The Other Fish in the Sea (Grab Your Pole, #2) Read online

The Bitch Who Is A GYP Super Fan And Book Gifting Maniac**

  (TBWIAGYPSFABGM)

  Although you’re not in the “book biz,” you are not simply a regular, real-world reader either. You are an author’s biggest cheerleader and a book’s best asset, Liz. Your generosity is simply incomparable to anything I’ve ever witnessed in terms of selfless giving, and I know I’m speaking of praising books and gifting them, but, my dear, what you do speaks volumes about your character and the kind of person you are, so as an author and a human being, I want to say thank you and tell you how much you are appreciated by not only me, but many of my kind.

  Ashley Dungan

  The Bitch Who Is The Zombie Queen And A Slayer Of Nightmarish Creatures

  (TBWITZQAASONC)

  Few know what you’ve done for me and I know that’s by your choice, but I do feel it’s important I tell the world that although I was once intimated AF by you, I’ve since learned what a truly thoughtful, kind-hearted, and generous soul you are. Getting to know you and being able to be myself with someone who gets me like you do is something I don’t take for granted and I want you to know that I love you. You rock my fucking face off, bitch—always have and always will.

  Autumn Hull

  The Bitch Who’s Made The Bitch Who Writes The Books Her Bitch

  (TBWMTBWWTBHB)

  Oh, my dear friend… Where do I begin? We both know I’m a needy writer and yes, you’re very adept at handling those of us who believe they require continual input and validation, but, what you’ve done—voluntarily stepping into the very large and intrinsically necessary shoes the way you have is without a doubt one of the biggest blessings I’ve had bestowed on me. You know everything I have planned, and I honestly couldn’t continue to write the way I do without you tirelessly wearing those shoes like you do. Not only that, but your personal belief in me and your sincere conviction in terms of my talent in writing, along with your deep-seated desire to see this series become a success has brought me to new heights and is ever so much appreciated. And on a personal level, having someone like you as a friend to share deeply personal details of my life with and then having you do the same in return…well, let’s just say that you’ve brought me unsurpassed joy. I might bring the fire, but you…you let it rock.

  Beth Pasley

  The Bitch Who’ll Provide Government Funded Protective Custody To The Bitch Who Writes The Books If It Becomes Necessary

  (TBWPGFPCTTBWWTBIIBN)

  I know I’ve said this to you and others before, but truly, I couldn’t do what you do. I have the utmost respect and admiration for you for putting your personal wants, desires, emotional comfort and fears aside so that you can unflinchingly love and support the kind of man that your husband is. And I know we joke about you not having anything else to do so that’s why it’s no trouble for you to beta and proof-read for me, and for taking on the task of being my personal bookish assistant soon, but most every parent on the planet, especially the military moms out there know that raising two beautiful babies is anything but easy, and that doesn’t exactly lend itself to free time either, so thank you for finding time for me and even more importantly, for allowing my family to be a part of yours.

  Andrea Thompson

  The Bitch Who Cries And Is In Charge Of The GYP Street Team

  (TBWCAIICOTGYPST)

  Aw, Andrea… I don’t know what to say except thank you from the depths of my heart for allowing me to share in your GYP reading experiences by making me a sideline witness to your emotional journey. By doing that, you brought me back to where I need to be in order to play with my imaginary friends again, and that is so, so huge—I really don’t think anyone can understand why that’s such a big deal, but suffice it to say, it’s been my fear that readers around the globe would probably be waiting a decade or until the end of time maybe to read any of the unwritten GYP books, but thanks to you, I don’t think they’ll have to wait nearly that long now. Plus, your enthusiasm, willingness, and offer to step up and help make this series successful really means the world to me. And I’m sorry I made you do the Ugly Cry. (<—I’m totally lying, but I would let you hold my boobs to comfort you while you weep. However, since they’re not big enough to cross time-zones on their own, I’ll just have to send you some Kleenex, a bottle of booze, and a tranquilizer gun.) Oh and I haven’t forgotten, not that it would stop you if I had, so regardless, you called dibs and therefore that sexy beast is yours. So, go ahead, get down and dirty and, above all, get stoned with him.

