Hooked

by Christine Manzari

  “Showing you how to do dishes.”

  “As if a little rich boy like you would know how to do dishes,” I scoffed.

  He stopped mid-roll to glare at me. “You’re kidding me, right?”

  “You’re not going to deny you’re a rich kid, are you?”

  “Do you deny you are?” He looked around the massive kitchen and I cringed. My mother’s taste was ostentatious.

  “I don’t live off my mother’s wealth. I made my own way.”

  As he moved closer to me and the sink, I expected him to make a comment about how he made his own way too, and I was mentally preparing a comeback.

  “Speaking of your mother,” he said, “what’s wrong with her? I was trying to ask you earlier, before you distracted me with dessert.”

  I turned my gaze to the sink to avoid looking at him. I should have expected him to notice she was ill. I should’ve known he was going to eventually ask about her because he still didn’t understand boundaries, especially not mine. He knew I’d temporarily moved in with my mother and he had asked why before, but I’d always managed to gloss over the topic. Now that he’d seen her first hand, I knew it wasn’t too hard for him to figure out she was sick. He might have even guessed she was terminally ill. She looked like she was dying because she was. He wanted to know details, but I wasn’t ready to tell him. In fact I might not ever be ready to tell him. So far, I’d only managed to tell Jay and that had been hard enough.

  “My mother?” I stalled.

  “What’s wrong?”

  “You mean other than the fact that her living room is a monstrosity? It’s like someone let a ballet class loose and they vomited lace and ribbons everywhere. Her obsession with pink is just not healthy,” I continued.

  “Cat,” Huck interrupted, grabbing the hand that was intently scrubbing a plate. The dish was well past clean, but I couldn’t stop myself. He took the plate out of my hand and held it under the faucet to rinse it. “Look. You don’t have to tell me. I just wanted you to know you can, if you want to. I’d like you to be able confide in me, but I’m not going to force you.” He grabbed the towel off the counter and dried the plate he’d liberated from me and my vicious scrubbing.

  Why did he have to be so understanding? It was easier to deal with him when he was cocky and demanding. I knew how to handle pompous, bossy Will Stone. But sweet and understanding Huck got under my skin.

  I sighed. “My mom is one of those off-limits topics,” I reminded him.

  “You have a lot of those,” he said, taking another plate from me.

  “That’s because I’m off-limits. Remember?”

  “So you keep telling me.”

  “One of these days you’ll see I’m right.”

  “Or, one of these days you’ll finally come to your senses and admit that I’m right,” he countered, gracing me with one of his devastating smiles. When he took the pot out of my hand, our hands touched. Slick skin and soapy fingers sent my thoughts cartwheeling out of control, but I was quick to rein them back in.

  “Hate to break it to you, Stone, but the only way you’re going to be right is if you’re agreeing with me.”

  “We’ll see about that.” He took the next dish from me and deliberately touched my hand again in a way that declared the sensual promises he didn’t dare voice aloud. He might not have said that he wanted me, but I got the message loud and clear. And I was struggling to ignore it.

  “The Wizard of Oz is on tonight,” I informed him.

  “And you’re telling me that because . . .”

  “Because you insist on helping me with the dishes and I refuse to talk about my mom.”

  “Right.”

  “Did you know that the Cowardly Lion’s costume weighed almost a hundred pounds and was made from real lion pelts?”

  “Should I?” he asked, allowing me to change the subject.

  “Did you not hear what I said? The suit was made from real fucking lions. How badass is that?”

  “Not as badass as a girl that can do an inverted air, but I guess it’s a close second.”

  I ignored his compliment because talking about non-personal stuff was better. I remembered our first date when we’d fallen into an easy, friendly conversation about our favorite movies. Movies were safe subject matter.

  “Do you know that part at the end when the Scarecrow gets the diploma and starts reciting the Pythagorean Theorem about an isosceles triangle?”

  “Vaguely?”

  “Yeah,” I paused, grabbing another dirty dish from the counter. “He totally fucks it up. Not only should it be about a right triangle, but he screws up the entire equation. Which just goes to prove that the great wizard was a total shyster and gave him a bum reward.”

