The Fragile Line: Part One (The Fine Line #2) (9 page)

“Thanks, Pop.” Marc swaggered to the front of the stage.  A woman shouted, “
I love you, Marc
,” and he responded by blowing her a kiss.  He raised the microphone to his lips, “Just because you won’t be seeing me on
American Muscle
anymore, doesn’t mean you won’t be seeing me at all.  For the last few months, I’ve been working on a little something with the show’s producers, and my beautiful mother who couldn’t be here tonight because, let’s face it, the spotlight has never been her thing and the club scene just isn’t for her.  But tonight, I’m here to tell you that all of our negotiations have finally paid off.

“Lord knows I’ve been lucky in life.  I was born into an amazing family, and I never had to worry about where my next meal would come from.  Yet, as you’ve seen on the show and in the tabloids, I’ve strayed from the norm, and let’s just say I’ve been known to live in the moment.  The absolute angel that is my mother thinks I need a good woman in my life to straighten me up and settle me down.  But I’m not so sure.  Let me ask you this…how many of you ladies think I can be tamed?”

Screams erupted throughout the club.  Marc chuckled at the audience reaction. “Well, let me tell you right now, it’s no secret that I
love
to love women.  But long-term love is not in my forecast, and I have no plans to settle down any time soon.  Love in the short-term, however, is right up my alley.  So what, pray-tell, is a man like me to do to please his dear ol' mom?” 

A woman in the crowd yelled,
“Marry me, Marc!”

People laughed and clapped at the remark. 

Marc gave the woman a wink before continuing his speech. “He comes to a compromise, that’s what he does.  He agrees to work with her on a dating show with a twist.  Twenty-four women.  One goes home every evening.  I pick half the cast, and my mom picks the other half.  Oh, and one more thing.  She and I have to agree on who gets the boot every night.” 

One of the men in the crowd yelled,
“Mama’s boy!”
while the women throughout the building began to either shit themselves or faint.  Or that’s how it seemed anyway. 

“Tomorrow afternoon, right here in the town where Dalton and Felicia Davis fell in love, we’ll have an open casting call for the new dating show that I’ll be starring in, called
American Hook-Up
.  My mom thinks she’ll find the love of my life in this little town that she calls
wholesome
.  As for me…I plan on enjoying the ride.” 

“Oh. My. God!” Emily screamed.  “Did you guys hear that?  I’m going to date Marc Davis for real!”

“Me too!” Elle cried.  “Holy shit, what if we’re in the final two, Emily?!”

“Yeah, that would be cool,” Emily said unconvincingly, a twinge of exasperation crossing her face before she covered it up with a giddy laugh.  “Just don’t freak out when he picks me.”

Elle rolled her eyes, “I won’t if you won’t.  Hey!  We need a plan for when we meet him tonight.  We need to use the extra time we’ll have with him to our advantage.  Chloe, are you in?”

“No thanks,” I shook my head.  “He’s not my type.” 

“Since when do you have a type?” Elle blurted.

“Good,” Emily replied before I had a chance to react to that question, “that means he’s all ours, Elle.”

I excused myself to the bar and ordered a whiskey sour while they plotted their plan.  My buzz had already taken effect, and normally, my next step would be to land my one-nighter.  In scoping the room and considering my options—a variety of executives, waiters, tatted-up men and college-aged guys—none of them inspired me enough to make a move.  Sure, there were plenty of candidates that could easily meet my needs, but each time I had one in sight, my inner voice shouted,
“Not your type.”
 

Just as I finished my drink, the bartender set another one in front of me.

“From the gentleman,” he said, pointing to a man down the bar who eyed me with a subtle grin. 

Shit.
  With a basic black t-shirt and jeans, the stubble-covered jawline of a Calvin Klein model, and messy caramel hair, this man would have most women’s hearts pounding in an instant.  Hell, in any normal circumstance, he’d have my heart hammering out of my chest.  But the compulsion to scratch that proverbial itch that typically pestered deep within me, the familiar pull that drew me toward men like him—men who only had one expectation—was missing.  What the fuck was happening?

And then my answer walked through the door.  All six-foot-three of him.  The voice inside drawled,
“Aww, yeah…Now
that’s
your type.”

An entourage followed Matt, first Dalton, next Marc with two women—one on each arm, followed by some beefed-up dudes, a crowd of roughly twenty more people—mostly girls, and finally two more men with black “security” shirts like the one Matt had on.

The people in the room clapped and congratulated the father and son, but I barely noticed because the moment I saw Matt, the gravitational pull was back.  My need to have a man had just aligned perfectly with the draw of finding the right one. 

