Permanent Lines

by Ashley Wilcox

  Still, I knew there was much more than what she showed on the outside. Only people like us could see more, could see the shitty part. She carried something dark and I wanted to know; I wanted to know it all, just like I wanted to know her inside and out. I was about to ask, so fucking intrigued, but I bit my tongue—too soon. I didn’t want to seem annoying, needy, or overindulgent, because I was far from that. I just … I don’t know … cared, I guess.

  It dawned on me how much Amelia and I were panning out to be alike. She had a past just as I did, and one she wasn’t interested in discussing. She had a passion for riding just like me. She was someone that I’d not only like to see sprawled out naked below me, but someone that I felt a connection with, someone I had things in common with that I didn’t need confirmation about to understand. And those eyes … they spoke the same depths of pain that I’m sure mine had so many times.

  “Well, with a fucking body like that, I don’t blame ya,” I joked, not believing the dumbass line that just came from my mouth. Fucking tool! I shook my head, looking down, embarrassed. Who fucking says that? Her being hot means she can’t go out in public? Good fucking God.

  She didn’t say anything, but I was sure she was about to. I could see her cracking her knuckles, fidgeting as I tried to get my stupid shit together.

  “Don’t respond to that,” I added once I finally had the balls to look up, taking her hand and turning to the entrance of the bar to get inside before making a bigger ass of myself.

  I unlocked the deadbolts then held open the door for her to walk in first. Micah and the guys were already there—they had a key to the back entrance that they used at their leisure. They all started shouting and acting obnoxious when they saw us walk in. I shook my head and smiled.

  “If it ain’t number one and number two,” my buddy Grant greeted us immediately.

  I nodded my head with a grin. “Grant, Amelia. Amelia, Grant,” I introduced, motioning my hand back and forth between them.

  Grant wiggled his eyebrows, impressed, making me punch his arm. He immediately gave me a dirty look. “What the shit, Drake?”

  He looked totally confused and I guess I could understand why. He knew there wasn’t shit going on with Amelia and I. She was available … to the naked eye. But I don’t know … maybe not from my point of view. Dammit, what the hell was going on?

  “She’s not a fucking piece of meat, bro,” I told him, trying to play it off neutral, respecting her as female and not as anything more.

  But did I want more? Dammit … maybe.

  “Sorry, they can be a little much,” I whispered into Amelia’s ear after Grant gave me a suspicious glance then walked away.

  She shrugged her shoulders, a smile reaching both sides of her face, seeming amused. “They’re fun!”

  I blew out air, relieved. She didn’t see my cock block, claiming her from Grant. Shit, I might as well piss on her leg, too while I’m at it for the guys here to acknowledge.

  It didn’t get much better once we got a few more feet in. We were getting high fives and pats on the back, and alcohol was handed to us from all angles, which was cool, but the looks—holy shit were my friends fucking pigs. Not that I could blame them, Amelia was fucking hot as hell, but Jesus fucking Christ did my blood boil each and every time one of the dumbasses said some wise-ass, perverted remark to her. She laughed it off, probably used to it, but not me. I, for some reason, inched closer to her each and every time. Apparently I was still pissing on her leg. I was being a fucking idiot, leaving my balls back somewhere at the damn track.

  “Aw, thanks, man,” Micah said as he reached for the pint of beer in my hand.

  I took it back, giving him a “yeah, right” smirk before handing it to Amelia. “Get your own fucking beer! This one’s for my girl.”

  Amelia raised her eyebrow, intrigued with my statement. Micah mirrored her movement.

  “You’ll see, sweetheart,” I told her with a mischievous grin. “You’ll be my girl in no time.” I looked at my watch and winked. “Probably by the end of the night.”

  “Quite confident, aren’t we?” she practically purred.

  God, her voice was sexy. How in fuck’s sake I thought she had an annoying voice, I don’t know, because it was damn near impossible to resist her once her beautiful lips moved. She was intoxicating as fuck!

  “I’m just … um … gonna go over here,” Micah said as he backed up, bumping into Maddy as he did.

  I laughed at his awkward voice. Apparently he was seeing what I was feeling with Amelia. It was that fucking obvious.

