Permanent Lines

by Ashley Wilcox

  Permanent Lines

  Copyright © 2014 by Ashley Wilcox

  Edited by Erin Roth, Wise Owl Editing

  Cover Design by B Designs

  Formatting by Angela McLaurin, Fictional Formats

  Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without prior written permission of the copyright owner of this book, except by a reviewer who may quote brief passages for review purposes.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of various products referenced in this work of fiction, which have been used without permission. The publication/use of these trademarks is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners.

  All rights reserved.

  PREFACE

  PROLOGUE

  CHAPTER 1

  CHAPTER 2

  CHAPTER 3

  CHAPTER 4

  CHAPTER 5

  CHAPTER 6

  CHAPTER 7

  CHAPTER 8

  CHAPTER 9

  CHAPTER 10

  CHAPTER 11

  CHAPTER 12

  CHAPTER 13

  CHAPTER 14

  CHAPTER 15

  CHAPTER 16

  CHAPTER 17

  CHAPTER 18

  CHAPTER 19

  CHAPTER 20

  ONE WEEK LATER

  FIVE MONTHS LATER

  EPILOGUE

  ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  I’m just going to put it out there … I’m sorry I’m a fucking pussy at the beginning of this book. It isn’t any secret, Amelia burned me bad—like motherfucking, stab me in the heart, leave me lying there by myself bad, but dammit, I wouldn’t change anything if I was ever given the chance. You’ll see that Amelia is damn near perfect and worth every second of misery she put me through. If you find yourself saying, “Jesus Christ, this guy needs to grow a set!” I don’t blame you, but just keep reading. I redeem myself pretty damn well, if I do say so myself, but beware, because holy shit do things get intense! Enjoy reading, my friends—my life is a whole clusterfuck of crazy, but somehow it all comes full circle by the end.

  It was only a little after nine in the morning when I arrived at the track. I couldn’t sleep worth shit the night before, so instead of dragging ass around my apartment, I headed out early, thinking maybe I’d get some practice runs in before everyone else arrived. At a little past eleven, the big black, white, and pink trailer belonging to Ken’s daughter pulled in. The thing looked brand new and was bigger than most people’s homes. Already the rage was building inside. Must be nice to be just handed the best of the best for a spur of the moment hobby.

  She hopped out of the backseat of the black, heavily-tinted Denali. I couldn’t really see her face, but her hair was dark, almost black, and pin straight, hanging down to the middle of her back. She was only in a tank top and tiny little shorts, so I could see she had a rocking body. But that was beside the point—she didn’t belong on a race track with top qualifying racers—you had to work for that shit!

  Annoyed, I escaped to the inside of my trailer, where Micah and the other guys were doing some last minute tune ups to my bike. I tried to forget about the chick next door but kept being reminded of her presence by her damn high-pitched voice.

  “Can anyone else hear that?” I asked, anger showing through my tone.

  They looked at me like I had ten heads.

  “That girl’s fucking voice,” I added for further clarification.

  They shrugged their shoulders. “It’s a chick’s voice,” Micah said like it was no big deal.

  “No, that chick could get every dog’s attention in a ten mile radius with her voice that fucking high.”

  Micah smiled. “Whatever, dude.”

  Just after 12:30, I finally got in my gear, put on my helmet, and fired up the bike. It was my time to concentrate and get focused for the race. My head was down and my arms crossed over my chest, like usual. I was in my own little world when I heard that fucking voice again. I couldn’t handle it any longer; I turned the engine off and stormed out of my trailer to see her sitting on her bike, yelling to Ken over the sound of her engine.

  With my helmet off, they both turned to look at me. I couldn’t see her face hidden underneath her helmet, but I had a clear view of her eyes. They were incredible; a color I couldn’t describe.

  “Problem, Merrick?” Ken asked.

  “Oh, uh, no,” I said, starting to walk backwards. I couldn’t remember why I came out here; my mind was blank other than the inner speculation I was having about what color eyes she had. They weren’t blue, but they weren’t green, and they were too light to be considered hazel; they were almost an aqua color. Do people have aqua colored eyes?

  Micah snapped me out of haze. “Dude! Ya gonna get on your bike or what?”

  “Can people have aqua colored eyes?” I turned and asked him.

  He looked at me, confused as hell. “Have you lost your fucking mind today?”

  I rubbed my face and shook my head, realizing I wasn’t all in; I’d been preoccupied all day by this chick and it was starting to fuck with my head. Who the hell cares what color eyes she had? I had to cut the bullshit and focus on my race.

  At ten minutes to one, we were all called to the starting line. Thank God her bar wasn’t anywhere near mine; I think it was somewhere near the end, but I wasn’t really paying attention. I focused on the metal in front of me, disregarding the noise and commentators talking in the background. It was just me, my bike, and the metal bar, waiting for the drop.

  Moments later, my engine roared and I jumped out into the front of the pack. As usual, I didn’t have a radio set on, so I was on my own, taking turns and jumps at my own pace, watching out for those around me. The first turn was crowded, as was the second. By the third, the seasoned riders had separated from the others.

