Pretty In Ink (3 page)

“Yeah,” I said as I looked at the rectangular key fob.

There was no key on the fob.

“As long as the key is in your pocket or purse or whatever, all you do is push the button on the dash. It’ll start it. And you push it again to shut it off when you’re done. So, push the button and start it,” she said.

I pushed the button on the dash and started the car. The low rumble from the engine echoed against the long line of brick buildings along the street. The rain had all but stopped for the time being, but the windshield was covered in droplets from sitting outside from what had now been no less than fifteen minutes. As I nervously searched for the windshield wipers, Riley reached over and pressed a lever on the right side of the steering wheel. I glanced up in time to see the wipers wipe the windshield once.

“They sense the rain in that mode,” she said. “If it starts raining, they’ll wipe it off.”

As strange as it seemed, I was nervous. “So…”

Riley reached toward the lever in the center of the car and wiggled it. 

“Just push the gas, and flip those little levers up and down. You’ll get the hang of it here pretty quick,” she said.

I situated my foot against the accelerator pedal, checked over my left shoulder for traffic, and pressed the pedal down after seeing no traffic approaching. The car felt as if it had been shot out of a cannon, lurching into the street with so much force it pressed my body into the seat. Within an instant, the engine was revving so high the sound from the exhaust was a loud shrill.

I pulled against the lever on the right side of the steering wheel. The car lurched forward once again and the RPM’s came down slightly. I pulled the lever again and the car lunged slightly and the engine slowed down to a light drone. I glanced down at the speedometer.

In the few seconds of driving, and without doing anything but trying to pull away from the curb, I was going 80 miles an hour.

“Shit,” I shouted as I pressed against the brake.

Riley laughed. “You’ll get used to it.”

Living on the cusp of being poor white trash and seeing he clearly lived somewhere in complete contrast made me believe the differences between Wilson and me were enough that I would never get used to the things he may do to, for, or with me.

However.

I was anxious to find out.

WILSON

I doubt many thirty year old men worried about what their parents thought regarding the woman they were going on a date with, but I couldn’t seem to keep from doing so. As a child, my parents were protective of me, and as an adult they weren’t necessarily protective, but they were certainly eager to learn about my every move and decision when it came to women.

I was still, and would probably always remain, their little boy.

Their expressed belief of their hopes – or requirements – regarding my choice of female companions prevented me from being in a meaningful relationship for my younger years based solely on my fear of disappointing them alone. My own fear of making a decision which could ultimately crush me financially, or the possibility of encountering a gold digger who was much less interested in me than she was my finances all but prohibited me from acting on my infrequent sexual desires as an adult.

And then I met Stevie.

After I dropped her off and drove to my office all my common sense and fear of parental retribution seemed to be cast aside. I found myself all but dwelling on her current situation and not having a vehicle in what appeared to be the beginning of a three day rainstorm. As fate would have it, it was enough of an issue for me to act on it.

There was no doubt I could have done things differently. I could have very easily rented her a car, provided her with a far less expensive car, or even given her one of my own vehicles to use, but I did not.

I believed in looking back on how I handled the situation, I was no different than most extremely wealthy men. I wanted to be recognized as being so. As pretentious as it may seem to others for me to have sent her a new BMW, in reality it wasn’t pretentious at all. My current financial status would have allowed me to send her half of a dozen similar cars without noticing the deficit from my personal account. I was an extremely wealthy man, and I wasn’t acting beyond my financial means. If anything, I probably should have sent her a new Ferrari.

Never having felt the way I felt about Stevie seemed quite out of place considering my knowledge of her, but that lack of knowledge was partially to blame for my reaction. I wanted to know more about her, and for whatever reason, I felt a burning desire to take care of her at any or all costs.

Now concerned with my parent’s reaction to my decision, but harboring zero regret, I pulled into the driveway of her home. Although I had already made a mental note of the fact she had no garage, seeing the vehicle sitting out in the weather was a reminder of her lack of some of the luxuries I took for absolute granted. 