  As soon as Amelia and I were somewhat alone again—as much as we could be when the bar’s packed—I leaned in and whispered in her ear, “I’m quite confident, by the way.”

  She snickered with an adorable grin, but her flushed cheeks were unmistakable. She was affected by my words, just as I was with hers. I didn’t need any verbal confirmation—she wanted me just as much as I wanted her. It was crazy as fuck how quickly the spark between us was growing, but it was there, clear as fucking day. Only a dumbfuck would deny it, and as much of a stupidshit I was, there was no way in hell that I would be walking away from this one. I was hooked.

  By two in the morning, Amelia and I were quickly moving from flirtatious comments to wandering, needy hands. We were by no means acting like two hormonal teenagers eager to get to the next base, but our bodies were definitely finding ways to touch and our lips were getting dangerously close to connecting. The space between us was minimal and the hardness in my pants wasn’t going away anytime soon. If anything, my fucking cock felt like it was going to explode if it didn’t get some relief.

  Needing to adjust myself, I walked over to the bar to get us another drink. I poured two perfect drafts and turned around to see her sexy ass black thong showing above her jeans. It wasn’t hanging out purposely, like some slutty ass bitches in the bar have shown, it was peaking out just enough; just enough to get a vivid picture in my head, the elastic only skimming the top of her jeans, showing the “T” it formed. Immediately, I was envisioning what the rest looked like—was there a pattern on the front? How far did it cut down? Was it barely covering her sweet little …

  Dammit Merrick! I shook my head. I was about to have a wet dream just by staring at her, picturing the damn panties alone! This girl … shit, did she do some crazy shit with my head.

  I took a deep breath before walking over. I had to. My sanity was teetering. “Your thong is showing,” I whispered into her ear before handing her the beer.

  Her body visibly sank into the stool as her tongue wet her lips. Another deep breath was needed. My fucking cock was beginning to ache—that tongue … that mouth … fucking shit, she was hot!

  Amelia’s eyes glanced up, peaking through her thick batting eyelashes, making me melt even more. “So?” she answered.

  Oh man, I was borderline caving, ready to throw her over my shoulder and carry her upstairs, but there was something holding me back. I couldn’t understand why, because I wanted her so fucking bad it hurt and I was sick of diverting my horny ass head. There’s only so many times you can think about baseball—talk about fucking blue balls—but as much as I wanted to have Micah lock up and carry her away like a caveman, I wanted to wait just as much. I didn’t know why, but treating her like I just wanted to fuck her right this second didn’t seem right. Amelia wasn’t just any girl. I wanted to take my time with her, savor each second. And I really was enjoying just hanging around and talking and drinking. That can’t be said for other females.

  Conversation aside, controlling myself wasn’t easy, and when she looked up at me like that—Jesus. That girl knew exactly what she was doing with the lost-little-girl eyelash thing. My hand was already working with a mind of its own, sliding down her back, slipping under the top of that black thong, pushing it down and away from anyone else’s eyes. Christ, her skin was warm; it felt like silk beneath my fingers, and I didn’t want anyone getting a look but me, because that bit of fabric, the
sight mixed with the feeling … Damn. Amelia may not be technically mine, but she definitely was tonight.

  Her body immediately went straight, stiffening. I smiled. Hell fucking yeah, I smiled. She liked my hands on her body so much that she was fighting it, trying to control the sensation moving within.

  Our eyes were glued together, glossed over with a mutual understanding—we wanted each other … badly. My mind was racing. I wanted to say something, but didn’t know what. I wanted to just invite her upstairs but I didn’t know how without sounding like a douche. I was sweating, almost nervous, like a virgin waiting for someone to make the next move.

  Amelia’s eyes drifted to my mouth then carried back to my eyes before she stood from her stool. “I have to use the bathroom,” she said, her low, warm breath radiating off my skin.

  She was so close that it would have been easy to just lean in and kiss her, and I wanted to—damn, I wanted to so bad—but I didn’t. I smiled an amused, captivated, douchebag grin, before responding, “K.”

