The Hook

Kayla had long since gotten used to having a male roommate, and the fact he'd see here traipsing about the apartment in nothing but her boy-shorts underwear and a tank top no longer phased her. That he was always there pretty much meant she didn't have a choice. Such was the curse of living with a writer.

"Whatcha workin' on?" She asked as she peered over his shoulder. In doing so, she hadn't realized that she'd touched his bare shoulder with the ice cream container from which she'd been spooning her Ben & Jerry's.

"Dammit Kayla, that's cold!" he exclaimed as he pulled away.

"What? Oh. Oops. Sorry!"  Ray rolled his eyes. "Come on! What are you working on now? Tell me!" she insisted.

"A new story," he answered vaguely.

"You're impossible. Mind if I turn the tube on?"

"Sure, go ahead," he replied. She hadn't waited for an answer in any event. By the time he replied she had already jumped over the back of the couch and had the remote in her hand, ice cream still firmly gripped in the other. Ray ignored her and put his ear buds to drown out the sound of whatever Kayla was watching. It was close to 1:00 am, prime writing time for him. Kayla had just gotten home from a night out with her girlfriends and was too wired to sleep.

Ray Jefferson was a published author but not exactly James Patterson. His works sold, and sold well, but not well enough that he could make writing his sole career. Thus, the late hours were his only time to create. It didn't matter – he rarely slept anyway. It was when he produced some of his best work, frankly. He was especially proud of the story he'd been working on that night. In fact, he'd been on a roll, right up until Kayla interrupted him.

After a few, meditative breathes, he began writing again. Kayla could tell that he was in the proverbial zone – His eyes had glazed over and he had this boyish grin on his face. They had known each other for years, and it was only desperation and a cancelled wedding that led Kayla ask her long-time friend if she could crash at his place for a few weeks. Three years later neither could remember what life had been like before they lived together.

Kayla, knowing he'd have his music turned up loud enough to cancel out the television, snuck up behind him. She was going to tickle him and make him jump out of his chair. Before she got a chance, however, her eyes caught a glimpse of the words he was writing as they frantically crawled across the computer screen. She froze where she stood and read as he typed:

Years had passed, carrying with them a palpable anticipation. So many times he'd imagined gazing into those eyes, nuzzling that nose, feeling the softness of those lips as they met his own. He closed his eyes and imagined again. In his mind they stood, face to face, neither daring to be the first one to change their lives forever. She rested her hands on his hips as he gently brushed a few dangles of hair from her face. At 6'0", he stood nearly eight inches taller than her. It was "that look" that made him melt – her looking up at him, chin down, staring at him from the tops of her eyes. That, combined with her grin, created a swirling enigma of equal parts innocence and mischief.

"I," he began to say, but found no more words with which to complete his thought. He didn't need to. Their eyes locked and he leaned in slowly and deliberately….

The words on the screen came to a halt, and Kayla came back to reality a moment later. It seemed that Ray had noticed she'd been behind him, reading over his shoulder. He didn't mind. Kayla actually had made some significant contributions to his writing over the last several years and he usually welcomed her input. He was honored that the words he'd just been writing entranced her so deeply.

"Wow," Kayla muttered.

"You like it?"

"Um, yeah! Duh! What happens next?"

Ray just grinned and leaned back in his chair with a sense of devious satisfaction. Every writer strives to achieve "the hook" – that one moment when you've got the reader so enthralled that they practically beg to know how the story will progress. He'd hooked her.

"I'm not telling."

"Jerk!" She yelled, shoving him hard in the shoulder. He laughed. "Come on!" She pleaded.

"You're just going to have to wait," he informed her as he stood. "And you've got Chunky Monkey in your hair."

He reached forward and, with his thumb and forefinger, slid the ice cream off from the end of her long hair and flicked it into the sink. Her cheeks flushed with embarrassment. "Thanks," she said sheepishly.

"Don't mention it."

Kayla looked up at Ray and smiled. She'd tried not to look in his eyes, but couldn't help herself. Suddenly overcome with the question of whether what Ray had just written, he'd written about her. The breathe in her chest shortened and she suddenly found herself staring, frozen in place once again.

Ray returned her gaze, also finding himself short of breathe. "Kayla," he whispered….

© J.J. Goodman 2014. All rights reserved.