Man Cuffed: A Man Hands Novel

by Sarina Bowen

  Rosie’s eyes are glittering. And Maguire has turned a peculiar shade of red.

  And that woman and man who entered the room with Rosie and Mac...it occurs to me that there’s a family resemblance.

  And…

  Oh. Oh! Rehearsal time is over, obviously. This is my premiere as Maguire’s girlfriend. I think I’ve just met the parents.

  I give Maguire a quick look and he gives me the slightest of nods. “Mom, Dad, this is Meg. Meg…”

  He’s not able to finish the sentence because his mom shoves him out of the way and bends down to give me an enormous hug. Suddenly I’m enveloped in mom-bosom and the scent of roses. And also some kind of scarf thing. I try to hold my breath, but then I just give in and breathe. It’s actually kinda comforting. She must wear essential oils.

  “Oh, Meg! I can’t tell you what a pleasure it is to meet you! We thought Maguire would never get over…”

  This time Maguire interrupts by gently moving his mom to the side and then snuggling in next to me on the glider. With Rosie on the other side of me, it’s sort of like trying to shove your hand in a can of Pringles. There just isn’t enough space. So in a fluid motion, he does some kind of maneuver and I’m suddenly sitting on him. On his lap. I wiggle a little bit. He coughs uncomfortably.

  Maguire is not an actor. Maguire is as stiff as a board. Like his whole body is stiff. If we’re going to pull off the whole we’re-dating thing, this dude’s got to loosen up.

  So I grab his arms and wrap them around me. And then I lean back, turn a little bit, and lay a quick, soft kiss on his lips.

  Well, it’s supposed to be a quick one, but as soon as my lips touch his, his arms constrict a bit, as if he doesn’t want me to go anywhere. The glider rocks gently, exaggerating our motion.

  Holy shit. His lips feel good. His arms feel amazing. His lap is my new favorite place in the world. The glider sways beneath us. I think I actually moan a little bit.

  Rosie applauds.

  His mom sighs.

  Maguire releases me.

  Pity. I have to shake my head to escape the hormone haze. I almost forgot I was performing here. “What were we talking about?” It’s a serious question. I feel breathless and flustered.

  Suddenly, Aubrey is back, holding onto an enormous platter of food. I think she’s brought that platter to share, but then she digs in and I realize, nope that’s just for her. Gosh, I like her. “Meg was telling me that she’s an actor extraordinaire and I was just about to hire her to do a flash mob thing for me,” she gushes. “This needs to be an event.”

  “Do you do stuff like that?” Maguire asks, sounding genuinely interested.

  “I haven’t done this exact thing, but I could. I can totally do this.”

  This time it’s Aubrey who claps. “I just knew when you two walked in the door that something big was going to happen!”

  I laugh because there is something big that’s happening right now under my ass. And that something is Maguire. At least part of him that’s enjoying this charade. If I was really his girlfriend, we wouldn’t even make it home. My panties would hit his car floor before we even pulled away from the curb. I’d make him pull over in a parking lot and then straddle him and…

  “No whimpering, Meg,” Maguire whispers. “You’re laying it on too thick.”

  God. His gruff voice right in my ear! But he’s right. I am moaning. So I stop.

  Shake it off again.

  Aubrey takes a look at her watch. “Oh!” she exclaims! “It’s time for some shower games! I love shower games!”

  “And that’s our cue to head out,” Maguire says. “Up, Trouble.”

  For a second, I don’t realize that Trouble is me. So I don’t get up. And the he pinches me on the ass. Is it weird that I like it? But I get up anyway.

  “Thanks for the chicken salad,” Maguire says stiffly.

  “Hang on just a second,” Maguire’s mom says. “I need your help inflating the game I brought.”

  “The...what?” he asks, wary.

  “It’s inflatable. Like those pool toys you loved as a kid. And since all the Maguire men are full of hot air, I need your help with this. It’s around back.” She points to the corner of the house.

  But he hesitates, looking from his mother to me and back again.

  “Go on,” she says, a strangely intense look on her face.

