The Fragile Line: Part One (The Fine Line #2)

by Alicia Kobishop

  He couldn’t mean that. But the determined look in his eyes told me otherwise. He didn’t love me at all. Not even in the slightest bit. In this moment, he hated me.

  What the hell have I done?

  I nodded. “Yeah, I get it.”

  “You crossed the line, Chlo. I hope you’re happy.” He pointed at the door, “Get out.”

  My mind raced. How would I fix this? I needed time to think. I took a step back. Then another and began the walk of shame out of his apartment.

  As I stepped down the stairs, he called out, “How did you get in here anyway?”

  I kept walking without looking back. There was no point in lying anymore. “The door was open. I let myself in.”

  I could feel his eyes on me, and the last thing I wanted to do was change into my clothes in front of him. So, I braced myself for the cold, pushed the door open, and let the icy winter air take my mind off the nightmare that just happened.

  As the wind stung my legs, I heard him shout out, “Keep the damn shirt! I don’t want it anymore!”

  CHAPTER FIVE

  ~Matt~

  Present Day

  You know that surreal place your mind goes to just before waking? That alternate universe where dreams and reality collide? I can say with one hundred percent certainty that there’s nothing better than waking from that place to find that the fan-fucking-tastic dream you were just having—you know, the one where a beautiful woman is licking your cock like it’s a damn delicious ice cream cone—is all reality.

  Welcome to my current situation.

  In my sleep-dazed haze, I momentarily mistook the girl who was currently under my sheets for the one in my dreams, until my own pleasure-induced moan woke me up completely, and images from the previous night flashed through my mind.

  Not that I was complaining about the girl in my bed…trust me, she was dream-worthy too. Last night was a damn good night with…Hailey. Or…Kailey? Shit, what was her name? I knew it rhymed with “ailey,” but I couldn’t quite recall it with her tongue currently distracting me the way it was.

  “Mmm,” she moaned as the tip of my dick touched the back of her throat. The vibration of her voice felt incredible. Just as I was about to tell her to do that again, she withdrew her mouth and poked her head out of the covers with a sexy smirk, “’Morning, sleepy-head.”

  “Heyyyy—“ Bailey? “—Sunshine.”

  Maybe she never told me her name. I can’t say that’s never happened before. Shaun, one of the guys on my security team at Rain, had a name for girls like her. Bouncer-pouncers. Every night-club had them—women who only had eyes for the bouncers. Why? All I can say to that is that some women only want musicians or actors. Some want athletes. Some women only want mass murderers on death row. Others dig the man in the tight black security t-shirt at their local nightclub.

  What’s the draw to these women? For me, it’s having a little bit of fun when all I’m doing all night long is watching drunk people make asses of themselves. Hell, I’m not in a relationship, and I don’t plan to be. Been there. Don’t recommend it. But…I’m still a man. And flirting with beautiful women makes the night more interesting. If I find someone I like enough to take home, and they’re up for it too, then yeah, it’s a bonus for both of us. We’re all adults here. Everyone wins.

  The draw for any given woman could be a number of things. Could be purely physical. Most nightclub security staff keep in damn good shape. Could be they like the alpha take-no-shit-from-anyone-even-the-girl mentality that most bouncers live by.

  I mean, if I had a dollar for every good-looking guy in the club with a collared shirt and gelled up hair who stood around with his buddies, trying to work up the nerve to talk to an attractive girl, just to be let down by the fact that he waited too long because some five-foot dude with a lazy eye and no wing-man just went up to her, said shit to her that made her laugh, and now they’re making out, I’d be a millionaire.

  Women want a guy with confidence, and most bouncers, at least the ones I know, have it. And if they don’t, they pretend they do.

  To the contrary of what some may think, I’m not some man-whore. I don’t bring home girls every night…just some nights. Nights when I don’t feel like coming home to an empty house. Besides, half the time these women just tried to play me to get special treatment at the club in front of their friends. It’s easy to tell which ones just wanted comp’d drinks, or to skip in line, and I’d shut that shit down pretty quick. I only brought home the ones with at least a little bit of self-respect.