  “Of course he was a shyster. Dorothy met him in a carnival wagon. All carnies are shysters. I thought everyone knew that.”

  “No, that was Professor Marvel she met in the carnival wagon. He was the fortune teller at the beginning. She met the Wizard of Oz in Emerald City,” I explained. It was so much more comfortable around Huck when the conversation was harmless.

  “Aren’t Professor Marvel and the Wizard the same man?”

  “Really? Are you serious with this shit? They were two completely different people. The Wizard of Oz originally came from Omaha, Nebraska. He was a ventriloquist who became a balloonist to advertise a circus. That’s how he got to Oz, his hot air balloon was blown there during a storm. Professor Marvel, on the other hand, was a fortune-teller. Completely different people.”

  “But they were played by the same actor,” he pointed out.

  “Eddie Murphy plays about a dozen different roles in Coming to America, but they’re all different people. This is the same thing.”

  “I’m a little concerned about you. I think you need an intervention. No one should know this much crap about a movie that didn’t even win the Oscar.”

  I feigned a look of insult and then swiped my hand through the water in front of me, splashing Huck with bubbles. I was about to do it again when he grabbed my hand.

  “You get me wet, I’ll get you wet,” he warned.

  My body hummed in anticipation at his words, and it took all my willpower to not douse him with another round of dishwater and receive my reward. . . I mean punishment. I stared at him for a moment as he held my wrist and I forced my heart back to its normal speed. Once I managed to get myself under control again, I returned to the movie discussion until we were able to finish the dishes.

  When I brought my mom a mug of tea into the living room fifteen minutes later, I could tell that she was ready for bed. It was still early, but she was exhausted, barely able to keep her eyes open.

  “Where’s Jay?” I asked her, noticing that Glenn and Nadine were the only other ones in the room. Their daughters had already left for the evening with Adele, and I had a feeling Glenn and Nadine stayed later merely to keep my mom company while I cleaned up.

  My mother wrapped her hands around the warm mug and gently blew on the hot liquid inside. “He said he wanted to go lay down because he wasn’t feeling well.”

  “I better go find him, so you guys can go home,” I told Huck. “I’ll be back to help you upstairs soon,” I promised my mom.

  It didn’t take me long to find Jay. He was lying on my bed, asleep.

  “Get up,” I ordered, pushing his shoulder. “I have to help my mom get to bed and you have to go home with Huck.” Damn. I did it again. “I mean Will,” I clarified. It didn’t really matter what name I used, because Jay wasn’t just asleep, he was passed out. Now I knew who drank all the wine. I smacked him on the ass several times just to make sure he was out cold, and he didn’t even flinch.

  “I swear to God if you throw up in my bed,” I hissed to him, “I’m going to kick your ass.”

  Huck looked up from the couch he was sitting on when I stomped into the living room in a huff. Nadine and Glenn were gone. “Did you find Jay?” he asked.

  “Yeah. He’s passed out on my bed.
”

  “I see.” Huck paused, noticing my frustration. “I could take his car back and then come get him in the morning.”

  I didn’t feel right kicking him out, but I really needed him to leave. It’s not like my mom didn’t have an extra guest room—or six—but I didn’t know how much control I’d have over myself if my body knew that Huck was staying under the same roof. Knowing he was thirty minutes away in his condo made me feel safe and in control. Knowing he’d be thirty steps away in another bedroom made me nervous. I’d proven way too many times that I wasn’t trustworthy when it came to him.

  “Sure,” I agreed. “I just have to help my mom get in bed and then . . .”

  “That’s not necessary, Huck. You should just stay the night,” my mom interrupted. “Cat can show you to one of the guest rooms. We’ve got plenty of space.”

  “Mom, it’s not a good idea for him to stay here. He’s my boss.”

  “I didn’t say you had to sleep in the same bed, I just suggested you let him use a guest room for the night.”

  “Cat’s right, Anita. I appreciate the offer, but it’s better if I go home. I’ll find Jay’s keys and let myself out.” Huck turned to me. “Tell him to call me tomorrow when he’s ready for me to come get him.”