  Megan Simpson

  The Bitch Who Has A Pitchfork And Designs The GYP Wall Of Infamy Banners

  (TBWHAPADTGYPWOIB)

  Megan, my sweet and slightly certifiable friend, you are the newest member of my GYP Bitches, and I’m just tickled to have you on board the crazy train with the rest of us! I’m also so very excited to get to know you more. And by that I mean exploit not only your emotions, but your creative talent as well, because seriously, you do some damned fine work and I can’t freaking wait for everyone to see what you’ve been working on! Additionally, I think I should mention that although you could be considered justified by some in your retaliation for anything I’ve done up to and including broadcasting your number all over the Twitterverse, I’m not current on my tetanus vaccination at the moment, so maybe you could hold off a bit before penciling me in for a re-enactment of High Noon where I’m sure you’ll be running me through with that pitchfork of yours. Please? And don’t forget…there’s a reason for everything, so…breathe.

  *Denotes Original Member

  ** Denotes Honorary Member

  So *deep breath* that’s it. If you see any of these ladies in and around the Internet, don’t forget, Fear & Respect. You also might wanna consider saying a quick thanks to them as well, seeing as how each and every one of them has played an important if not vital role in bringing you these beloved characters, the rich storyline, and the Grab Your Pole series in general.

  And as always, for your enthusiasm and support of me and this series, and for your simple joy of reading, I thank you. You’re the best.

  ~Jenn

  Author’s Note

  Read this first! It’s not unimportant drivel!

  I promise, it’s very important drivel!

  Attention readers!

  I know you’re probably excited to get reading, but before you dive into The Other Fish in the Sea, I’d like to thank you all for your interest in continuing on in Camie’s journey, and I want to give you all a heads up as well. While the Grab Your Pole series could be said by some to be predominately Camie’s story, the books in this series really do encompass so much more. With that said, within this book you will now begin to read the points of view of the other members of the GYP gang. Specifically in this second book, the girls’.

  You might be thinking, “Hey, that’s great! But, um, why is she (she being me, the author) making such a big deal about announcing it in an author’s note?” Well, here’s why: In this specific book, I don’t give you, the reader, any indication whatsoever that point of view has shifted, but I want you all to be aware that it will so that you guys aren’t completely caught off guard and subsequently get pissed off and ream me for confusing the crap out of you. And don’t stress too much, I know you’re all bright people and I don’t just switch willy-nilly within chapters either, but rather each of the other three main girls (Jillian, Kate, and Melissa) have their very own chapter told from their point of view. I’ve left out POV indicators in chapter titles, though, simply because I want to preserve a little sense of mystery for all of you. So, if you start a new chapter and find yourself thinking, “WTF? Did I just read that right?” chances are you’ve come to a chapter that isn’t being told in Camie’s voice. Additionally, with all of those chapters, the girl whose point of view that is being read is identified fairly quickly so you’re not guessing for too terribly long. Also, for those of you who pick up on voice easily, you guys will most likely realize right away that what you’re reading doesn’
t “sound” like Camie.

  So, that’s it! Although I’ve explained it here, I’ll still apologize in advance if anyone takes a stumble. I’m not sure why I decided to write the chapters this way, because I don’t do it like this in any of the other books I’ve written so far, but, I did with this one so that’s how you’re getting it. ;-) Again, thank you for your support and enthusiasm in regard to this series, and I hope what you’re about to read meets or exceeds your expectations!

  ~Jenn :-*

  Prologue

  I’m sure you’ll agree that it’s totally awesome when your parents truly like your boyfriend.

  Especially when you’re about two weeks away from being sixteen years old and your boyfriend is about a month and a half shy of being eighteen.

  But, just how are you supposed to react when your father actually asks your almost adult boyfriend—who is hotter than the flames of hell by the way—to move in with you while he and your mom are going to be gone for a week? Oh, and gives his permission for you to have a party or two in their absence?