  By the fourth lap it was just me and another rider out in front, weaving in and out of each other, trying to get to the inside of the turns. It’d been a while since I had hardcore competition, but it was what I loved—a competitor made the game more challenging. Fighting for the first place spot held more honor than riding in painlessly by yourself.

  On the last jump, I had to pull a move I hadn’t in a while—a crossover in mid-air. If I didn’t, I ran the risk of not getting the inside of the final turn. It was by no means safe, and if landed wrong, it could put me in a hospital bed. Thankfully the landing was successful, albeit a little shaky; I didn’t crash land and it gave me the room I needed to take the inside. The son of a bitch could take turns like he weighed two pounds, though, putting him back on my ass and inching beside me as we crossed the finish line.

  When I looked up to see the rankings, the screen was blank; it was too close to call just yet. I moved over to the side and took my helmet off, waiting for the officials to review the replay. Two seconds later, the rider that I was neck and neck with came up beside me and looked up at the board. Everything in my body dropped to the fucking ground when I saw who it was—Ken’s fucking daughter. I watched as she slipped her helmet off her head, rested it on her handlebars, and redid her ponytail, which was messed up from her helmet. I’d watched Kayla, my best friend, do it a zillion and one times to her hair, but the way this chick did it was entrancing.

  “Awesome race, huh?” she turned and asked after she was done.

  I was still mystified. Speechless. How did this even ha
ppen? “Uh, yeah, good run,” I responded like a dumbfuck, scratching the top of my head with my right hand while still holding my helmet in my left.

  “Well, good luck.” She smiled and that’s when I noticed her teeth, fucking white as hell against her olive skin. The girl looked like a damn model caught in a motocross outfit. I was pretty sure I’d fantasized about girls like her a few times.

  “Thanks. May the best man … or woman,” I corrected myself, “win.” I smiled back, feeling my stomach flutter. Shit no! Was this chick actually affecting me?

  She laughed at my slip-up then put her focus back up to the screen as the commentator announced that the results were in.

  “After close viewing and multiple playbacks, it’s been determined that the winner of the 2012 Motocross Finals is … Merrick Drake!”

  The crowd roared along with the annual fireworks that were set off every year, but I wasn’t engulfed with excited adrenaline like I normally was.

  “Congrats!” she yelled over the noise, extending her hand.

  I took her hand and held onto it. “Thanks. You raced awesome. We should practice together sometime.”

  She smiled and began to reply but was cut off when Micah and the rest of the crew bombarded me with celebratory hugs, nudges, yells, and anything else you could imagine an excited group of guys would do. I ignored them all, standing up and trying to see her over the swarms of people now congregating around me. I was getting pissed. I didn’t know why, but I felt like I had something else to say; I needed to finalize plans or something. I just wasn’t done with her yet.

  I stood on my bike to see if I could spot her, but it was no use; it was like finding a needle in a haystack. Before I knew it, I was being pushed into the winner’s circle anyway to be awarded with my trophy and answer the million dollar questions—how did I pull off such a close win? How did I feel? What was I going to do next? They were questions I’d answered a million times before; I had about five sets of answers that I just rotated at every race. Today’s was, “It was definitely a close call coming into the last turn, but I held on, pulling in close, and managed to get enough lead to grab the checkered flag.” It was robotic, but it worked and seemed to appease everyone; they always got all excited and shit.

  I don’t think there had ever been a time I grabbed my trophy so fast and ran, but I wanted to get back to my trailer as quickly as possible to catch her before she left. I still didn’t even know her name. My body instantly relaxed and I sighed with relief when I saw her standing at the bottom of her trailer ramp doing an interview with some radio station. I leisurely walked over, not wanting to interrupt. When I came into view, they turned to me, excited to have me there, too, to talk to. Instantly, I felt like a prick. I didn’t want to steal her thunder, but she didn’t seem to care, smiling and inviting me in to answer questions with her. She was a cool chick, not seeming bratty at all.

  It was like a trickling effect when the other stations got wind of the first and second place winners standing side by side and interviewing together. What originally started as just the one reporter turned into ten more in seconds. Neither of us cared, answering what was going through our heads the entire time and of course, if it bothered me throughout the race that it was a girl riding my tail. That one made me chuckle and I responded honestly.

  “I had no clue it was her until the end.”

  During the first interview, I finally found out her name. Amelia. It was different and I liked it. I could see it working for her.

  “So, uh, I don’t know your plans, but everyone is coming back into the city tonight to celebrate at my bar if you’re down?” The words slipped from my tongue before I even realized what I was saying, but it worked. I wouldn’t mind hanging out with her tonight. I’d already hung a sign on the door before I left saying that the bar was closed for a private party tonight, so I could actually celebrate instead of serving everyone else. It was probably a little ballsy to assume that I’d be taking home the trophy, but it’d been mine for four years running; I had to plan ahead.

  “Yeah sure,” she replied, making my body thrum with excitement. “I actually live in the city, too.”

  “Really? Where?” I asked, needing to know.

  “A few blocks from the square.”

  My mouth dropped. “No shit! Me too.”

  She looked at me like I was blowing steam out of her ass.

