Outside the Lines by Amy Hatvany Read Free Book Online Page B

enough snarky comments about the number of jerk-offs she dated that my pitiful romantic history looked positively successful in comparison. As a life coach for many of Seattle’s successful tech-savvy CEOs, Georgia seemed to run into a never-ending supply of eligible, if not suitable, men. She went through dates the way I might plow my way through a carton of ice cream—with gusto and little regard for the effect on her heart.
    “Pfft,” Georgia snorted. “Whatever. I don’t think a woman who hasn’t been laid in six months has any right to pass judgment on me. Who are you ever going to meet stuck in your hairnet back in that kitchen?”
    “I don’t wear a hairnet, Georgia. And I just had this conversation with my mother this morning, so I might have to kill you if you push it with me any further.” The light changed and I stepped off the curb to cross the street.
    “Oh, fine. You’ll die alone and stray cats will eat your face, but whatever.”
    “I’m not alone. I have Jasper. He gives me plenty of lovin’,” I said. I stopped as I came to a crosswalk and dug my cell-phone-free hand deeper into my pocket, jumping around a little to try to stay warm as I waited for the signal to turn. The shelter was on the next block, and I wanted to get there before they closed the door for the night. I’d read that most shelters couldn’t accommodate the lines of homeless who stood outside each evening, waiting for a bed. With the weather turning cold, the line would be long.
    “Ew. Dog lovin’? That’s disgusting.”
    I laughed. “Not that kind of loving! God!”
    “Okay, okay. Calm down.” She giggled. “So, what’re you up to, sweetie? All done feeding the masses?”
    “I just finished a ten-hour shift. I’m headed down to a shelter right now. It’s not too far from work, so I thought I’d stop in and drop off my dad’s picture.” Georgia was supportive of my decision to try to find my father, even if she didn’t completely understand the reasoning behind it. She took on a similar mind-set when I decided to go blond a few summers ago, holding fast to the belief that a person has to learn through her own experiences instead of through lecture.
    I gave her a quick synopsis of my visit to the morgue, and she gave a short, low whistle. “That had to suck. Are you okay?”
    “Sure, why wouldn’t I be? It wasn’t him.” Even as I spoke, the muscles around my heart constricted, thinking of the relief I felt when the beach-boy morgue worker turned over the man’s wrist and I knew it wasn’t my father. He was still out there. I could still find him.
    “Yeah, but you were standing next to a dead body that could have been him. In a morgue . Didn’t that freak you out?”
    “A little, but I was just happy it wasn’t him, you know?”
    “I suppose so,” Georgia said. “I think you should bag the shelter and come out with me and Simon. We’re headed over to Sequins to dance. It’ll be a total madhouse.” Sequins was Georgia’s favorite go-to trendy party spot. It was the kind of place where you had to shout about an inch from your date’s ear and he still couldn’t understand you. Where drunk young professionals tried to get in the girls’ panties through the power of their bullshit charm. With most of the girls, they didn’t have to try very hard.
    “That is my personal version of hell and you know it, my friend. I’ll pass.”
    “Now who’s the loser?”
    “Good-bye, Georgia!” I singsonged into the phone.
    “ Ciao, chica. ” Georgia only knew a handful of foreign words and tended to mix languages together when she spoke them. If you teased her about it, she dismissed you as being culturally uncreative.
    I hung up and slipped my phone back into my pocket, shivering against the chilly night air. I kept my eyes open for the address the program manager had given me, since the facility was fairly new and she told me they hadn’t had time to put up a proper sign.
    It’s safe to say I