  Really. I’m at a loss…

  I’m also getting way ahead of myself. Let’s back up a couple months, because there was what you might call a substantial quantity of drama that occurred before my father made his request of Tristan, the aforementioned hotter than the flames of hell boyfriend, to stay with my little sister and me in January. I like to call the short period of downtime in my life between when Tristan and I signed what is known as our “contract” on Halloween and shortly before Thanksgiving, the eye of the storm. And if you’re unfamiliar with what our contract is, well, we basically committed ourselves to each other exclusively and agreed on some physical boundaries in the form of a Sharpie tattoo.

  Oh and in case you’ve forgotten, my name is Camie, I’m a sophomore in high school, I adore the TV show Buffy the Vampire Slayer, and I have this quirk of playing various songs and scenes from movies and TV in my head. Depending on how you look at it, it’s either amusing or annoying. Most of the time I find it kind of cool unless the song sucks. Anyhow, Tristan, my drop-dead gorgeous soul mate, is a junior but should be a senior. However, there was this whole thing with chicken pox, his best friend, Jeff, and repeating third grade. But I digress… I’ll be sixteen on January fifteenth and exactly one month later, Tristan will turn the big One-Eight. Yeah, California State might take issue with it, but we’re good because our parents are cool with the age difference. And that’s an especially big relief because Tristan and I are also proud parents. Yep, that’s right! I’m a mom even though I’m still a virgin. He and I adopted two kittens on our first date and now for all intents and purposes, Phineas and Ferb are our babies. They’re girls but shhh, don’t tell them they have boy names. Tristan is certain that’ll result in an identity crisis of some kind.

  Moving on…

  My little sister’s name is Jillian…or the spy, or the criminal, or the evil genius. Take your pick. She goes by many names—kind of like God and Satan do. Jilly is turning thirteen on January thirteenth, which happens to be a Friday this year. She couldn’t be more thrilled with that. In fact, I’m pretty sure she wants to celebrate herself with a horror themed birthday party with all the bells (ax murderers) and whistles (zombies). I also wouldn’t be all that surprised if she figures out a way to literally raise the dead just so the party is authentic. It kind of goes back to that genius thing she’s got goin’ on. Point in fact, Jill’s in eighth grade when she should actually be in seventh based on her age. Truth is though, my sister is smart enough to be in freaking college. But again, I digress.

  So, back to November…

  1.

  Kool-Aid & Honey

  It was almost instantaneous. When Tristan and I got together, my house turned into the “Kool-Aid house.” You know, the house where all the kids gather and hang out at when there isn’t anything else to do. I think that happened mainly because Tristan is there all the time, which means Jeff is there all the time, which in turn means Kate, Jeff’s girlfriend and my best friend, is there all the time, and so on. My mom absolutely loves it. Again, in case you’ve forgotten, her name is Mandy and she has breast cancer, which is thankfully in a kind of unofficial remission. And because my mom loves having all my friends hanging around constantly, my dad, Kevin, loves it too. I think my mom would’ve loved to have more kids so she makes all my friends feel as welcome as family. I swear you can practically hear Sister Sledge chanting “We Are Family” from my house on any given weeknight. So, that’s why it was no big deal when Kate threw my front door open one Sunday evening before dinner without having knocked and informed us of the following:

  “Well, they’re arguing again so I hope there’s room for one more!” Kate is a cheerleader and normally she’s spunky, but she’s been a little moody lately. I think it’s probably because her parents have been arguing kind of regularly.

  “Will it just be you tonight or wi—” my mom started to ask, but another voice answered her question before she even got it out.

  “Hey Mrs. R., what’s on the menu tonight?” Jeff asked, walking in and kissing Kate on the top of her head.

  Completely unfazed by Jeff’s unannounced entrance, my mom answered, “Kevin and Tristan have been in the kitchen for over an hour and a half trying to follow an old family recipe I found for meatloaf, so, we might be having pizza.”