  Tension shivers in the air between Maguire and his mom. I’m not sure of its source, but I’m sure of its potency. It’s the kind of tension that’s famous for ruining Thanksgiving meals.

  Interesting.

  “Be good, Mom,” Maguire says, with an edge to his voice. Then he stalks off, toward the back of the house.

  The moment he’s gone, his mother swoops over to me, takes my arm, and drags me to the edge of the patio. It’s a lot like that same zombie TV drama where I once worked. Only this time I’m the prey instead of the predator.

  “It’s lovely to meet you, Meg,” Mrs. Maguire says, her face filled with more intensity than the moment requires.

  “Likewise,” I reply with a smile. If I were really Mac’s girlfriend, I’d be terrified right now. Maybe she’s one of those moms who thinks no woman is good enough for her baby boy. I bet I’m going to be grilled.

  Bring it, bitch. The worse she is, the bigger my lies will be. If she’s rude, I’ll give her something to fret about. I’ll convince her I have a lengthy rap sheet. Wait—her son the cop wouldn’t go for that. I’ll tell her I’m a visitor from the planet Zutron, here to study life on Earth. And marriage to an earthling is a goal of mine.

  I’m very convincing.

  His mom takes a giant breath as if she’s winding up for something.

  Here it comes.

  “He wasn’t always like this,” she says. “He needs to laugh more. He needs to be less cagey. But I have faith in you.”

  Okay, that’s not where I was expecting this to go. “Um…thanks?”

  “He’s held onto his anger for too long. Even when anger is justified, it hurts you. Don’t you agree?”

  “Usually,” I hedge. I need to be very careful. Because I don’t know what the ever loving fuck this woman is saying.

  “Building bridges is harder than burning them,” she says. “If you know what I mean.”

  “Right.” I nod vehemently, hoping for even a small clue to what is happening right now. Honestly, a trip to the planet Zutron would make more sense than this conversation.

  “I hope you’re coming to the wedding,” she blurts out.

  “Oh, absolutely!” Finally a question I can answer.

  “YAY!” her shout of joy is deafening. “He needs this. He needs you.”

  My smile is waxed on, and I have no idea how to reassure this woman. But luckily Rosie has come to my rescue. “Oh, come on, Mom! I can’t believe you asked Mac to blow up a giant penis!”

  That doesn’t make sense, so I play the sentence back inside my head. Nope. I’m still befuddled. “A giant...what?”

  “Look! You’ll die.” She hooks her arm in mine and tows me toward the backyard. The Maguires are all arm-towers. They just are.

  But as we round the side of the house, I see what Rosie was so eager to show me. Mac and his father are both standing there, blowing air into giant inflatable…dicks. Cocks. Erections. There is nothing else those could be. They even have veins in all the right places.

  I let out a snort of laughter so loud that it’s actually painful. “What the heck?” I try to ask, but I can’t quite get the words out. My belly is already shaking with laughter.

  “It’s a shower game!” Aubrey says cheerfully. “We’re playing Penis Ring Toss! The head-to-head version.”

  I scream with laughter. “You just described my college years.” I giggle. Not that anyone can understand me. I can’t even breathe, I’m laughing so hard. The sight of Maguire with a giant penis projecting from his face is just too much to bear.

  As I continue to howl, he drops his chin and glares at me. But that
just makes the penis bob up and down.

  I fall to the grass, laughing.

  Maguire removes the XXL dick from his lips and closes the valve. “And I’m out of here. As much as I love amusing all of you with an inflated willy, I’ve got to get Meg home. We have a tire to change.”

  “I wish someone would change my tire,” Aubrey sighs.

  “Damn,” Maguire says. “It’s literally a tire. Can’t anything be exactly what it looks like?”

  “Apparently not,” Rosie says cheerfully.

  I reach out my hand. “Time to go, Copper,” I say.

  He reaches for me and our hands clasp. He pulls me to my feet. But laughter makes a girl clumsy, so I repay this bit of chivalry by bumping into him.

  But he reacts in the sweetest way—by giving me a quick peck on the lips. I feel myself smile.

  Rosie and her mother both sigh.

