Chapter 9 Zane
Zane
I’ve been in the modeling business a long time.
Ever since I was voted “Most likely to become the next Fabio.” I never did ads for fake butter, but I did land my first gig at a department store when I was twenty.
I was the topic of conversation at every bachelorette party in the country before I was even old enough to drink.
All of that said, it shouldn’t be this hard to stay relevant.
I’m pretty sure the number of stores with photos of me in my underwear can vouch for that.
So the fact that I had to ask a photographer for the paparazzi to be my better half really takes the cake in terms of things I never thought I’d have to do at the age of forty-five.
I don’t need a better half. I’ve seen enough centerfolds to know that my whole self is the better half. I didn’t get here based on someone else standing next to me. Between Nigel and everyone else who’s megaphoning an opinion from the peanut gallery, I’m beyond done with all the drama.
So I do what I always do when I need a break from my life as a model. I run three extra miles on the treadmill to make up for all the vodka I’m going to be drinking at the bar tonight.
Noir Heights is a rooftop bar in the heart of Los Angeles. It’s a swanky little spot that everyone knows about, but not everyone can get into. It is perfect for me because I’m really not in the mood to see anyone I know.
I head straight to the bar and pull up a stool.
The girl behind the bar is a tiny little thing with black braids and a nose ring.
But it’s her eyes that could turn on a man and turn him to stone at the same time.
I know Liza well enough to know that she isn’t going to bring up the tabloids.
She also knows that her tip tonight depends heavily on not bringing up my recent scandal from the other night.
“Somebody looks thirsty,” she says, placing a coaster in front of me.
“Parched,” I tell her, and she gives me an easy smile.
“So what’ll it be tonight? Light beer? Vodka rocks? Or maybe you’ve given up on the eleven percent body fat scheme and you’re going to treat yourself tonight?” She asks and I have to chuckle.
“First of all, it’s nine percent, thank you very much. And second, getting away from the shitshow that is my life is treat enough. I’ll take a vodka rocks. But make it a double,” I say, and she does a little shoulder shimmy.
“Well, rebellion has to start somewhere, I suppose,” she says, reaching for a glass.
“Baby steps,” I say. Liza sets my drink down in front of me, and I take a sip, wincing when the gasoline disguised as biodegradable liquor hits the back of my throat.
It’s not that I like vodka, but it does the job without making me bloated.
If there is anything an underwear model may never be, it’s bloated, and Nigel checks.
He has a measuring tape that goes down to the millimeter.
As I sip my drink, the room blurs around the edges just enough that I can finally relax.
Or at the most, slouch. Slouching is another thing my manager hates, and the importance of having good posture has been ingrained in me like a military soldier.
The best part is, I don’t see anyone I know on a personal level.
Even the people I know who I am don’t care because the room is full of people in the same industry.
They are all here to escape their day-to-day lives.
On more than one occasion, I am approached by women who flirt and banter, make a point of touching my arms and hint at wanting to see my abs.
It’s a simple move that gives me a lot of satisfaction.
Normally, this is one of the places I’d hit up if the other side of my bed was getting a little cold.
But even as girls come and go all night, the interactions are briefer than I think they’d like them to be.
I realize my mind is occupied with a certain someone from a couple nights ago. In fact, if I am being brutally honest, she’s been living rent free in my head ever since she walked out my front door wearing my clothes. It’s hard to forget something like that. It’s hard to forget a girl like that.
I don’t know if I’ve ever met a girl like that.
And I’ve met a lot of girls.
But something about Ashlyn was different. The moment I fished her out of my hot tub and saw how attractive she is, I was intrigued. And then, when she started talking…
That’s when most women lose me. I’m sure it’s no surprise that men in my industry typically attract a lot of beautiful girls, but the stereotype isn’t totally wrong. A lot of these girls are about one chicken nugget short of a Happy Meal.
But Ashlyn isn’t.
She was salty, sassy, and held her own. She knew I could have called the cops and had her in handcuffs at the snap of my fingers. Obviously, I never would’ve done that, but she didn’t know that.
I down the rest of my vodka and order another. I must be a glutton for physical punishment.
“You sure you don’t want a martini, love?” Liza asks. She calls everyone that. It’s like her little signature. “I make a mean muddled gin and tonic too. Juniper berries and blackberries and–”
“Sounds an awful lot like a fruit salad to me,” I say. “Which sounds a lot like sugar pretending to be healthy.”
