Hooked Up: Book 3 Read Online Free PDF Page A

happened. I felt ashamed of myself being trussed up, hands bound, body numb—as immovable as a Thanksgiving turkey about to be delved into. It made me feel like a real fucking fool. One day I’d tell Pearl—after I’d gotten a ring on her finger, but right now wasn’t the time.
    I wondered how much longer she’d be staying in London. I debated whether I should go to Hampstead—to Daisy’s mother’s house—and just wait outside the front door for Pearl until she came back. Then my cell rang. I hoped it was her calling me, but then it hit home, Why on Earth would Pearl call me now? She’s given up on me. Not interested. Can’t be bothered with my stupid games, and I don’t blame her.
    I pressed TALK. It was Sebastian, my new video game partner.
    “What’s up?” I asked.
    “Do you have time for a pint?” I’d forgotten that—the British are always talking about ‘pints down the pub.’ I weighed my options. I really did want to just get going to Hampstead. Be that stalker.
    “No,” I answered in a flat voice. “You’ve caught me at a bad time.”
    “I really need you to meet our other programmer. Just for five minutes. You know, you can always tell in the first few seconds if you like a person or not. I’d rather you checked him out, personally.”
    “I trust your judgment, Sebastian.”
    “He’s coming over to the office, so I thought we’d pop round the pub just to make him feel at ease.”
    “The one around the corner from the office?”
    “Yeah, The Lamb and Flag.”
    I looked at my watch. Covent Garden was pretty much en route to Hampstead. “Okay but just five minutes.”
    I hailed a cab.

    AFTER OUR BRIEF pub meeting—the new guy nervous, but a good, hard-working type and apparently very talented—I stood outside the pub on the street, amidst the traffic, and tried calling Pearl again. I’d noticed that London had become a fascinating melting pot of foreign bodies, fluttering and weaving about like ribbons of different colored flags through the busy streets. Nobody spoke English here anymore; Brazilians, French, Italians, Germans, South Americans, all having made London their home—was anyone British? (Except the taxi drivers—the opposite of New York City.) The phone rang and rang. No bloody answer. My cell buzzed in my hand—it made me jump. It was Sophie.
    “Why didn’t you tell me you were in London, Alexandre? I’m here, too. We could have met up.”
    “What for?” My voice was clipped. Sophie was not my favorite person in the world right now. In fact, everyone was getting under my skin since Pearl and I had been parted for the last two weeks. I’d been edgy, snappy, and volatile. “How did you know I was in London?”
    “That’s why I’m calling. Pearl told me. We bumped into each other. She just dropped me off in Hampstead.”
    “She dropped you off? She rented a car?”
    “No. She’s with my driver. I dropped in to see a friend up here. Pearl and I crossed paths in Harrods. What a coincidence, eh? She confirmed what you told me about Laura’s lies. Said she’d been at Laura’s and recounted the whole freaky story—that Laura said I’d tried to kill her—that her accident was my fault. Fucking crazy! Alexandre, I don’t know what game you’re playing seeing Laura, still, but Pearl loves you. Really loves you. She told me she saw you at Laura’s house. Entering her front door. What the hell were you doing there? Are you fucking her?”
    “Of course not. I was taking those bloody English books back and went to get my car.”
    “Well you should stay away from that little bitch—she has it in for you.”
    “Yeah, I’m coming to that very same conclusion. She’s insane. That accident did something to her brain. Did Laura mention the Bloody Mary fiasco to Pearl?”
    “I don’t think so—if she did, Pearl didn’t mention it. Pearl told me you’d split up, that you didn’t want to give her the time of day, and that you were dating Laura again.