Chapter 1
chapter
one
Stella
C actus and Cocktails wasn’t exactly hopping when I parked in the broken and cracked lot next to it. Then again, the sun was only beginning its descent. Besides, the place wasn’t one of the trendier bars. It had fallen off the radar for the hip and the hot two years earlier.
Maybe three.
I didn’t really track the ones that went away so much as the best ones for stargazing, the clubs the celebs went to in order to be seen, and the staged opportunities were good for a few hundred here and there.
Photographers made money, the celebs got free press—it was a win-win. Most of the time. It was also usually jam-packed with fans and wannabe paps who were looking to make their mark.
Some of those little shits would elbow you in the face for a slightly better angle. I flipped the visor down and knocked open the mirror to give myself a critical eye.
I’d just spent the afternoon haunting the other party venues currently in favor. With award-season prep already in full swing and the film festival at Balboa Pier starting this weekend, the stars were flying in from their homes in Montana, Wyoming, Nevada, Northern California, and New York.
Oscar season was always in style. Balboa Pier happened to be one of the premiere festivals for launching potential contenders for the gold statues. That meant if you wanted a shot at the early buzz, you wanted applause and maybe a prize at the festival.
It also meant the celebs who wanted to party for real headed to the hangouts known for more discretion and security. Getting in and out of those took experience, skill, and lately a friendly smile. While I’d been around and I knew the business, I wasn’t a known face, so they hadn’t banned me yet.
After I touched up my lip gloss and let my hair down from the clip so it fell around my face, I checked my phone where it was connected to the camera. I’d uploaded the five very nice shots I’d gotten of the past year’s award favorite with his wife, and their very close friend, lounging at the Mercantile.
Considering all three had been making out with each other, the pictures were of the extra-spicy variety. They may not net me much right now, but they were good to have on standby. I loaded them to the cloud, then sent one off to tease my contact at the gossip channel.
They liked to verify before they would buy. I didn’t have a problem with the women making out or the director alternating between his wife and their friend. If they were happy and it was consensual, well, party on. They were in public and they were popular faces, especially the ingenue who was rumored to have a breakout role.
If she went viral, these pics were gonna be gold. Worth the past eight hours of floating in and out of the local spas, wine bars, and clubs. Now, it was time for a break. I checked my watch, then secured the camera back in its bag.
The Cactus and Cocktails was known for its heavy pours rather than watering the crap out of its house liquor. I checked the phone for messages, then grabbed my purse and slid out of the car. A cool breeze carried the sweet scents of fried foods and bad decisions. Both specialties of the place in front of me.
The exterior was a kind of burnt-sienna color. They were going for a southwest aesthetic, with the cacti painted on the stone walls. The effort ended out here though. I locked the car and headed for the entrance.
Someone pushed open one of the heavy doors, letting out a fragrant cloud of melted cheese, meat, beans, and spices. Hell yes, the nachos here were just this side of perfection.
They were also the second reason why the C and C went to the top of my list. The margarita pitchers were only five bucks on Wednesday nights. A fact my wallet and I had appreciated for a few years. While I wasn’t a broke student anymore, I did have to watch the dollars.
I headed right to the bar. I didn’t need a booth or a table. I wanted the corner seat…but my steps slowed at the sight of someone already sitting in my favorite spot.
Any hope that he might just be sitting there to get a drink died with the fresh plate of nachos delivered to him as he tilted up his bottle of beer to drink. His gaze was fixed on a hockey game playing on one of the big TVs mounted behind the bar.
As tempting as it was to stomp my foot, I swallowed the sulk and jerked my big girl boots back on. I came for margaritas, food, and…I stared at the game on the television for a minute.
Yeah, I didn’t care about the hockey but I’d watch ’cause it was that or doomscroll on my phone. Ignoring the long length of bar that stretched down the room, I went past my corner spot and slid onto a stool two seats over. Not close enough to invade his space but definitely close enough to score the seat when he abandoned it.
Plans were good.
The bartender gave me a friendly smile and raised his brows. “Be right with you,” he said with a lift of his chin as he popped out a few more bottles and removed their caps to set on the tray for the single waitress who was working tonight.
That was fine. There were menus somewhere, laminated and kind of sticky, but they hadn’t changed what they served in all the years since they opened, so I didn’t need one anyway.
The team in dark blue scored and the team in the lighter blue looked pissed. Two of the players shoved at each other, but they broke it up the minute the ref was on them. It might be fun to watch after all.
“What can I get you?” The bartender wasn’t model perfect, but he definitely had a good face and better hair. Five bucks and a pitcher of margaritas said he was an aspiring actor.
“Pitcher of the classic margaritas with a plate of nachos.” I kind of wanted a cheeseburger, but I’d pace myself. If I got a second pitcher, I’d get a second meal.
“Sure thing,” the bartender said, giving me a friendly little wink.
I kept my grin at friendly and let my gaze travel right past the flirt to the television. The guy to my right snorted when the bartender headed away and I glanced at him.
The black baseball cap shaded his eyes but didn’t do a damn thing to hide the strong jawline and chiseled cheekbones. I didn’t stare because (a) I didn’t care that he was sitting there except he was in my seat and (b) I was done for the day.
If he wanted to sit there pretending to be nobody, who was I to argue?
The smell of his nachos was making my stomach grumble, but Mr. Happy Wavy Hair with his expensive smile was back with the pitcher of margaritas, a glass, and a card with his name and number on it.
“Thanks,” I said, keeping the smile polite but distant and then glanced past him to the game. Oh, it was a commercial. Fine, whatever. The bartender lingered for a moment, wiping things down while I poured my drink.