Dressed in jeans, leather loafers, and a V-neck tee shirt, felt slightly out of sorts, but not nearly as out of sorts as I felt picking up a girl for a date. My stomach was a mess, my face felt flush, and my nerves were on edge.

I turned off the ignition, swallowed my mint, and opened the door. Before I was able to step from the car, Stevie walked out onto the porch, turned to face me, and smiled. She wasn’t dressed in jeans and a tee shirt, and if she didn’t previously own clothes to match what I was wearing when we met, she had apparently gone out and purchased some.

Dear Lord, please allow this woman to see me for who I am, and not what I appear to be.

As she stepped from the porch and began walking toward me, I stood and stared, incapable of doing much else. Somehow, however, I managed to stumble toward the other side of the vehicle and open the door. Standing beside the car with my mouth agape and my mind reeling from newfound understanding of her natural beauty, I gazed in her direction with wide eyes and a rapidly beating heart.

She leaned a little closer, raised her hand to my chin, stood on her tip-toes, and kissed me on the cheek.

And my heart stopped completely.

STEVIE

There are books available that give step-by-step instructions on how to build a nuclear bomb, plumb a house, or assemble a complete car from a kit. Computer science, mechanical engineering, and how to groom a dog are even explained in detail in the pages of books. There is no such literature, however, that gives detailed information on how to properly choose a mate – leaving the decisions on doing so to me – and so far, my choices were pretty sad. I had always felt I should be able to live life, and in the process, meet someone who was fully compatible with me, fall in love, get married, and live happily ever after.

Wishful fucking thinking.

The way a man was capable of making me feel in the first time we had sex, only to fade into complete nothingness when he wouldn’t return my text messages two weeks later, led me to believe something was wrong with me. It didn’t take long for me to learn that all men treated women the same way, and that I wasn’t being singled out nor was I excluded.

It was just men being men.

Eventually I realized that I, like every other woman on this earth, had fallen victim to a man simply doing what it was that he was destined to do.

Use women.

Still, I hoped. Sooner or later, I figured I’d find a man who would treat me right, or at least come close. I had been with Bart for a longer period of time than anyone, but after a few years his true colors were painfully obvious. Even through the beatings, I still hoped things would eventually change. I told myself it was the price I had to pay for being in a relationship, and I was even willing to pay it, at least for a while.

One day I decided black eyes and a broken heart was too high of a price to pay for anything.

Bad boys. Alpha males. Tattoos. Loud motorcycles. Rough sex. These were the things I was attracted to. Considering my loss record was at one hundred percent with my previous choices in men, I decided to give Wilson a try. He was obviously different, and in addition to the differences I was able to clearly see, I hoped he possessed differences deep down inside that I was unable to see.

But my gut told me in time he was sure to end up being like all the rest.

“What do you feel like eating?” he asked.

His hair looked like he ran his hands through it and raked it out of his eyes. It was thick and brown and his closely shaved face had transformed into a full day’s growth of beard, probably from not having time to shave before he came to get me. All things considered, he looked marvelous. Instead of staring at him and making him think I was some kind of weirdo, I chose to look out the window and have him believe I was hard to get.

I shrugged my shoulders and stared out the side window. “I don’t know.”

I hated making decisions. I preferred the man make the decisions and tell me where we were going to go, what we were going to do, and what we would eat. In my mind, it was his job. And it was my job to grin and comply with his wishes.

“I have a pretty broad palate,” he said. “I can eat just about anything.”

“Donuts,” I murmured as I turned to face him.

He shifted his eyes from the road toward me and slowly raised one eyebrow. “Excuse me?”

“Donuts. I want donuts,” I said.

His face washed over with surprise. “For dinner?” he asked.

I nodded my head.

Fuck it. I’ll find out really quick if he’s a prick or if he’s not.

“Donuts it is,” he said as he glanced over his shoulder and changed lanes.

“Ever had donuts for dinner?” I asked.