  She stared a moment longer, our faces only inches apart, her teeth clamped on her lower lip. My chest was visibly rising and falling and my heart was beating out of chest. And then I did it. I leaned in and placed my lips on hers. They were as soft, as pure, and just as silky as her skin. She kissed me back, helping my free hand find the back of her head to hold her in place in front of me.

  We stayed like that for minutes. No tongue, just lips, but the most amazing kiss I had ever had in all of my life—I felt it in every inch of my body—it was real, tantalizing, and a moment I would never forget.

  I ran my hands over my face. I had to stop thinking about Amelia and that night. It was done. Over. The past. It was just another night with just another girl.

  Amelia was just another girl.

  The weather was still a little brisk; we were in that last part of the winter where it was a constant mix of weather—some days warm and some days downright freezing with the occasional light snowfall. Business was still steady at the bar since it was still too cold for people to do things outdoors at night. I was glad they spent their time inside instead. This time of year was when my cash flow/revenue for the bar was at its highest. Tonight was the night before Easter and one of the busiest nights of the year for me. For some reason, people liked to get shitfaced the night before a major holiday. Maybe it was the idea of having to spend the whole next day with family or just the simple fact that most didn’t have to wake up and go to work. I’d probably go with both.

  My buddy, Micah, always helped out on nights like these. I didn’t trust him behind the bar—he was a smartass dude, but pouring drinks wasn’t really his forte and he couldn’t make a mixed drink to save his life. He excelled at keeping glasses clean and empty bottles off the tables, though, so he was invaluable on a busy night. I always gave him a good chunk of my tips, too, so he didn’t mind helping out.

  The doors opened at nine with Tanner, another buddy of mine, outside checking IDs and stamping hands. Remembering who I checked on busy nights was a pain in the ass; having someone at the door was so much easier!

  As soon as I flipped the sign to “open,” people started pouring in. It always made my excitement rise, seeing how many people chose my bar on nights like these. Out of every bar in New York City, they were sitting at my hole in the wall the night before Easter. I guess, if given the choice, I’d pick a bar like mine, too. Not because I’m biased, but because I’m not about to get all fucking dressed up for all those swanky bars with a dress code. When I want to drink a beer and chill, I want to be damn comfortable too. And I could care less what people came into my bar looking like—as long as you were covering your goods and not offending anyone else—come on in!

  “What can I get you ladies tonight?” I asked the blonde that stepped forward first. She was cute, hot even. I’d guess early twenties, but not too early, maybe 23 or 24.

  Her eyes surveyed my upper body, raising her eyebrows with an impressed, flirtatious grin when she got back to my face. I grinned right back. I’m not cocky (I get hit on regularly), but I chose wisely who I give it back to and this girl … I liked this one from first glance. She wasn’t shy, but she wasn’t trashy, and she had impressive assets. I didn’t particularly need girls to be “gifted” in that department, but I was a guy—our eyes, hands, mouths … they loved tits—it was just a way of life for us.

  “What do you recommend?” she answered coyly, leaning in, her arms crossed and resting on the bar, pushing her cleavage up even more.

  I tried to keep my eyes up and not drop my gaze; not the easiest fucking thing to do when they’re presented and begging to be stared at like they were right then, but I wasn’t a pig and didn’t want her to think that I was. Though, I just wasn’t blind either, and if you’re gonna prop them like that, you’re gonna get some glances.

  I smirked before responding, “Between the Sheets.”

  Her eyes sprung open immediately. “Excuse me?”

  “You asked for my suggestion. It’s a drink. A popular one, in fact,” I added smoothly, like I was speaking the obvious.

  She nodded her head slowly, her sultry grin back on her face. “I guess I’ll take one of those then.”

  I smiled before picking a clean glass up from under the bar and selecting the required rum from behind me. She watched attentively as I made it, glancing up at my face periodically. I kept my attention on the drink but never lost focus of her body language out of the corner of my eye. I noticed a tattoo on her wrist when I handed her the drink—no regrets. Interesting. This was a Y.O.L.O chick for sure—You Only Live Once.

  “Seven dollars, sweetheart,” I said after placing an extra napkin on the bar for her.

