Permanent Lines (11 page)

I snickered, loving that the little attitude at the end of her order was directed
towards me. She was cute when she was annoyed; I liked pushing her buttons.

“Nice choice,” I said quietly, giving her a wink before stepping up next to place
my order. “I’ll just have a small vanilla, thanks.”

“What?!” She punched me in the arm.

I held my bicep where she just hit me, acting like I was wounded. “What? I like vanilla
ice cream.”

“Oh, but when I ordered it, I was boring,” Nova exaggerated.

“Hey,” I held up my hands in defense, “no one ever said it was wrong. I happen to
like boring ice cream. You’re the one that felt it needed a little spice.” I pointed
to her cone, which was starting to fall apart—one of the reasons why I never got those
dips—too goddamn messy. “How’s that working for you, by the way?”

She rolled her eyes, but couldn’t hold back the amusement in her grin. “You’re an
ass!”

I wiggled my eyebrows with a devilish grin. “And you love it, sweetheart!”

It was just after four when my phone rang with none other than Kayla’s name on the
screen. I’d already talked to her last night about how the café date went with Nova,
and by the excitement in her tone, I’d say she was pretty fucking stoked that we were
spending today with each other, too.

“We’re still together, but can’t fucking stand another minute with her,” I greeted,
walking beside Nova down into the subway. “I think I’m actually going to ditch her
in a few minutes, so be prepared if she calls you pissed.”

Nova looked at me, amused, shaking her head and trying to contain her laugh.

“Merrick Drake!!!” Kayla exclaimed. “You better be fucking kidding!”

I couldn’t stay serious, hearing the obvious rage in her voice. I wasn’t kidding when
I said Kayla had a bite to her, though it was more like a mean-ass rottweiler growl
right then. I chuckled, clueing her into my obvious lie.

“You’re an ass, Drake,” she scolded, but with relief in her tone.

“So I’ve been told.” I winked at Nova.

“Anyway, jerk, where are you guys? Miles and I were going to do dinner and then something
fun after, but wanted it to be a couples’ thing.”

“Do I have a choice?”

“Not really.”

“So what are we doing tonight then, Ms. Kayla?” I rolled my eyes, but wasn’t a bit
annoyed. I hated her fucking pouty look, and I knew she was making it even though
we were talking on the phone. She knew how much I hated it, too. There was no give
and take with Kayla; if she wanted you to do something, you did it. That’s the only
place she got annoying, really, when she showed her true girl colors, demanding her
way. I mean, here I was on a date with someone that Kayla insisted I meet, but apparently
I enjoyed having a chick tell me what to do every so often, so I just learned to go
with the flow—it was much easier for me, and then she was happy. I imagined she and
Miles had a similar unspoken agreement—do what the woman says, and no one gets hurt.

“Ut-oh,” Nova commented next to me, obviously knowing Kayla’s ways.

I gave Nova an exaggerated nod, agreeing to her comment, but didn’t dare respond,
because …

“Whatever! I heard her,” Kayla said right on cue, making me snicker, because
that’s
exactly why. I wasn’t kidding about her rottweiler instincts … attack! “It’ll be fun,”
she eased, “I promise.”

“Uh huh,” I replied, but not with confidence.

“Just be at the penthouse at six,” she practically demanded before hanging up in true
Kayla fashion. At times, I really did question the possibility of her having multiple
personalities. Damn, could her tone change with a flip of the switch. I imagine that
couldn’t be all that easy. Good thing she was a sweetass friend. I really do love
her, truly. Busting her balls and getting her all riled up was just way more fun;
egging her on was just natural to do.

I brought Nova back to her condo after I talked with Kayla so she could get ready.
With Kayla and Miles, it was almost never a t-shirt and jeans kind of night; I was
going to have to find something to wear, too.

Nova lived down in SoHo, not long by subway from Times Square, where Kayla and I lived.
Her place was as swanky as I expected—security/doorman at the door, marble everywhere,
and statues probably costing more than my bar and apartment combined. If I’d forgotten
how wealthy Nova was while hanging out, it all came back in full force on my face
when I stepped inside. I didn’t go past the front door. I couldn’t. It felt weird
being inside, like people were staring at me. I could never be one of
them.
I had no problems being friends with them as long as they weren’t douches about it,
but living amongst them, being
privileged
with EVERYTHING … No, that wasn’t me. I was good with what I had and didn’t have,
but walking in there with just a t-shirt and jeans, I got a couple glances, some “who
the hell is this tool?” looks. Not that I cared, the pompous assholes could suck a
nut for all I cared, I just didn’t like the vibe I got there. It wasn’t my thing.

“I’ll meet you back here in an hour or so,” I told her before leaning in and kissing
her cheek. We hadn’t gotten back to that kiss we had yesterday; it didn’t feel right.
I’ll openly admit that
that
was probably alcohol-induced. I liked Nova—I did—I just didn’t feel it yet, the need
to move forward. For now, she was a cool chick to look at and hang out with, which
was really all I needed.

I texted Kayla once I got back my apartment.

Me:
Where the fuck are we going tonight?