“Can’t say that I have,” he responded with a shake of his head.

“Me neither,” I said. “But they sound good.”

“They do sound good. I can’t even tell you the last time I had a donut,” he said.

As his hair fell down into his eyes, he brushed it back with his hand as if it were second nature. The more I looked at him, the more I decided I really didn’t like bikers. I liked the thought of a biker, but I liked looking at Wilson, and I liked looking at him a lot. He was pretty in a manly kind of way and I was beginning to really enjoy it.

“Chocolate Long John,” I said. “Best donut ever.”

“Jelly-filled are my favorites,” he said as he turned the corner. “When I was a kid my mother used to bring them home…”

He shook his head and gazed through the windshield as if remembering something magical from his childhood. His hair fell into his eyes again, but he didn’t bother to brush it away. After a long moment, he turned toward me and smiled.

My heart fluttered a little.

“Donut dinner,” he said. “I like it.”

Earlier, as I sat at home and waited for him to arrive, I had visions of a nice night out. I had no idea what he had planned, but considering his career, his apparent wealth, and the fact it was our first date, I expected he would make an effort to impress me. Although he might not realize it, taking me to a donut dinner was doing just that.

I shifted my eyes back to the side window and gazed out at the passing vehicles. After a few moments, he brought up the car, which was something I felt I needed to talk to him about, but really didn’t want to.

“I’m guessing you found the vehicle satisfactory?” he asked.

Still staring out the window, I responded. “I did, but seriously. I can’t accept it. I don’t know what you were trying to do, but you don’t even know me. You can’t just give me a car to drive.”

“I most certainly can,” he said.

I glanced over my shoulder. Sitting with both hands on the steering wheel and a smirk on his face, he shifted his eyes away from the road and studied me for a moment.

“You look remarkable,” he said.

I ran my hands along my thighs and pressed the wrinkles from the fabric. With Riley’s help, I had found the perfect little black dress at the mall. Her loan of a pair of shoes and purse topped off the ensemble, and I felt much prettier wearing all of it than I had in a long time.

I folded my arms in my lap and gazed out the window again. “Don’t change the subject. You can’t. You can’t just send a car for me because it’s raining. I mean it was really nice, but…”

“Not to interrupt, but I’m fortunate in that respect. Let me ask you a question. If you saw a man living every day out in the weather, and you found out that five dollars would change his life, and provide him with shelter, would you give him five dollars?” he asked.

I turned to face him. “Sure, but it’s only five bucks. That’s different.”

He grinned and nodded his head once. “Well, to me, that car cost about five dollars.”

“Sorry, Wilson, they left the window sticker on the window. It was eighty fucking grand,” I said.

“Eighty grand to you and eighty grand to me are two totally different amounts. On a good day, I may make eighty thousand dollars in a matter of minutes. I gave you the car because I could. It’s a gift, and it’s rude to return gifts. So, keep it, enjoy it, and when you drive it, remember our first meeting under the awning at the store,” he said.

The car came to a stop. He shifted into park and pushed the button on the dash, stopping the engine. Sitting in his seat with a grin he couldn’t wash from his face, his eyes fell to my lap, down the length of my legs, and slowly shifted up along my body until they met mine. Slightly frustrated at his insistence about keeping the car, but coming up with very little ammunition to fight him with, I finally chose to lash out at him in another manner.

I shrugged my shoulders and narrowed my eyes. “What are you staring at?” 

“The most beautiful woman in the world,” he responded as he reached for the door handle.

It’s really hard to be a bitch when you say things like that.

He stepped out of the car, nonchalantly walked to the other side, opened my door, and held it. As he reached toward me with his free hand, I stared at it for a moment, uncertain of what he was doing. After a short pause and a little confusion, I came to the realization he was simply offering to help me from the car. I reached for his hand and carefully got out, now well aware that spending time with Wilson was going to be totally different than what I was accustomed to.

Differences I would have never guessed I could accept.

But for some reason I was enjoying them immensely.