Except, he wasn’t the right one at all.  He was my friend.  Anything more would be too complicated.  Wouldn’t it?

I watched as Dalton said a few things to Matt before shaking his hand and walking to another part of the room to chat with some of the other party attendees.  Matt took a quick look around, appearing to assess any security situations, but other than Emily and Elle smothering Marc, there seemed to be nothing to worry about. 

Just as Matt’s eyes met mine, a deep voice from the right side of me said, “Hey, I’m Josh.” 

The warmth in Matt’s eyes quickly turned cold when his eyes landed on the man next to me.  Disappointment festered in his face.  And when he shook it off and ever so slightly nodded at me in understanding, as if he was telling me he accepted my spending time with someone else, my heart sank because the only person I wanted to spend my time with—was him. 

I faced the guy who spoke, the one who bought me the drink, and said politely, “Thank you for the drink, Josh.  But I can’t accept it.  I’m here with someone.”

“I should’ve known,” he shook his head, disappointed.  “Beautiful girls like you usually are.  I hope he appreciates how lucky he is.” 

I huffed out a laugh, “If you knew anything about me, you’d reconsider that statement.  Thanks for the compliment, though.” 

With lust in his eyes, he hesitated like he wasn’t ready to end this conversation yet.  “Alright, I can take a hint.  Keep the drink, babe.” He handed me a napkin with some writing on it. “Here’s my number in case you change your mind and want to be here with me instead.” I reached out to take it, but he held onto it as he brought his face seductively closer to mine.  “Trust me when I say—you wouldn’t regret it.”

Intrigued, I took the number and gave him a goodbye smile, ignoring the cocktail.  I wasn’t about to be tricked into owing him something just because he bought me a drink.  “I’ll keep that in mind.  Nice to meet you, Josh.” 

As sexy as this guy was, he just didn’t stir anything inside of me.  Another night, maybe he would, but tonight, all I wanted was Matt. 

“Wait,” he said as I stood up to leave, “What’s your name?”

“Chloe,” I answered just before stuffing the napkin in my pants pocket and walking away. 

Matt didn’t wait around to witness my conversation with Josh.  In fact, he was nowhere to be found.  After searching the loft for a few minutes, I finally found him talking to another security guy with his back turned to me. 

“Hey!” I shouted over the music, heart pounding, wanting his attention and knowing I needed to make a bold move but was completely unsure of what to say.  Only when he turned and his eyes met mine did I gain the strength to tell him exactly what was on my mind.  “Wait for me…that’s what you said to me.  Right?”

He nodded, a tiny little smirk crossing his lips.

“Well, that’s what I’m doing.  Waiting for you, Matt.  Nobody else.  Just you.” 

He brought his face to mine.  Just when I thought he would kiss me, his lips found their way to my ear instead, and he tenderly whispered, “You don’t owe me anything, Chloe.  It’s okay.  If you want to go, you can go.” 

He thought I was only waiting for him because he got me into the club tonight? 
Shit.
 

“I’m exactly where I want to be,” I said with resolve.  “I’m not going anywhere.” 

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

~Chloe~

Age 17

For past few years, my sister made good on her promise of taking care of me.  She obtained legal guardianship of me and became the mother I needed and sister I wanted all in one.  She left school immediately and got a full-time, entry-level job working reception at a doctor’s office to pay the bills.  The life insurance policy that our parents left us luckily allowed us to keep our modest house. 

She tried to keep her relationship strong with the boyfriend she met in her first week of college, the one she brought home for Thanksgiving for us to meet, but after a while, their conflicting priorities and the long distance tore them apart. 

The breakup hit her hard.  She called him her first love and phoned in sick to work three days in a row after they split.  After lying in bed and eating ice cream for those three days, she finally emerged from her room with a renewed determination for being the best caregiver to me that she knew how to be.  In fact, after the breakup, I became her only priority.

She worked hard to prove to the courts that she was the most capable person to take care of me, and she continued to take her responsibility for me seriously, even after the therapy stopped and the case workers quit visiting.

As a sister, she understood boy problems and friend problems and talked me through them.  She allowed me to make the mistakes I needed to make in order to learn and grow.  As a mother-figure, she made me think about my choices whenever I made bad ones, yet she never spoke to me in a condescending way.  

That all changed when I met Ryan.  At the time, I didn’t know why she changed so drastically.  All I knew was that something snapped.  And it started when she found out his age.  I wished I had never told her. 

I climbed into her bed when I got home from the concert where I had met him.  I was still high from the music and from the way he made me feel, and it had become a ritual for me to wake her upon returning home from anything exhilarating that happened.  And meeting him was beyond exhilarating.