I hated surprises. I hated not knowing what was ahead of me. Blame my shit childhood
for that. I never knew what I was going to find when I stopped home to check on my
mom every day after school. Sometimes it would be business as usual, her slumped on
the couch watching soap operas, giving me a slight head nod when I walked past, but
then there were those times I found her face down and passed out on the kitchen floor
with a needle, a prescription pill container, booze, or all three sitting beside her.
It’s sad that at only eleven or twelve I knew what to do, how to check to see if she
was still alive. The 911 operator didn’t even answer with the formal greeting from
calling so many times—they knew the emergency. It was more like, “Hi, Merrick, is
everything okay? What are we looking at tonight?” All I had to say was, “Yeah, just
a detox night,” or “probably should pump her stomach this time.” I didn’t even have
to wait for them to get there, either—just had to leave the front door unlocked when
I left. I
never
hung around long enough to meet the ambulance. I wasn’t
that
invested.

So I didn’t like surprises. I liked to know what I was getting myself into and what
my night was going to look like. Sue me.

Kayla:
You and your frickin surprises. No fun, Merrick!

Me:
Just tell me where the hell we’re going, please!

Kayla:
Whoa! Breaking out the manners.

I rolled my eyes. She acted like I was some Neanderthal caveman.

Me:
Whatever.

Kayla:
Geez Louise! Painting class. It’s a couples painting class. Before you freak- there’s
food and wine there.

I shook my head, rubbed my face, and exhaled in complete and utter defeat. Was she
out of her fucking mind? Who the hell would pick a painting class for something fun
to do? And me? Did she not fucking know who the fuck I was?

Me:
Not happening. Good fucking try.

I threw my phone down on the counter then hopped into the shower. I wouldn’t ditch
Nova tonight, but there was no fucking way that I was going to do a damn painting
class … that served wine, no less. I didn’t drink wine. Wine was for pansies. I didn’t
even serve it at my bar. It was annoying. Girls turned up the bitch-o-meter at least
by ten when they got a glass of wine in their hand. That was mine and Kayla’s rule
when hanging out—we always drank beer or something hard, none of that wine shit …
Save that for the Miles Blackwell crowd.

I heard my phone buzzing out of control while I was in the shower. I laughed. The
girl was probably going buck wild and if I knew her like I knew her, she probably
was huffing and puffing, slipping on her shoes and calling downstairs for a driver
to bring her to my apartment. She might even be banging on my door right now. She
knew me for the stubborn fuck that I was and if I didn’t want to do something, I wasn’t
going to do it. Even
her
persistence failed sometimes. That was the glory of being single and on my own; I
could do whatever the fuck I wanted.

Seconds later, and right on cue, I heard the door to my apartment slam shut and the
sweet sound of Kayla’s voice.

“Where the hell are you?” she yelled just as I was pulling on my briefs.

I laughed. “In here, darling!” I called in an obnoxious falsetto.

No more than a second later, the bathroom door swung open, slamming the wall behind
it, allowing me to be greeted by Kayla’s stunningly evil glare. She was truly a charmer.

“Hello, beautiful,” I said with an amused grin.

“Seriously?!”

“Calm down, killer. Take a few deep breaths,” I advised her calmly, unable to hide
my smirk.

She wasn’t having it. “You’re going, Merrick!” she shouted, ignoring my words of wisdom.

I rolled my eyes, annoyed, before turning towards the mirror and picking up my can
of shaving cream, completely ignoring her.

“You need to go,” she continued, but not as bitchtastically (and yes, I just made
up that word).

I looked at her with a raised brow, half my face covered with cream.

“Come on! We never do anything together.”

Without looking at her, focusing instead on what I was doing so I didn’t gash myself,
I answered, “I believe we just hung out the other day.”

She sighed before jumping up on the counter and sitting next to the sink. “You know
what I mean.” She handed me the washcloth she knew I was looking for.

I knew the voice. I knew she was upset, and I knew she was being serious. I met her
eyes, this time with a more genuine, not mocking, gaze. “I’ve got no issues with the
guy. We’re good. I’ve told you this.”

“You say a whole four words when you see him,” she whined.

“Three, actually,” I said proudly.

She started counting on her fingers.

“The ‘what’ and ‘is’ are put together, not separate,” I explained.

“They’re two words, just put together …” she tried to justify her way of thinking,
but then rolled her eyes, annoyed. “Whatever. ‘What’s up, man?’?! Really? That does
not
make you guys best friends.”

I gave her the look. No matter what the hell happened, I would never in a bazillion
and one years be
best friends
with Miles Blackwell. I don’t even know where she got that hair-brained idea from.
We did cordial, we did not do friendship.

“Or even friends … acquaintances. People that don’t even know each other converse
more than you guys do.”

I exhaled, exhausted with this topic. I knew she wouldn’t budge, and I knew how much
Miles and I having some kind of a relationship meant to her. I didn’t understand it,
but it meant a lot to her, so I caved. Per usual.

“Fine! But don’t ever say that I don’t do anything for you!”

Her lips immediately curled up, stretching the length of her face before pouncing,
wrapping her arms around my neck. “Never!” she said in an appreciative tone, making
me smile. Kayla was like a little sister to me. Making her happy and hearing the cheerful
tone in her voice was enough to make this guy melt.

“It better be a good fucking restaurant we’re going to first, though!”