  Rain had a strict ‘not-on-the-clock’ rule about hooking up with any customers on the premises, but after bar close, anyone interested enough to wait was fair game. If I felt a connection, I figured it didn’t hurt to take it to the next level. Last night that “anyone” happened to be the cute brunette who was currently eyeing me suspiciously.

  “Sunshine?” she whispered with a sexy smile and a hint of reluctance.

  Oh hell no, she wasn’t going to call me out on that. Was she?

  “Yeah,” I gave her a reassuring grin, “Sunshine.”

  What else was I going to say? Might as well try to play it off.

  “You know,” she said just before she rose up on her knees, straddling me, letting the sheet fall off her shoulders to expose her naked body in all its erotic perfection, “I love it when guys say my name.”

  She took my dick in her hand and softly stroked, my body enjoying every moment of it while my mind went on red alert. This was a trap. Or some kind of trickery. Or at the very least, a test.

  One that I would fail.

  Shit. I’m not one to stand for douchebaggery. Especially not from myself. As much as I wanted her to keep doing what she was doing, I felt like an ass for not knowing her name, especially since it seemed to matter to her. The fact that it seemed to matter to her was a red flag all on its own, considering we had the talk last night before we ever left the club about not turning our time together into anything more than one night.

  That being said, I still should’ve at least caught her damn name.

  I took her wrist and pulled her to me, “Baby, I had a great time with you last night, but I’m not gonna lie. To me, your name is Sunshine. If that’s an issue, I get it. I’d really love to finish what you started here this morning, but I won’t try to stop you if you want to leave.”

  To my surprise, she didn’t look the least bit disappointed. Instead, she bit her smile and shook her head, “I’m not leaving until you make me come at least one more time.”

  Thank fuck.

  “Alright then, c’mere,” I flipped her around on the bed, her delighted squeal piercing my ears.