  “Swear to fucking God!” I added for assurance.

  “That’s crazy.”

  “Well, do you wanna ride back in together?” I couldn’t believe how forward I was being, but I couldn’t help it. The balls were falling in my court left and right, and there was no way in hell I was dodging them. Amelia was damn near perfect, and I wasn’t about to let an opportunity to spend time with her pass me by.

  Her expression turned apprehensive. “Are ya sure? I probably smell.”

  I laughed. “You definitely don’t smell.” She actually smelled amazing. Every time she moved or her body swayed, I got a whiff of her scent—fresh but with a hint of floral perfume, making me slightly mesmerized each and every time. “But if it’s a big deal to you, my apartment and shower are above my bar.”

  Shit, Merrick! Slow it down.

  She didn’t seem to care, or maybe didn’t pick up on my insinuation about being naked in my apartment, because her grin stayed the same. “I’ll keep that in mind,” she replied.

  Even though I’m not that kind of guy—I swear my goal in life isn’t to get into every hot girl’s panties—thoughts of Amelia naked in my apartment with me possibly by her side, wet in the shower … Jesus. The attraction was definitely there, and a pull like no other to boot. It was becoming pretty damn obvious that I had it bad for this girl. I wanted to spend time with her, get to know her, and not to mention, kiss the lips that I had been admiring. Yeah, I wanted Amelia. I wanted her in the worst possible way.

  It was just past two o’clock in the afternoon. The sun was shining, the streets buzzing below … everything was just as it usually was except for one thing—it was another day on the imaginary calendar that I had in my head that counted the days I hadn’t heard from Amelia.

  We completely hit it off the night of the race. We spent that entire night together, woke up the next morning wrapped around each other, then spent that whole next day together with breakfast at the local coffee shop, lunch at my favorite burger joint, and dinner ordered in and eaten naked on the couch. I was dumbfounded. Everything was fucking perfect, and now she’s just—poof!—gone.

  The fucked up kid from Jersey wasn’t supposed to find a girl like her. I thought she was too good to be true, and now I see that I was right, because it’s been a week—seven long days since I woke up to an empty bed and no fucking clue what went wrong. No calls, no answers, just her voicemail, unanswered texts, and now a telephone line that’s no longer in service. Somehow the perfect girl wasn’t so perfect … at least not for me.

  I couldn’t stand the douche that I’d become since she bounced in and out of my life. I was never the guy that moped in my apartment. I was never the guy that let my heart get in front of my dick. I wasn’t a player, an ass, or even a man-whore, I just didn’t do relationships. I’d always done my own thing, really. I hooked up with girls here and there, when the situation and girl were right, and always treated them with respect, not just like a piece of ass. But I never got attached. Never. Not because I didn’t want to or had commitment issues, I’d just never had that connection. I never had that mad desire (or any desire, really) to get to know them better.

  Until Amelia.

  Amelia was different. She caught my eye immediately. I didn’t meet her in my bar. She wasn’t begging for attention. She was chill, hot, and easy to talk to. The night of the race was one of the best nights of my life. Even with all the alcohol we consumed in those hours, I could remember it vividly—clear as fucking day …

  “I can’t believe you own this bar!” Amelia’s eyes had spread open with shock when she stepped out
of the taxi next to the curb.

  “You’ve been by here before?”

  “Well, yeah. I’m just a few blocks up,” she had said, speaking the obvious, her smile radiant against her flawless skin.

  I couldn’t stop fucking staring. It was like she was an accident I couldn’t look away from; my eyes kept returning to her. I tried not to make it obvious, but she caught me a few times between the train and taxi ride back into the city. She smiled every time. Either she was just a nice ass girl or she could feel it … the connection. It was fucking ridiculous—I didn’t know what it was—some kind of draw, almost like an addiction. Being with her was intoxicating.

  I placed my hand on my heart, acting hurt. “And you never stopped in?”

  Her cheeks flushed an adorable pink as a smile peeked out of the side of her mouth. She glanced down to the ground, almost seeming embarrassed before she looked back up to answer. “Yeah, I don’t get out much. I guess you could call me a homebody.”

  Though the smile remained on her face as she said it, there was distance in her eyes. They spoke. They spoke of heartache, of a past she wasn’t proud of. I wanted to ask what it was—what shit for life hand she had been dealt. Because through our non-stop conversations, I knew that I had totally misjudged her—she wasn’t the spoiled, rich bitch that I thought she was. Well, she still could be … possibly … but not the whole bitch part—she was far from that. She definitely was shaping out to be the total package actually: hot as hell and super easy to talk to. There wasn’t a second throughout the ride back that we weren’t talking, laughing and stealing quick glances from each other, but on top of everything, she was into dirt biking—what chick could you say was all of that? You couldn’t! Amelia was fucking perfect, one of kind, and if I knew girls the little bit that I did, I’d say that she wasn’t too opposed to me either. She did the whole blushing, bashful, sweet ass grin thing that girls did when they were interested, but on a whole different level. It wasn’t annoying or over the top—it was cute and I think actually shy, and hot as hell at the same time.