  “So nice to meet you all,” I say, and realize I’m not lying. His family is sweet and quirky and warm. I can’t imagine why Maguire is so eager to trick them. But I look forward to finding out. I wouldn’t mind knowing them all a little better.

  Just maybe not his mother. At least not alone.

  We leave the way we came in, with a flurry of squeals and well wishes.

  But we also leave without the rest of the lemon bundt cake, and I have to admit, I’m a little disappointed about that.

  9 No Cake This Time

  Maguire

  It’s the weekend again, and I’m baking. No cake this time, though. Today I’m kneading pizza dough. A good bread dough is a simple thing. So long as you have flour, yeast, and salt, you can make pizza dough.

  Now, my grandma taught me to add a little olive oil and a little honey. The oil improves the texture, and the honey aids in browning. But you don’t need those extras.

  In other words, I can’t think of a single reason why I’d have to knock on Meg’s door today. The fact that I’m disappointed is something I’m trying hard not to analyze.

  She made a bridal shower fun. How is that even possible?

  Of course, if she was sitting on my lap, she could probably make anything fun.

  I try not to think about that, either.

  So it’s back to shaping the dough, which is very therapeutic. I sprinkle a little more flour on the countertop, then fold the dough in half. Then I give it a satisfying little punch. The dough needs ten more minutes of kneading, which means I have lots of punches to dole out, and lots of time to think about all the crap in my life that needs attention.

  For example, this morning my mother called to remind me to go get fitted for a tuxedo.

  I give the dough an extra firm punch every time I think about the goddamn wedding. Wearing a tux is just an added punishment. My sister knows better than to put me in the wedding party. But I’m still an usher.

  The lump of dough gets another smack.

  After the kneading is done, the dough has to rise for a few hours. Later I’ll fashion my dough into calzones. Calzones are great patrol food. You need something that can hold its shape for a few hours before I’m ready for my lunch break.

  Once I made mini quiches, but my partner Lance found them funny. He laughed so hard he choked on his peanut butter and jelly sandwich. I don’t see what’s so funny about a quiche, but I almost had to give the man the hug of life. So quiches are out.

  Another benefit of making calzones is that they bake on the grill, so I won’t have to turn the oven on. It’s another scorcher today. The humidity is about 99%, too. That’s what you get for living thirty miles from Lake Michigan.

  I give the dough one more punch. For luck. And then I shape it into a ball. I dust it with flour one more time, and then set it to rest in a lightly greased mixing bowl, with a damp cloth on top. Just like my granny taught me.

  While I wait for the yeast to do its thing, I locate my pizza stone and carry it out to the grill. I lift the top of the grill and set the pizza stone inside, so I won’t forget to preheat it later. A hot stone is how you get a nice crispy crust.

  I’m just standing here thinking happy thoughts about Italian food when, out of nowhere, a shrill scream splits the air. And it’s not just any scream. It’s a sound that curdles blood, and it’s coming from right next door.

  Jesus Christ. I don’t hesitate. I leap onto the overturned flower pot, brace a hand on top of the fence and vault right over.

  Luckily, my neighbor has no furniture to trip on, so I land easily on the other side. Two seconds later I’m opening her kitchen door and checking the area for intruders.

  I see nobody. Where the hell is the perp?

  “Meg?” I call.

  “Hot Cop?” Her voice comes from the bedroom. It doesn’t sound strained. But maybe the perp is holding a gun on her and…

  I ease toward the bedroom and then glance carefully around the door frame. My heart is in my throat, wondering what I’m gonna find.

  But what I see does not match the terrors in my head. She’s sitting cross-legged in the center of her carefully made-up bed, a laptop open in front of her.

  “Jesus,” I gasp. “Did you hear that scream? It wasn’t you?” I step into the room.

  “Why, Mac. How nice to see you! And how unexpected. Did you knock and I missed it?” She gives me a big happy smile.

  Meanwhile, my heart rate is still 60 miles per hour above the legal limit. “You screamed,” I insist. “Why?”

  “Did I? I suppose I might have. I just received the best email.”

  “And email makes you scream like you’re being flayed by the devil himself?”

