CHAPTER ONE

 

Hendrix

 

I stumble from the bedroom towards the kitchen, desperate for a caffeine kick. I wipe a hand over my eyes that are refusing to open and regret it once they do. The bright morning light shining through the windows sends a sharp pain through my pounding head reminding me, once again, that I can't party like I used too.

Last night, I may have imbibed more than I usually do though, but it was a special occasion. I had just signed a lucrative merchandising deal. I can hardly believe the turn my life has taken in only four short years.

Shuffling my socked feet over the hardwood floors of my apartment, I reach the kitchen.

“Mornin’, Beau.” I ruffle my cat’s fur where he's lounging on his favorite spot by the window. He gives me a disapproving look and then goes back to licking his butt. “Love you too, buddy.”

After switching on the coffee machine, I rifle through the dishwasher for a clean coffee cup. Why bother packing these dishes away when you're just going to get them dirty again, am I right?

Beau jumps off his perch at the window to rub his furry body on my leg. I'm not deluded enough to believe it's because he loves me, the little bastard is just looking for breakfast.

“Not now, buddy. Daddy needs some caffeine first.”

“Talking to the cat again?” Carter, my best friend, and partner says as he lets himself into the apartment. Not that kind of partner. Business partner. I'm a heterosexual male with an intense love for the finer things in life. And by that, I mean the female of our species. Nothing finer in this world than a woman. “You know how weird that is, right?”

I roll my eyes at him and then cringe at the pain it causes. “You talk to him more than I do.”

“Only to tell him to fuck off.” He shrugs.

“He’s the reason you get to wear those three hundred-dollar sneakers, asshole.”

“No, your artistic talent and my business sense is why I get to wear these,” He counters and starts opening his Mac on the counter.

Maybe he has a point, but I do still feel like I owe this cat everything.

Four years ago, I was an out of work illustrator living on ramen and stale bread, when Beau found me and made himself at home. He sparked the idea for my webcomic series, featuring Beauregard the hipster cat and his adventures in Seattle. Now, I'm living the high life with royalty checks from my three best-selling books. Not to mention, the income from advertising, conventions and now this merchandising deal Carter has managed to swing. Beau’s face is about to be plastered on cups, t-shirts, and magnets all over America.

“So,” Carter says as he starts clicking away at his keyboard. “We need to get those Christmas prints signed and mailed out ASAP, you have one last signing at that bookstore downtown, and we need to arrange a Skype call with the manufacturer in China about those plush…”

“Dude,” I hold up my hand to stop his yammering. “Too early. Coffee first.”

“It's ten a.m., Hen. Most hookers have had their third hit of heroin by now.” He gives me a disapproving glance, but I ignore him and stare at the coffee pot, willing it to brew faster.

“What happened with that girl last night?” He asks.

“What girl?” I mumble in response.

“The one in the sexy elf suit who insisted her name was really Candy and promised to get you on Santa’s naughty list.”

“Wasn't into it,” I shrug, feeling his eyes bore into the back of my head.

“Why? Your dick fall off?” I grunt and ignore him. The truth is, I wasn't into it. There was a time when, yes, I used to stick my dick in everything that was willing. That's what happens when you grow up being the weird artsy kid. Not the cool, mysterious kind, that girls throw their panties at. Nope. I was the gangly comic book nerd, who used to draw manga characters on his notebooks, and started rambling utter nonsense when a cute girl, so much as smiled at me.

It was only in college when my body started filling out, and I found out what gym equipment was for. Girls started noticing me, and I got better at hiding my awkwardness. I started drawing on myself instead of on notebooks, and turns out, girls like dudes with muscles and tattoos.

Now, I'm bored of all of it. The whole dating scene has become an endless cycle of flirting and fucking. Nobody cares about getting to know a person anymore. They just want quick flings and instants gratification. Paint by numbers. Rinse and repeat. Just like my life.

Don't get me wrong. I'm grateful for everything I have. I get to do what I love, and make an excellent living from it. I have great friends, a fancy apartment, and a family who loves me. It's just… well, lately, it just all feels so… empty. What I wouldn't give for…

Maybe that's the problem. I don't even know what I want.

“Thank god, at last,” I say as the coffee machine pings it's alert that my coffee is finally ready. After filling my cup, I set it on the counter and open the fridge to get the creamer. I grab it and turn to pour some into my waiting cup, but Beau winds his body around my feet. Before I know it, my head hits the floor, and I'm lying in a puddle of milk.

“Don't worry. I’m ok,” I say sarcastically, when nobody asks. I turn my head to the side and narrow my eyes at Beau lapping up the milk next to my head. If I didn't know better, I could swear he tripped me on purpose. Cats aren't that smart, are they?

“You know,” I look up to where Carter’s head peaks out from over the counter, an amused look on his face. “You're lucky you look the way you do, or your clumsy ass would get no play at all.”