“Well, I had to try,” she says, and I accept my vodka as is.
But even as I down about a third of it, it doesn’t blur the images in my head.
Images of Ashlyn. Every bit of Ashlyn. I suck my teeth thinking about the way she turned me down, and my lips screw into a smirk.
She turned me down. To my face. I don’t mean to sound like a dick, but that’s a first for me.
Most women throw themselves at me. Well, they throw themselves at my body and my money.
But not her; she looked right at me and challenged me.
For the first time in my life, a woman saw me as a person, and not just a model.
She pretty much told me to stick it where the sun don’t shine.
“Gin and tonic, please and thank you.”
Ashlyn’s voice is so vivid that for a minute I’m starting to wonder what Liza put in my drink.
But when I look over at the stool next to me and see Ashlyn sitting there, I realize I haven’t been drugged.
She drags her gaze over to me with a stubborn look on her brow, and I know that I’m not dreaming.
“What are you doing here?” I ask.
“Why? You own the place?” She asks, and I can’t help but smirk again.
Yep. It’s her. Still, I’m confused.
“It’s just a coincidence, is all,” I say, nursing my vodka.
“Not really,” she says, looking right at me.
It’s wild because it’s almost like I manifested her.
It’s also wild how she looks sexier every time I see her.
She’s wearing a tailored gunmetal gray dress with a black leather belt in the middle.
The bottom is scalloped, giving it a shop keeper vibe.
No cleavage is showing, and it reaches well past the thighs.
She paired it with black ballet flats, making her look like a kindergarten teacher. It’s doing all the things for me.
“How do you figure?” I ask, sipping my drink.
Ashlyn blinks. “Because I came here specifically to talk to you.”
Goddamn.
I finish the rest of my drink, and Liza sets a cocktail in front of Ashlyn. Sure enough, it’s the fruit salad concoction. Because why wouldn’t it be?
“Another?” Liza asks with a smirk that says she is going to keep them coming all night if it means watching me and Ashlyn interact.
“Yeah. Why not?” I nod. Ashlyn’s brow furrows.
“Another? Wait. You mean that’s straight vodka?” she asks.
“Well, it’s not water.” I chuckle.
“Gross,” she says with a scrunched face. “You know, you can put things in it to make it so it’s actually enjoyable. This is gin, but it’s basically the same except there’s a little tonic water and all this fruit. You should taste it,” she says, sliding the glass over to me.
“Yeah, Zane, you should…” Liza says, and I make a point of scratching my eyebrow with my middle finger.
Ashlyn is too focused on waiting for me to taste her cocktail to notice. So I taste it.
“That’s pretty good,” I admit, smacking my lips. “Really good, actually.”
“He’ll take one of these,” she tells Liza, and my eyes dart over to her.
“What is going on here? You show up at my getaway bar and buy me a drink. It feels like you’re up to something,” I say with narrowed eyes.
“Not at all,” she says, swiveling her stool to face me.
Her knees skim mine in the process. If she noticed, she’s damn good at hiding it.
It hits me then that this woman isn’t just spicy and confident; she’s guarded.
I make a mental note to measure the perimeters of those walls later.
You know, for scaling. “I just figured it would be nice to have a drink while we discuss our new arrangement.”
“Arrangement?” I ask.
“Your offer to go out with me. You still want to go out with me, right?” she asks.
Liza sets down my drink, giving me a curious look, and I stand up, grabbing my glass.
“Can we do this somewhere more private?” I ask.
“Sure,” Ashlyn shrugs, and I lead her to a table in the corner.
After she sits down, I take a seat in front of her and lean in. But before I can say anything, she starts talking.
“I’ve given it a lot of thought, and I think both of us could benefit from a fake relationship,” she says. “But I think it goes without saying that there will be stipulations.”
“I agree. We need to set some ground rules for sure,” I nod. “Starting with–wait. Did you say fake relationship?”
“Of course,” she answers plainly. “You didn’t think the relationship would actually be real, did you?”
“Uh…yeah,” I say with a single laugh. “It kind of has to be if we want people to believe it’s real. I’m not going to benefit from it if people don’t buy it. And that means you won’t either.”
“But if it’s a real relationship, that implies we have to have feelings for each other,” she says.