  She ended up staying another hour, finishing what she’d started.

  ~~~

  After Sunshine called herself an Uber cab and left, and after I ate some eggs and drank some coffee to help me wake up, I headed to Tanner Automotive, my day job, to do a tune-up on one of the classic cars that had come into the shop.

  I honestly couldn’t wait. Having a passion for muscle cars and being able to work on them alongside good friends was more than I could ask for. One of those friends was Logan Tanner, who had inherited part-ownership of the shop when his father passed away from cancer a few years ago. Logan owned the shop with his uncle. Good move on Logan’s dad’s part to split the shop between the two of them because Logan was an asset to the mechanical side of the shop, and his uncle made a fantastic business owner and manager.

  As I pulled into the shop’s parking lot, I saw what looked a hell of a lot like Chloe’s car. A second later, she walked out the side door of the building.

  She was the last person I expected to see here. Especially on a Sunday. I knew she and Logan had hooked up in the past, but with him being love struck over Liv, I thought Chloe was out of the picture. Guess I was wrong.

  Platinum hair with pink ends whooshed across her face in the brisk winter breeze as she ran to her car in nothing but socks and an oversized t-shirt. I pull
ed my truck up next to her car as she opened her driver’s side door. She threw her clothes and boots into her car and quickly jumped in.

  I left my truck running and stepped out of it, then jogged over to hers, and knocked on her window. Startled, she looked at me, and my stomach dropped. Tears. Shit. Tears on a woman always got to me. Always kicked me into protector mode. She rolled her window down, teeth chattering and white breath fogging out from her nose and lips.

  With my palm on the roof of her car, I leaned in slightly. “You okay?”

  She faked a smile. “Yeah. I’m fine. It’s nothing.”

  Nothing my ass. Her hands shook on the steering wheel. Goosebumps covered her bare legs. Eyes bloodshot and misty. This girl was definitely not okay.

  “My truck’s warm.” I opened her door. “You can change in it.”

  “Jesus, Matt, I don’t need your help. Close the damn door. My car will warm up in a minute.”

  “Uh-uh. Nope. Your lips are turning purple, and your fingers are bright red. You can’t even feel them, can you?” She stared at me like I made no sense at all. I smiled. “Go on, get in before you freeze. Don’t worry, I won’t look.”

  “Ugh. Fine.” She grabbed her clothes and hopped into my black F-150. I closed the door behind her and waited outside. Even if I wanted to watch her (which, hell yeah, I did—I’m a guy and she’s easy on the eyes—but fuck no, I wouldn’t. I’ve got principles, and I’m not a douche), the windows were tinted dark enough that all I could see on them was the reflection of the sun in the sky.

  It took her a while. Longer than any normal person would need to change their clothes. Finally, she came out fully dressed with the t-shirt in her hand. Tears gone, although the sadness lingered in her eyes. Maybe she needed those extra minutes to attempt to get her shit together.

  “You still look cold.” I took my black knit hat off and held it out to her. “You want my hat?”

  “Ew! It probably has sweat and oils in it! I’m not wearing that.”

  “Oils? Like man-gel or something? My head is buzzed, woman, I don’t use oils.”

  “Woman?” She smiled but tried not to. Even a tiny smile meant she felt better. At least a little bit. Mission accomplished. “Oh God, don’t ever call me that.”

  “Why not? Embrace it! ‘Cause you are all woman…baby.” I purposely looked her up and down—in a totally funny, not-creepy way.

  She laughed out loud. This was going better than I expected. She rolled her eyes and took a seat in her car. “Just so you know…I’m not your baby either.”

  “Alright,” I grinned. “I can take a hint. But hey, you’ve got my number, right? In case you ever want to…”

  “God, Matt! I’m not hooking up with you!”

  I chuckled. “I love that your mind went there, Pink, but I didn’t mean it like that. All I meant was—if you ever need anything—you can call me. Okay?”

  Her smile faded. Shit, I made her think of the thing that was making her sad. She probably thought I pitied her. In a way, I guess I did. Nobody enjoyed the walk of shame, and this one in particular seemed to be especially hard on her. Why did she keep going back to someone who didn’t want her? Anyone within ten miles of Logan and Liv could see how they felt about each other. It was like Chloe relished in the pain the rejection inflicted upon her.

  I reminded myself that this was the last girl who needed any pity, and it wasn’t my job to rescue her. Most people saw her as selfish. Ruthless. But the girl I saw the night of Gavin’s party was different. Real. No ulterior motives. No fake personality. Just Chloe. And that Chloe—the real one—was intriguing. Fun. I had caught a small glimpse of the girl under the mask that night, and I wanted to bring it out of her again. But I had no clue how to do it.

  Then again, who knows, maybe that night was a fluke. Maybe the person I saw that night was nothing more than wishful thinking on my part. A manifestation of what I wanted to see. Maybe that girl is too deeply buried to ever see the light of day again. Maybe I just needed to stay away from her.

  “Or don’t.” I backed away from her car. “Whatever.”

  CHAPTER SIX

  ~Matt~

  Two Months Ago

  The Night of Gavin’s Party

  A whip cracked. Wait. Nope. That was Chloe’s hand making contact with Liv’s cheek. Damn, that would leave a mark. Whatever happened between Chloe and Logan in Gavin’s laundry room, clearly did not end well.