  I nodded. “See you on Monday, Stone.”

  “Later, Cat,” he said. “And thanks for having me for dinner, Anita,” he said to my mom as I helped her to her feet.

  Ten minutes later my mom was tucked in bed. I’d already set the DVR to record The Wizard of Oz, which was probably part of the reason I was rambling on about it earlier. I had every intention of curling up on the couch with a slice of pie and lots of ice cream to watch it.

  When I walked into the kitchen, I found Huck leaning against the island, tapping away on his cell phone.

  “Oh. I didn’t know you were still here,” I blurted. Way to be awkward, Cat.

  “Sorry about that,” he said without looking up from his screen. “I checked Jay’s jacket and everywhere else I could think of, but I couldn’t find his keys, so I’m just looking up a number for a cab. I’ll be out of your hair soon.”

  He tapped the screen once more and then brought the phone to his ear. In the uncomfortable silence, I could hear the phone ringing through the earpiece. Each ring rattled in time with my guilt, and I shifted anxiously from foot to foot as I listened to the muffled sounds. Just as I heard someone pick up and give him a greeting, I grabbed the phone out of his hand and ended the call.

  “Is this your way of telling me you want me to walk home?”

  I fiddled with the phone nervously before setting it on the island. I didn’t do nervous. Get a grip, Maverick.

  “That was my way of telling you that you can stay the night in one of my mom’s guest rooms. It’s not a big deal.”

  “Are you sure?” he asked carefully. “I don’t want to impose.”

  I rolled my eyes. “It’s the least I can do considering you helped me with all the dishes. Usually Jay does that.” I frowned. I was beginning to feel a bit suspicious of my best friend and his behavior. He and I would definitely be having a heart to heart in the morning. It would probably involve a shitload of loud talking and bright lights just to make sure I drove the point home. If he wanted to drink so much he passed out, he could damn well suffer the consequences.

  Huck watched as I pulled the tub of vanilla ice cream out of the freezer and proceeded to dump several scoops of it onto the leftover pie. I handed him the pie dish before pulling two spoons out of the silverware drawer.

  “Come on. I’m about to make your dreams come true.”

  “You’ll need the whipped cream for that,” he taunted.

  “Careful or I’ll call that cab company myself.”

  He laughed as he followed me into the living room, and I questioned my sanity when that laugh warmed places in my heart that I was trying hard to keep frozen to him. I flopped onto the huge white couch, patting the spot next to me. He lifted an eyebrow in question.

  “I’ve decided to let you share that pie with me while I watch The Wizard of Oz,” I explained. I found the remote lodged between two cushions and brought the TV to life.

  “The Wizard of Oz? You’re serious?”

  “Yes. Now sit down and shut up before I change my mind.”

  Huck sat down next to me, and I pulled the pie out of his hands and set it on my leg.

  “I thought we were sharing,” he argued.

  “Yeah, but I’m holding it.” I pushed my spoon into the dish and carved out a huge chunk of apples and crust that were drenched in melting ice cream.

  “Do you always have to be in control?”

  “Do you honestly need to ask that? You should know better by now.”

  “Didn’t your mother ever tell you not to talk with your mouth full?”

  “I rarely do what my mother tells me to do.”

  “But she told you to let me spend the night, and you are.”

  I shrugged. “I said rarely, not never.”

  He laughed again and pulled the dish slightly closer to him. It was still mostly on my leg, but now rested a little on his too. It was his not-so-subtle way of letting me know I didn’t have all of the control of the situation. I knew that I didn’t have complete control of myself, it was just a matter of whether I could hold on long enough to survive the evening. Huck dug out his own hunk of dessert and when his lips wrapped around the spoon and his eyes met mine in challenging amusement, I felt the echoes of remembered kisses of a few weeks ago—echoes that forced me to cross my legs in defiance. Giving in to the wishes of my lower extremities is what landed me in this mess in the first place. I was putting that shit on lock down.

