ILLUSTRATIONS BY JUAN ORTIZ

Except Chapter Three by Vince Musacchia and

Chapter Thirty-One by the author

Cover illustration by Juan Ortiz

Photography by David Johnston

Design Jada D’Lee

Models: Erik Odom & Anais Mendoza

Copyright © 2013 by Ruth Clampett. All rights reserved.

This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental. All rights reserved. No part of this publication can be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, without permission in writing from the author or publisher.

First Electronic Edition: April 2013

For my Dad who taught me to set my imagination free

and that an artist needs to takes risks with a brave heart.

For my Mom who showed me that strength of character

and kindness will lift you out of darkness.

But most of all for my daughter, Alex

my inspiration, my best girl.

From the day you were born I knew

we would share a brilliant journey.

Your shine has led the way.

Table of Contents

Chapter One — I’m in Love

Chapter Two — Chivalry 101

Chapter Three — Buttering Her Up

Chapter Four — Goodbye Geek World

Chapter Five — Closed for Business

Chapter Six — Yoga Pants

Chapter Seven — I am Clark Kent

Chapter Eight — Hearts Unfolding

Chapter Nine — Extra-Special Best Friends

Chapter Ten — Right Girl, Wrong Time

Chapter Eleven — Man With a Tux

Chapter Twelve — A Very Small Banana

Chapter Thirteen — And the Award Goes to…

Chapter Fourteen — A School-Night Sleepover

Chapter Fifteen — A New Man

Chapter Sixteen — Santa, the Easter Bunny and Brooke

Chapter Seventeen — Magic Jeans

Chapter Eighteen — How to Woo a Girl

Chapter Nineteen — Stalking 101

Chapter Twenty — A Two-Way Woo

Chapter Twenty-One — Master of the Woo

Chapter Twenty-Two — Indy Gets His Princess

Chapter Twenty-Three — Animal Style

Chapter Twenty-Four — The End of the Woo

Chapter Twenty-Five — What’s Mine is Yours?

Chapter Twenty-Six — Calling on Wonder Woman

Chapter Twenty-Seven — Persuasion

Chapter Twenty-Eight — Home Delivery

Chapter Twenty-Nine — Wounded Soldiers

Chapter Thirty — Making Magic

Chapter Thirty-One — A Picket Fence and Pixar

Acknowledgements

About the Author

Animate Me / Chapter One / I’m in Love

an-i-mate verb \’a-ne-met\ 1. to bring to life 2. To give spirit and vigor to 3. To make appear to move for a cartoon

T here you go with the breasts too big again.

I rub my eraser over the sketchbook page and brush the crumbs away before reworking my lines over the ghosted image. With each stroke of the pencil my dream girl comes to life, her heart-shaped face graced with huge blue eyes and plump bow lips.

Oh, how I want to kiss those lips

My pencil trails down to define her shapely thighs leading up to her small waist, just below the finale of her perfect breasts. I erase the rough sketch lines under the final clean pencil. Yes…there, she’s just right. I may not be so comfortable talking to girls, but I sure know how to draw them. I hold my sketchbook up to admire her before setting it down next to the cash register.

At least I’m over my huge-breast obsession. Holy hell, during the months where I had newly discovered online porn I just kept drawing them bigger and bigger. If those girls had been real, they would have toppled over. Picasso had his blue period; I had my breast period. Eventually I got bored with the mechanical episodes of online porn. Now I’ve matured to studying vintage pin-up girls and reading graphic novels that still leave something to the imagination. As a result, my work is more refined, well, not really…but at least in that regard. My girls are safe from toppling over now.

Hearing a cough, I push my glasses up my nose and look over at the kid still transfixed in the new release section of the Playstation 3 aisle. He handles each cellophane-wrapped game like it’s a treasure, a sacred gift from the video game gods. I have a fondness for this kid, Theo, who comes to the store every Saturday while his mom gets a manicure on the other end of the strip mall. He reminds me of myself at that age, a social misfit who couldn’t look people in the eye. Now I chat with customers when I ring up their purchases. This is certainly progress for a guy like me who didn’t start talking until he was four.

I let Theo fondle the packages knowing full well that he hasn’t saved enough allowance to make a purchase this week. He blew his wad last Saturday on the latest Dragon Age release. When a car honks just outside the door, he turns to me and waves.

“See you next week, Nathan,” he calls out before he runs through the door and slips into his mom’s SUV.

When I was his age, I spent my Saturdays with my parents at my brother Curtis’ various sporting events, grateful to have my sketchbook and pencils while I sat through hour after tedious hour of games. I learned early on how to get lost in the page and create worlds in my head where I could escape. Nothing’s changed, just now I’m getting paid to draw as a studio animator, and I sure as heck don’t have to go to sports games.

I pull out my colored pencils and start back in on my drawing when the door rings indicating a new customer. I look up in time to see a flash of female before she heads down one of the side aisles. A rush of adrenaline surges through me.

No…it couldn’t be. Not her. She is not here shopping at Jimmy’s Geek World. Impossible. No.

I close my eyes and count backwards from ten to try to calm myself. Around four, I give up and lean forward to see if my imagination was playing tricks on me.

She steps into the center aisle and strides towards me in slow motion, the sway of her hips distracting me from her black leather boots that lace all the way up to her knees. She has on a short pleated skirt and a vintage looking T-shirt with faded type that says The Sex Pistols. I sway and grab the edge of the counter to steady myself.

“Hey,” she calls out with the bow lips parted just so. “Can you help me?” Her long auburn hair looks like spun silk and cascades down her back like those happy girls in shampoo commercials.

Can I help you? I repeat to myself, confused. Brooke Tobin, the woman of my dreams, my obsession from afar, appears to need me. I note that this is where my fantasy usually starts, before it ends with me fondling her in the stockroom. Today it is real and I must rise to the occasion.

“Sure, what can I help you with?” I cringe. My response is a little too enthusiastic but she seems unfazed. I can tell she has no idea who I am.

“I need a cord thingy for my computer, and I’m not sure which one.”