift.

  “What if I was wearing a flannel nightgown?”

  Huck sighed. “Nightgowns are definitely fuck-me clothes. Easy access and all.”

  I felt a tightening in my stomach at the thought of his firm hands sliding up my nightgown to reach the straps of my panties.

  “What about a prison jumpsuit?” I blurted, trying to quench my depraved thoughts.

  “Equally dangerous. That makes me think of handcuffs.” He grabbed the waistband of his pants and adjusted it. “Maybe we should change the subject,” he suggested.

  “All right,” I agreed, wondering where I could get a set of handcuffs, and then silently disciplining myself for thinking inappropriate thoughts about someone who was off limits.

  We walked in silence until I saw the dark shadows of the gymnastic equipment looming in the sand.

  “Feel like playing?” I asked, gesturing to the playground. The tunnel of rings was barely visible from the path, but the longer we had walked, the more my eyes had adjusted to the darkness.

  “You first,” Huck said, walking across the sand to take a seat on the short wall nearby.

  When I jumped up to grab the rings, I quickly realized that my dress was far shorter than I had remembered, but I didn’t care. The burn in my shoulders felt familiar and therapeutic. Four massive pulls later to
get my momentum and I was swinging down the line of rings, lacking some of my usual grace, but filled with the peace and freedom of the movement. When I returned to the first ring and dropped onto the sand, it felt cool and abrasive on my skin. I held my arms out to the side in a “what do you think?” gesture.

  “Your dress is really short and I could totally see your thong the entire time. Sorry. I couldn’t really focus on anything else.”

  “You’re a pervert,” I said, stalking to the wall and pulling Huck into a standing position. I pushed him toward the rings. “Your turn.”

  Once he walked away, I took his place on the wall. I was curious to see how well he would do on his first time. He was strong. I knew that theoretically he could do it. His body just needed to learn the rhythm of the pull and swing technique—something that had taken a lot of practice for me to learn.

  “Don’t worry,” I teased him. “Everyone’s a little nervous their first time.”

  He turned to look at me and flashed a smile that completely annihilated my calm. If my polka dot dress was a fuck-me dress, that smile was definitely a fuck-me smile. It was an invitation that I knew only too well I’d enjoy. He stripped off the purple jacket, tossed it to me, and then unbuttoned his cuffs and rolled the sleeves of the black shirt back to reveal his forearms. Without hesitating, he leapt up and grasped the rings, immediately pulling twice before swinging along the row. I was pretty sure my mouth was hanging wide open as he traveled down and back with ease, never once missing a ring or miscalculating his rhythm. When he returned to the beginning, Huck dropped down to the sand and then walked toward me, a smile handsomely plastered across his mouth.

  “How did you . . .” I trailed off.

  “You’ve been gone for two months. I settled for letting Jay teach me.”

  “Jay? But Jay can’t do it.”

  “Yeah, that much was obvious.” Huck’s laugh was low as he shook his head. “He was more the Mickey to my Rocky. Although he does a lot less yelling and a lot more ogling of my ass. He also insisted I practice shirtless. Unfortunately, he refused to wear the black knit cap like Mickey wears.”