  I pointed the remote at the TV, and soon, the only sounds were that of a Kansas tornado and two spoons battling for apple shards in a pie dish.

  “You know,” Huck said. “This whole movie is just about two chicks battling it out over a pair of sparkly footwear.”

  “Do not reduce this story to something so cliché. Besides, I think you got that off the internet somewhere.”

  “It’s all about the shoes,” he repeated.

  “No, it’s not.”

  “Then what’s it about? What’s the moral?”

  “That everyone has the power within themselves to overcome obstacles. And, of course, that there’s no place like home.”

  “I see,” he said, scooping up the last of the pie and eating it before I could stop him.

  I scowled, snatched the dish out of his hand, and then leaned over to put the empty bowl on the floor. When I settled into my spot on the couch again, Huck’s right arm was stretched across the back of the cushions, right behind my head. I narrowed my eyes at him.

  “What are you doing?”

  “Getting comfortable.”

  “Make sure you keep your hands to yourself, Stone.”

  “Where else would I put them?”

  “Exactly.”

  He laughed, but kept his arm where it was, and I was hyper-aware of it the entire time, even though I tried to ignore it. What was I doing sitting on a couch with my boss in my mother’s home? Why hadn’t I moved to the arm chair? Why was I letting him keep his arm behind me?

  Soon those questions were lost to the recesses of my mind as one of my favorite parts of the movie began. The Scarecrow was insulting the apple trees, causing them to throw fruit at him and Dorothy. I laughed to myself, remembering how when I was little, my mom used to mimic the Scarecrow and repeat the little green worms line with an over-the-top goofy voice while tickling me. My laughter abruptly stopped, and my breath was lodged in my chest when I felt the softest touch of fingertips in my hair. It was so light I could barely feel it, but at the same time it was so deliberate that it sent a shiver racing through my skin, leaving trails of goosebumps in its wake.

  “Stone, what are you doing?”

  “Just being friendly. We’re friends, right?”

  “Of course we’re friends, but that doesn’t
feel very friendly.”

  “Oh, it is. Trust me. I’m feeling very friendly right now.”

  His fingers dipped through the strands of my hair, tracing along the skin of my neck, and I tried, but failed, to stop my head from tilting back into his touch. My eyes closed and soft sounds stirred in the back of my throat. With the slightest touch of the fingers of his other hand, my face was tilting toward his, and I felt the brush of his lips against mine, as if asking for permission. When I didn’t pull away, his lips touched mine again, this time with more pressure and a lot more heat. His mouth tasted of apples and ice cream, and I felt like Eve getting a taste of forbidden fruit.

  I kept my eyes closed, and in a small, unused corner of my mind, I knew it was because if I didn’t look, maybe my common sense wouldn’t figure out I was doing something wrong. If I didn’t look, my body could finally have what it had been aching to have for weeks.

  Huck turned toward me as his hands moved to the edges of my jaw, his thumbs curving around my mouth, guiding his lips to mine while he held me in place. My eyes stubbornly stayed shut. I refused to look as my hands pressed into his thighs, steadying me as I leaned into him. I couldn’t watch as my fingers moved up to his chest, searching for more contact. His groan rumbled in his throat, dancing between our lips, begging my hands to explore. Or maybe that’s just what I was hoping that groan meant. My hands slid around his back and I pulled him with me as I laid back onto the pillows, our lips and tongues still meshed together in perfect rhythm.

  Huck was hovering over me on his knees and palms, kissing me hungrily, but leaving way too much space between us. I arched up to let him know I wanted him closer. In response, he nudged my knees apart with one of his thighs. When his weight settled between my legs, my head fell back into the pillow, leaving my neck vulnerable to the heat of his lips. His mouth left a burning path from my earlobe to the dip at the base of my throat. My fingers travelled down the hard contours of his back, and I gripped him tightly, pulling him down as I tilted my hips into him.

  “Cat,” he murmured against my neck.

  His hands were in my hair, his thumbs tracing a path from the edges of my eyes, along the delicate skin that faded into my hairline. I felt the chills all the way down to my toes. “Huck.” His name escaped me in a throaty plea.