Permanent Lines (7 page)

With the cigarette still in hand, I ran my finger over the tattoo that filled my forearm.
Not all who wander are lost.
I got it a long ass time ago- I don’t even think you could have considered me a teenager
when I got it. Where I grew up, it didn’t matter how old you were—you could get a
goddamn tattoo fresh from the womb if you really wanted to. Apparently it’s a famous
quote from
The Lord of the Rings
(the book). My sister said it to me right before she packed up and moved to some
other country. It was the last time I’d seen her. It was the last day I had anyone
I could call family. Up until that day I
did
feel lost. I went through each day in a fog, not knowing what the next had in store
for me. I was just there … living … lost. Looking back, I wasn’t lost; yeah, I was
just cycling through the days, wandering around like punk ass kid, but I wasn’t lost.
No, I was at a crossroads, waiting to figure out which direction to run.

It was December fourth, seven years ago, when I decided my path. With my check in
hand from my inheritance that I finally got the April before, when I turned 21, I
made my last move to New York City. Using all the cash I had, I bought a bar, got
a liquor license, and ordered loads of booze, then flipped the sign to “open” three
weeks later. Who’d have fucking thought that the white trash, dirt bike racing loser
from Jersey could make a living owning a bar in Manhattan—a hole in the wall pub no
less? I wouldn’t have believed it myself if someone told me ten years ago, but it
happened. I’m not a fucking rich guy, but it does well enough; pays the bills.

I’ve come a long way and done some stupid shit, but I think I’ve turned out to be
a decent person. But I’ve never had a long term girlfriend, I never really dated …
I’ve never been in love. Some may say that it was sad, like Old Man Rich, but it didn’t
faze me in the slightest … at least not until now—not until Amelia.

I brushed my arm across my forehead, feeling the sweat beading even more than before
on my forehead. My heart was beating so damn fast that I worried it’d jump from my
chest, and my breathing had turned into almost a pant.
Jesus Christ.
It couldn’t be … no, I couldn’t …
fucking A
…

I may have never loved another human being—especially a girl, I may have never wanted
anything more with anyone else, I may have never been in love; but fuck, I was.

I was in love with Amelia.

Fucking shit!
I loved her. I loved a girl I couldn’t have. I loved a girl I barely knew. I loved
a girl who didn’t love me.

“When’s your birthday?” she had asked as we’d crawled back into my bed after getting
home from perusing the city.

“April 1
st
,” I had told her, pulling her back into my chest.

She flipped to face me. “You’re kidding!” she said, not believing me.

I shook my head. “Not in the slightest, baby.”

“Your birthday is April Fools’ Day?”

I nodded. “Damn straight!”

She chuckled. “Wow,” she said, sounding impressed.

“What?”

“Nothing.” She shook her head. “It’s just fits you.”

I lifted on my elbow, trying my best to look offended. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

She snickered. “Because you’re a wise-ass,” she smiled, “so being born on April Fools’
Day makes sense.”

I pushed her back so that she fell into the sheets. “Whatever!” I leaned over her,
acting mad.

She looked up at me with a sparkle in her eye and a smile that could melt my heart
down to nothing. Her arms wrapped around my neck as her head lifted to meet my lips
with hers.

“I never said it was a bad thing,” she whispered before kissing me.

I had something else to say—I wanted to live up to my wise-ass demeanor, but my mind
went completely blank. Damn this girl! She was intoxicating.

God, I missed her.

It was the day after my birthday and hot as fuck. Since when was it this hot in April?
Two weeks ago, I swear it was snowing. I didn’t feel like doing shit or even moving
out of my bed, since Amelia was in my dreams yet again last night, but Kayla insisted
that I meet her at the park. She’s one of those girls that gets her way regardless,
so I didn’t even bother arguing anymore.

“I feel like I haven’t seen you in forever!” she gushed when I arrived, looping her
arm with mine as we made our way down the paved pathway.

I was already sweating my ass off. Why she thought it was a smart idea to come here
on the most humid ass day, I’ll never know … But whatever, it’d been way longer than
normal since we’d hung out last, so I didn’t care.

“Yeah, well, someone’s been locked up in the penthouse fucking the rich kid,” I joked,
raising my eyebrows with a devilish grin.

She nudged my side, acting annoyed. “Tell the whole world, why don’t you?!”

I laughed at her expense, but let’s be frank, everyone in Manhattan already knew who
the wealthiest bachelor was sleeping with. Kayla and Miles had been getting more face
time than the damn celebrities lately. Before Kayla, Miles was the sleazeball millionaire
of New York City, co-owner of the biggest entertainment television network, a guy
with a new chick on his arm every week. Seeing him linked with one girl for months
was just unheard of, which kept the paparazzi and gossip magazines on their toes,
trying to find out who the woman was that tamed the man-whore. For a while, I didn’t
believe it myself. I wanted to kill the fucker for getting close to Kayla. She was
different—not of his
group
. Kayla, like me, had a shitty past, growing up in the dirty hustle and bustle of
Las Vegas, so it was strange to see her with the golden boy toy of New York City.
To my surprise, and apparently everyone else’s too, the damn tool actually loved her
and worked hard to make it right with her. I guess you could say we’re chill now,
but I’ll always have one eye open when it comes to Miles Blackwell. Although he was
a mush with Kayla, he was simply authoritative to everyone else. Some may call him
an asshole, but really, he was just a rich business guy that liked to appear powerful.
I always thought it was just because he had a small dick—compensating for something
else, which quite possible could still be true, was pretty common. I’ve never asked,
but he’s just Mr. High Profile New Yorker, so I guess he can do what he wants.