“Brynn, wake up,” I gave her a shake.  “Are you up?”

“Mmm.  Yeah.  What?”

“I met someone.” 

“Oh yeah?”

“Brynn, he’s perfect!  I mean, I thought he was hot before I talked to him, but when I did, he became more than hot.  He became…
beautiful
.  His voice, the things he said…it’s like we just clicked.”

“That’s great, Chloe. I’m so happy for you,” she said lazily.

“His name is Ryan.  He used the old ‘you look familiar’ pick up line, but it was actually really cute the way he said it.  He even insisted I looked like someone named Erica at first.  We went to this little diner after the concert and even though our friends were with us, it was like we were in a bubble, just the two of us.  Oh my God, Brynn, it was
magical!
  His eyes are like the deepest part of the ocean, and his hair is like the sand.  I can’t wait to see him again.” 

“What time is it anyway?”

“I don’t know.  Two.  Maybe three.”

“In the morning?”

“Yeah, why?”

“Don’t you have school?”

“Yeah, so what?”

“Chloe, what the hell?” She sat straight up.  “I know you don’t have a curfew, but seriously?  Don’t you think you’ll be a little tired for school?  Don’t you think
that’s
more of a priority than some boy?”

“No, actually,” I said, taken aback at her uncharacteristic behavior, “I don’t.  And he’s not
some
boy.  I really like him.  And he happens to be twenty-one.”

“Twenty-one?” she shook her head and pinched the bridge of her nose.  “Chloe.  Think about that for a second.  What do you think a twenty-one-year-old
man
wants with a seventeen-year-old
girl?
Wait, does he even know how old you really are?”

The way she stressed the word
girl
like I was a stupid kid, mixed with her insinuation that he had some ulterior motive for talking to me,
and
that I lied to him, completely rubbed me the wrong way.  “What the hell is wrong with you, Brynn?  Of course he knows, and I’ll be eighteen in two months.  Why aren’t you happy for me?  It’s not like he’s an old man.  Mom and Dad were five years apart, and they were in
love
!”  

“Ugh, just go to bed, Chloe.  I’m so not in the mood for this right now.”

“Fine!” I stormed out. 

Everything changed after that. 

Brynn became more and more distant after that night.  I’d often catch her staring at nothing at all with a melancholy look in her eyes.  When I’d ask her what was wrong, she’d tell me, “Nothing. I’m fine,” and continue whatever task from which she had momentarily lost concentration.

As the weeks passed, Ryan and I continued to see each other, but after a few times of trying to talk about him with Brynn—and having her jump down my throat each time—I came to a point where it was better to remain silent.  I never again talked about him with her.  I never again woke her up to tell her about it upon returning home, no matter how thrilling my time with Ryan had been.  I didn’t tell her about our first kiss.  Didn’t tell her when we fell asleep together under the stars.  Didn’t tell her when we privately revealed in the backseat of his car that we were falling for each other. 

She knew I was spending time with him but kept her opinion about it quiet.  Then, one morning while I ate my cereal at the kitchen breakfast bar, she brought him up.

Sitting in the stool next to me, she let out a sigh, “Chloe, I’m sorry.”

“For what?” I said with a full mouth.  I knew she must’ve been sorry for her strange withdrawn behavior lately.  I just hoped she’d finally tell me why she’d been acting so weird.  And I hoped this meant she’d go back to normal. 

“I know I haven’t been myself lately, and I’ve been thinking a lot about it.  And about why it bothers me so much that you’re dating someone older.  I think I’m just having a bizarre reaction to the fact that you’re almost an adult, and you’re not going to need me much longer.  But I want to make it up to you.”

“Aww, Brynn, I’m always going to need you!”  I leaned in and gave her a tight bear hug. 

“Okay!  Jeez, I can’t breathe!”

“Seriously, without you, I would’ve been so screwed.  You know I appreciate you.  You know that, right?”

She smiled.  “Yeah.  Of course I do.  So I was thinking for your birthday, why not have Ryan join us for your special dinner.”

“You know how much I hate you calling it that. 
Special
dinner?  I’m not an invalid, Brynn.  How about we just call it a dinner.” 

Every year since our parents died, she made my favorite homemade dish from scratch for my birthday.  It was a dish my mother used to make almost every week and was a far cry from the pizzas and packaged foods I had grown accustomed to eating.  I thought the recipe had died with her.  When Brynn surprised me with it on my 13th birthday, emotion overtook me and by the time I calmed down enough to eat it, it was already cold and had to be reheated.  I later found out that she stumbled upon the recipe while cleaning out our mother’s cookbook shelf. 

“Fine, let’s invite him to your
dinner
.”