  “Sweet,” she said in reference to her drink before pulling a card from her black clutch, placing it down on the wood-topped bar. “You can just start a tab.”

  “I will. Thanks,” I answered, holding it up before turning to place it next to the register.

  I moved to the next customer when I turned back towards the bar, but made sure I acknowledged her with a little wink first. I would only give her subtle interest gestures for now. I wasn’t a play it hard to get guy—not even close. Games were for fucking pussies and girls- I didn’t have time for that shit. I just didn’t want to seem all in right away. I wasn’t fucking desperate by any means and didn’t want her to think that I was.

  As I took some more orders, I noticed her and her friends glancing at me and conversing back and forth. I was getting a whole lot of smiles and flirtatious nods—looks like I was ranking decent in their Who I’d Fuck little black books.

  I shook my head. Dammit. Hooking up with chicks from my bar wasn’t something I encouraged, but by damn, the arrow was pointing in the right direction for me and in situations such as this one—hot girl, not trashy, totally into me—I was willing to make an exception. She would be the perfect distraction.

  Micah came up beside me with a bin of dirties, noticing the same. “Holy fuck me eyes, bro.”

  “Not just me then, huh?”

  He shook his head with an eyebrow raised. “Shit, no, that girl wants a shake by the Drake.”

  I rolled my eyes and pushed him aside, needing to get the bottle of tequila next to him.

  “What? She’s fucking hot! You’re not gonna hit that?”

  “I didn’t say that. It’s just your weird-ass sayings.”

  He looked at me like I had ten heads. “Shake from the Drake? I thought that one was stellar.”

  “It’s almost as bad as your Thunder from Down Under. Which would only be even moderately funny if any of us were Australian.”

  “Are you kidding me?” He looked genuinely confused. “This stuff is Hallmark card material!”

  I stifled a laugh. “Hallmark, dude? Really?”

  “Someday, bro. Someday,” he guaranteed, pointing at me while he started to walk away.

  I chuckled. Fucking idiot!

  “How’s it goin’, Drake?” One of my regulars set up
shop at his usual spot near the end of the bar and motioned for his beer.

  Had I mentioned that I got a mix of people at McShane’s? Yeah, I got ‘em all—the old, young, and ones with no life or goal in life than to sit at the end of a bar and chat it up with the neighborhood bartender.

  “Same old, same old, Rich,” I told him, pouring him his usual Coors draught.

  “Any new ones?”

  “New ones?” I laughed it off. “What do I look like?”

  “Oh, to be young again, Merrick.” He grinned. “Do ‘em while you can, son. Then when they’re all used up, save a good one for the future.”

  I snickered and shook my head. Old Man Rich had to be at least 70 and always had something philosophical on his mind.

  “Nah, I’m good,” I told him. “I pick ‘em smart and never settle down.”

  “What kind of life is that?” he practically shouted, holding up his hand, pissed. “God gave you that ding-a-ling to have fun with, then to knock some lucky gal up with.”

  I almost spit out the water I just sipped, laughing hysterically.

  “Women can be a pain is the ass, don’t I know it,” he shook his head, elaborating, “but there ain’t nothing like sharing a lifetime with the one that can make you happy, son.”

  “You married, Rich?” I asked, realizing that I knew very little about him, just where and what he liked to drink.

  “Forty-seven years,” he said confidently. “And I miss my lady every single day.”

  “Aw, man, I’m sorry,” I apologized sincerely. “But forty-seven years,” I whistled, impressed, “that’s a long ass time.”

  He nodded. “What I wouldn’t give to go back in time and live it all again,” he admitted. “Don’t cut yourself short, son. Loving someone ain’t a bad thing.” He shook his head. “Not at all.”

  “I’ll keep it in mind.” I grinned, handing him another draft. “But I can’t make any promises.”

  Truth was, though, I didn’t want to keep anything like that in mind. I’d already been burnt badly. The only girl that ever made me feel anything, even though it was only for less than 48 hours, left me high and dry. I was convinced that that life just wasn’t for me. Meeting someone worth settling down with was crazy talk … it wasn’t worth it to me, especially while I was still hung up on her.