“The world already knows, sweetheart,” I said, looking down at her with an amused
grin.

She rolled her eyes. “Anyway,” she replied, her annoyance evident, “what’s new with
you? Any new ones getting the golden ticket to Merrick Drake’s apartment?”

Funny how when it came to her sex life, she was quick to get embarrassed and switch
to a different subject, but when it came to my personal life, all the cards were on
the table.
How typical.

“What is this Willy Wonka thing? Find the golden ticket and get a tour of Merrick
Drake’s bed?” I bumped my shoulder against hers. “Have you been getting tips on giving
me shit from Micah? Sounds like one of his winners.”

Her eyes went all wide and excited. “How fun would that be?” she asked, excited. “Girls
love chocolate, then mixed with a little you on the side …” She nudged me, insinuating
dirty things.

“Ugh!” I took a step away, giving her a disgusted look. “Issues!” I yelled. “You guys
have major, major issues!”

“Whatever!” she laughed. “It was a good idea.”

This time I rolled my eyes. “How am I even friends with you guys?” I joked.

She curled her fingers on both hands, putting them together, forming a heart. “Because
you love us,” she said all sweet and fluttering her eyelashes a little too dramatically.

I shook my head before wrapping my arm around her shoulders, squeezing her into my
side and starting to walk again. “Yeah, you’re real lucky that I do.”

“Seriously, though, you gotta put yourself out there, Merrick,” she said, changing
her tune to all seriousness, taking a breath before adding, “I want you to be happy.”

“Who said I was looking?”

“Who said you weren’t?”

Touché, my friend.

True, I wasn’t
not
looking, but I wasn’t really looking either. It’d been a while since I cared about
seeing someone … not since … I shook my head—I wasn’t going there. It had been two
months and I finally felt like I was making some progress, like I was going through
a twelve-step program. The dreams had been getting a little fewer and farther between
at least.

“Point taken,” I conceded, “but I don’t need a chick. They’re all drama and come with
shit that I don’t feel like dealing with. I don’t have the time for anyone, either.”

“Not all women are crazy.”

I looked at her in question, an eyebrow raised, warranting a slap on the arm.

“Whatever asshole, I’m not crazy!”

“I beg to differ.”

This time she pushed me, almost landing me on my ass. Kayla laughed her ass off.

“You’re going down!” I pointed at her, revenge in my eyes.

She wasn’t taking me seriously, though, laughing at my threat. “I’d love to see you
try!”

Kayla insisted that I meet her friend Nova. I’m not quite sure why I agreed, but I
did. I wasn’t excited in the least, but I reminded myself over and over that Kayla
wouldn’t set me up with someone completely crazy and that this was a good thing; maybe
it would get me to stop thinking about Amelia. I didn’t openly talked to Kayla about
Amelia still hovering in the back of my head, but she knew. She hadn’t met her, being
away that weekend, but knew something was up with me as soon as she got back. I told
her the gist of it, but never went past that, though anyone could fucking tell how
the whole situation affected me. I was like a bomb, ready to explode at any second—”proceed
with caution” written on my fucking forehead. So I guess I was ready to give the whole
“getting out there” a whirl. What could I fucking lose? I couldn’t be in any less
shape than I was before, that’s for damn sure.

The only thing that was making me cringe about the whole situation was the fact that
Kayla was trying to hook me up with Miles’ high profile, wipe my ass with hundred
dollar bills chicks.

I don’t like rich bitches. I’m not saying that they’re all the same, but let’s be
frank, they all liked to flaunt their wealth in some way or another. Whether it was
carrying around a Gucci or whatever the fuck designer purses they liked, or rolling
around in a gold-plated Phantom, they liked to show their shit off and that just wasn’t
me. I could never relate and I found myself more annoyed as shit than anything when
they talked—they always had that hoity-toity slang to their tone and it was like nails
on a fucking chalkboard. Kayla may parade around with the rich folk now and blend
in perfectly, but before Miles she was just another one of us—average middle class
with a story, a girl with a dark past that many wouldn’t dream of stepping into or
could even think of surviving in.

Since persistence is Kayla’s middle name, she haunted—yes, haunted me—for weeks that
I should “at least just meet her.” Nova, that is. Her friend who is “just perfect
for me.” So I caved, handing over my balls, and agreed, but did the cop out, not-so-interested
move and asked if Nova (what kind of rich girl name is Nova, anyway?) wanted to meet
for lunch. It was the epitome of “at least just meet her” but I had a logical excuse—I
owned a bar and had to work at night. It was completely legit.

I turned the corner to where the café was just a couple minutes before twelve. I didn’t
think a girl would be early or even on time, so I didn’t bother looking for her, instead
taking a seat at a round table just inside the entrance, next to the window. I couldn’t
help but take notice of the girl sitting at the corner table next to me. She was fucking
hot as hell with long, wavy, auburn hair and the bluest eyes I’d ever seen. We made
eye contact at the same time and I could’ve sworn I saw her cheeks turn a little rosier.
I grinned but turned away before I found myself staring. With my luck, I’d get caught
checking out a girl while waiting for another. I used every ounce of eye muscle to
look away, but found myself still peeking at her from the corner.