  “Oww!” Liv yelled. “W-w-what in the ever-loving hell?”

  The slap wasn’t all Chloe had in mind. As she charged toward Liv, her face scrunched up tight like she just sucked on a lemon. Luckily, my instincts kicked in pretty quickly, and I forced my way between them before Chloe could do any further damage.

  For being so damn tiny, this girl had balls. She wiggled and pulled, unsuccessfully trying to escape my solid grip. I couldn’t stop her loud mouth, though.

  “You need to wake the fuck up and realize what you’ve got, you stupid bitch!” Chloe shouted just before she broke down, sobbing kryptonite tears that forced me to loosen my hold. What the hell is it about a woman’s tears that gets me every single time? As soon as she felt me release her, she yanked her arms away and ran off.

  Liv turned to me with her hand on her cheek. “She’s not driving, is she?”

  “I’m on it.” I flew up the stairs after her, two steps at a time.

  My hands found a place on the hood of Chloe’s car just as it started inching forward. She slammed on the brakes harder than she needed to, then gave the horn an unnecessarily long honk.

  That’ll wake the neighborhood. Shit, the last thing anyone needs tonight is the cops being called.

  Crazy. This girl was fucking crazy. Still, being crazy didn’t give her permission to drive drunk. I kept my hands on the hood and peered at her. “I’m not going anywhere.”

  “Then you’ll get run over!” she yelled through the open driver’s window.

  We stared each other down through the windshield for a good ten seconds, neither of us moving or giving in. Her mascara had made its way down her pale cheeks, but her tears had ceased. At the moment, she was just pissed. And since I currently occupied her view, all that anger was directed at me.

  It didn’t bother me. I had seen the same look countless times in the eyes of the drunken assholes I had to break out of fist-fights or throw out of whatever bar or club I happened to be providing security for. They’d always pretend to be livid with me for stopping the trouble they started. But at some point during each exchange, there always came a moment when they’d have a twinge of gratefulness in their eyes. An appreciation toward me for not letting it get too far. Hell, nobody enjoyed getting an ass-kicking.

  So far, I hadn’t seen that moment of gratitude in Chloe. It would come. It always does. Finally, I broke the silence. “Put the car in park. Move into the passenger seat. I’ll take you wherever you want to go.”

  She stayed put, eyeing me like she had all the control in this situation. Most people didn’t give me this much resistance. Most people took one look at me and caved.

  Damn, she’s a stubborn one.

  I’d have to turn it up a notch and try a different approach. “Hey, Sweetheart! How ‘bout you stop undressing me with your eyes and move your pretty little ass over!”

  Her jaw dropped but only slightly, just before her eyes altered from anger to determination. With a smirk, she took her foot off the brake and let her car inch slowly forward, causing me to stumble backward.

  Teasing clearly didn’t work on her; maybe I’d try reasoning. “How are you gonna feel when you wake up tomorrow and realize you killed some kid, or some family, or yourself, because you wanted to drive, wasted off your ass!”

  That stopped her. She squinted, eyes still on me. “If I kill myself, Einstein, chances are I won’t wake up from it.”

  I cocked my head. “Is that what you want, Pink? To kill yourself? Because if you drive right now, you might just do exactly that.”

  He
r shoulders dropped slightly and after a moment of deliberation, she shook her head, put the car in park, and moved over. Huh. I expected her to throw another jab in my direction. If we’re being completely honest, I kind of wanted her to. I liked this girl’s spunk. Don’t get me wrong, her compliance was a relief but it caught me off guard at the same time.

  As I took my place in the driver’s seat, she crossed her arms and stared out her window. I buckled my belt and rested my hand on the shifter between the seats. “Where to, Miss Daisy?”

  She whipped her face toward me and gave me a look that said she thought I lost my mind. I guess she never saw that movie.

  “My name’s Chloe, asshole.”

  “Hey now, no need for name-calling. Leave that to me,” I pointed to her seatbelt and gave her a wink. “Buckle up, Buttercup. Time to go.”

  “Oh God, you’re one of those…”

  “One of those what?”

  “Do you ever call a girl by her actual name?”

  I grinned. “Now what fun would that be?”

  “Not much, I guess.” She pulled the strap and latched her seatbelt. “Fine. You call me what you want, and I’ll call you what I want. Let’s see…Jerk? Asshole? Bastard?”

  Wow, this girl was a piece of work. “Hey, I’m not your problem here, remember? I’m just trying to help you not kill or die tonight.”

  The comment put her back into silent mode. She rested her elbow on the window and leaned her head in her hand, eyes welling up. Shit, more tears. This time as a result of my big mouth.

  I sighed. “Just tell me where you want to go, Pink.”

  “Home. Just take me home.”

  ~~~

  I expected her to direct me to a more affluent neighborhood. She struck me as someone who has no idea what it’s like to work for the things you have. Girls that behave like her—you know, the ones who get off on taking whatever they want, whenever they want, regardless of who it affects—are usually spoiled brats who have had everything in their lives handed to them on a silver platter.