  “Well, actors, you know.” She’s shrugs as if to say what can you do? “We’re dramatic.”

  Jesus Christ. “I just got an entire year older. But hey, as long as you got an email, it’s all good.”

  “It wasn’t just an email.” She slides off the bed and stands up. “It was a great email. I’m in the mood to celebrate.”

  She takes a step closer to me and then does something dangerous. She steps into my personal space and hugs me. Like a real hug, with long arms wrapping around me and a tight body pressing against mine.

  And then the vixen kisses me right on the jaw.

  “Urrrumph,” I grunt as my limbic system struggles to handle the sensory overload. I flash hot everywhere, and my heart is still pounding, although now for a different reason.

  “Meg,” I rasp, taking a step backward. “What is going on?”

  “I’ll tell you over lunch.”

  “Lunch?”

  “Didn’t I just say I’m in the mood to celebrate? Besides, you owe me a favor.”

  “Another favor?” When I named her Trouble, I knew what I was doing. “How do you figure?” Maybe Meg isn’t good at math. “We’re square. I helped you with your tire.”

  “The tire was in trade for the cup of sugar.” She puts a hand on her hip and smiles. “And I’m still going to your sister’s wedding.”

  “Right. Sure. But the wedding date is in trade for breaking into my apartment.”

  “Oh, I remember, and you gave me some bluster over how you could have had me arrested.” She rolls her eyes.

  “Well, I could have. So we’re even.” Obviously.

  Her smile grows very wide, and I know that somehow I’ve missed a crucial detail. “We would be even. But you just broke into my apartment. And now I could have you arrested.”

  Oh, for fuck’s sake. “But I was trying to save you!”

  “And that really was kind of hot.” She fans herself. “But here you are. No invitation…”

  “I thought you were being killed.”

  “And that is adorable. But one misunderstanding cancels out another one, wouldn’t you agree?” She bats her eyelashes. And they are very long eyelashes, lining a pair of impossibly large brown eyes.

  This has always been a problem for me. Women start talking, and rationalizing, and reasoning with me, and I get befuddled. Meg’s short shorts and pink lip gloss are robbing me of all my executive funct
ion.

  “What sort of favor?” I croak.

  “Take me out for lunch.” I’m just about to agree when she adds, smiling, “On a date.”

  “A date?”

  “For your favor, you asked me out on a fake date. I’m asking you for a real one.”

  That sobers me up. “Why?”

  “What do you mean, why?” Her smile loses a little of its certainty. “Because that would be fun, Copper. And today, for once, anything seems possible. This TV role. You.” She holds my gaze for a moment, daring me to disagree.

  I don’t want to let her down. But I have to. “I’m sorry. I don’t date.”

  “Ever?”

  “Never.” And I never will again.

  There’s an awkward silence. I suppose I could leap in and say, “Just this once.” It’s not that I don’t want to have lunch with Meg. But I don’t believe in lying, and I’m not good at sugarcoating the truth. Ask anyone. I suppose I can at least try.

  “Look,” I say, wondering if I can save our friendship. “I like you. I like your attitude. I really like your smile.” And every part of your body, I privately add. But I suppose she already knows that. “And if I was the dating kind of man, you’d already have aced the audition.”

  Her eyes dip. “It’s okay, Copper. I have a thick skin.” She looks up at me again. “Seriously. An actor knows how to take rejection. It’s a life skill. But it makes me wonder if you’re for real. Do you really not care that your friend with benefits was screwing another guy?”

  “I didn’t,” I say immediately. “Except for the dog hair.”

  She actually rolls her eyes. “How could we forget that detail? If I had a dog would you have refrained from jumping over that fence to save me?”

  I open my mouth and close it again. “That’s unrelated. I was just doing my job.”

  “Right.” She nods. “Who ripped your heart out, Mac? It must have been bad.”

  “It’s not like that,” I say immediately.

  Although it’s totally like that. Fucking actors. They are too empathetic for their own good. “Okay, Copper,” she says, letting me off the hook. “Instead of a date, you can help me with research.”

  “Research?”