  I had to work hard to stifle a laugh because as soon as my mom finished her sentence, both my dad and Tristan came out of the kitchen looking disgruntled with either each other, or, the state of dinner. I’m guessing they’re worried about the food, though, because it seems like they’re wearing a good portion of the ingredients. At least they’re wearing aprons as well, although that just makes it even funnier. In order to appreciate the comedy of errors this whole thing is, you should know that neither my dad nor Tristan can really cook but they both think they can. Not to mention that my six-foot four and almost two hundred-thirty pounds of solid muscle boyfriend is wearing a pink gingham apron and if that isn’t hysterical enough, it’s also trimmed in lace. Jeff didn’t work at all to stifle his laughter one bit…he just started cracking up.

  “It just has to be a mistake,” my dad said to Tristan who was wiping his hands on the pink gingham like he has motor oil on them and the apron is a garage rag.

  Just so you know, Tristan and my dad have totally bonded over the last couple weeks by spending a significant quantity of quality time together in our garage. They’re both really into classic cars, muscle cars, hot rods…essentially, anything with wheels. I’m completely pleased with that of course, but sometimes I wonder if my dad thinks I brought Tristan home for him to play with. I didn’t. I brought him home because I like to play with him, but whatever. I’m not gonna complain because when we’re alone, Tristan does a really good job of reminding me that he prefers toying with me over tinkering on cars with my dad.

  “I don’t think it was. I mean why would it be there right in the middle of the recipe?” Tristan asked, completely ignoring Jeff’s hilarity.

  “Boy, (my dad calls Tristan “The Boy”) I hope you’re right, ‘cause I wouldn’t have added it. Oatmeal just doesn’t go with meatloaf, it just isn’t right.”

  Oh good lord. They put oatmeal in the meatloaf…

  “I know! It’s just crazy, but that’s what the recipe said to do.”

  “I’d like Canadian bacon and pineapple on my pizza, please,” I teased and had to hop out of the way as the dishtowel my father was holding almost made contact with my butt.

  “Young lady, you could at least show some respect like your sister. She’s been in there the whole time reading and hasn’t once said anything negative,” my dad told me with a twinkle in his eyes, demonstrating that he isn’t upset with my lack of confidence in his culinary skills. He talks a big game but really, he’s a softie.

  But can we go back to my “respectful” sibling for a moment? I mean seriously, uh-oh.

  “Um, Dad? Tristan? Did either of you happen to think
why she might’ve chosen to read in the kitchen while the two of you were so diligently preparing what I’m sure will be a delicious meal?” My dad might have blinders on when it comes to Jillian, however, Tristan really should know better.

  “Dude! You’re toast!” Jeff said and started laughing at Tristan again as my dad looked back at the closed door of the kitchen, contemplating what the big deal was. Only this time, Tristan didn’t ignore Jeff. His facial expression as the catastrophic possibilities dawned on him was to-die-for funny.

  “Hi everyone! Who’s toast?” “Lonely Pete” asked upon entering our family room, having just let himself in as well.

  I call him that because even though he’s a really close friend of Tristan’s and Jeff’s, therefore mine as well, he’s always kind of like the third or sometimes even seventh wheel. Basically, he doesn’t have a girlfriend.

  “I think I might be. Do you think she’ll be willing to barter now or is this something she might blackmail me with at such a time as it suits her purposes?” Tristan asked the room at large.

  “Right now you have nothing I want, but thank you for being so amenable in helping me try out my new video camera. I think the picture quality is tremendous.”

  Apparently tonight Jill is both the criminal and the spy. Mind you, she didn’t come from the kitchen. No, she came from upstairs...and we never saw her go up.

  “Oh, hi Jillian,” Pete said.

  She ignored him. “Can we eat now? I’m hungry.”

  “What do you want on your pizza?” I couldn’t help it.

  “I don’t want pizza, I want the meatloaf.”

  Out of all of us present, you’d think my sister would’ve already placed her order at the Bottle Shop for the best pizza in town after having bared witness to my dad’s and Tristan’s attempt to cook something edible. I say that with the utmost love and affection for both of them of course.