“Another beer,” the seat usurper ordered in that bedroom baritone that melted women’s panties. I didn’t mind it, but I was a little more flame retardant.
“Sure,” the bartender took the distraction and went for his beer.
Blowing out a breath, I lifted my fresh glass of margarita in a half toast to the man on the right. “Thanks.”
“Don’t mention it,” he said, shifting a little on the stool. He was keeping his gaze fixed on the television. A little too fixed, like he wanted to make sure I didn’t think he was flirting with me.
Again, totally fine with me.
“I’m not who you think I am,” he informed me before the bartender returned with his beer. Thankfully the waitress needed him and a couple of fresh patrons took seats at the other end of the bar.
“You know,” I said idly, “I wasn’t going to comment, but yes, you are who I think you are.” The thousand-dollar smile was the thing heartthrobs were made of. It didn’t hurt that he had the body to back it up.
I’d clocked him as soon as I saw the jawline. The jeans, beaten-up boots, and plaid button-down over a cream-colored Henley were hardly a disguise. If he thought the baseball cap was working, he needed to get better advice.
“No,” he said, cutting me a look. “Trust me, I’m not.”
“Don’t know you well enough to trust you,” I retorted. “You know what I do know?”
He sighed. It was so long-suffering and put-upon, I was tempted to leave him be. “No,” he said, finally cutting those piercing blue eyes toward me. Damn, rough really did suit him. “What do you know?”
I touched my tongue to my teeth before I licked some of the salt right off the rim of my glass. Another mouthful of margarita washed it down perfectly. I held his gaze the whole time.
“What do I get if I’m right?”
His eyebrows shot upward. “What do you get? ”
“Yes, what do I get? You think I’m wrong. I know I’m not. So what’s my prize if I get it right?”
He frowned, head cocked as he studied me for a long moment. “What do you want?”
Now that was a loaded question, but then my nachos arrived and the moment burst. Good, ’cause that first glass had already gone to my head and I was having a hard time not just throwing back this second one.
The bartender slid the plate in front of me and the combination of cheese, spices, and meat made my mouth water. Not to mention the warmth of the chips.
“Can I?—”
“You can go away,” my new friend told him.
The bartender blinked but retreated immediately.
“Blunt,” I said. “But effective.”
“He’s annoying and you’re not interested. It’ll be easier for him to take the rejection from me.” He motioned to me with the bottle of beer. “You didn’t answer my question.”
I lifted a loaded chip and shoved the whole thing in my mouth. Hot, spicy, and crunchy—the perfect combination. I washed it all down with another mouthful of icy cold margarita.
Oh, there was a thought.
“Another pitcher of margaritas. Maybe a cheeseburger.”
He blinked. “Maybe a cheeseburger?”
“I haven’t finished my nachos, so maybe a cheeseburger. It sounds good, but I could be full. Another pitcher of margaritas though, that sounds even better.” I was also going to be halfway through this one in no time at all.
“Fine,” he answered. “Another pitcher of margaritas and maybe a cheeseburger.”
Excellent. I loved winning bets.
“You’re Gem Harrison,” I said, before refilling my glass. His expression was priceless. Even stunned, he looked hot. It was hard not to laugh at him because he genuinely seemed stumped.
“How?” He frowned. “Nobody ever guesses me first?”
“(A) I wasn’t guessing,” I reminded him. The buzz from the first two margaritas hit my system and I scooped up another nacho. “And (b) that info will cost you.”
I had no idea what, but I was really enjoying his surprise. He didn’t respond immediately and I dug into my nachos again. The crunch was everything, and I was so damn hungry, I could probably eat the plate itself.
“Fuck it,” he muttered. “What will it cost?” The curiosity was absolutely flashing in those stunning eyes.
“You’re in my seat.”
Literally the first thing that came to mind and it popped right out. So I took another bite of nachos while he turned that information over in his head.
“You want this seat?”
“Yes,” I said around the mouthful, covering my mouth with my hand. “I do. I love that seat. It’s got great angles on the room.”
He eyed me for a moment, then slid out of the seat, moved his drink and nachos over before swapping them with my plate and pitcher.
“Hell yes.” I hopped down and danced the two steps over to claim my prize. The seat was warm, and there was just something deeply satisfying about winning my seat.
I was on a roll.
Taking the stool right next to me, Gem studied me. “Payment made. Tell me… how did you know?”
I could have told him anything. I could have said it was the way he was seated, kind of hunched and not wanting to be noticed. I could have said it was the calluses on his hands or how they were rougher looking. He didn’t get manicures anymore.
Lots of things I could just make up on the spot, but this was fun, so I went for the truth.
“You have a scar,” I told him, reaching over to brush my thumb against that jawline, then down to his chin. “Just here. It’s small, almost minute, but in the right light you can see it. Your brother doesn’t have it.” Then because all of that probably sounded suss as fuck, I added, “Don’t worry, I’m not a stalker. I don’t give a fuck who your brother is or your prior career or even who either of you are banging. I just like to notice details.”
His identical twin and current legitimate Hollywood movie star. There were so few these days. Gem could still be one too; he’d started out on television like his brother. But when Seven made the leap to the big screen, Gem chose another path.
I was still tracing my thumb against that scar and enjoying the way his pupils seemed to widen, then contract. The faint scrape of stubble on his jaw rasped against my skin. He really did have a nice jaw.
A loud burst of laughter came from the doorway and then a collective groan from the other end of the bar. The sudden noises jolted me out of the warm haze, and I pulled my hand back.
Nachos and margaritas , I reminded myself.
“You play pool?” He gestured toward the green felt–topped tables on the far side of the bar.
“Maybe,” I said, grinning in spite of myself. “Did you want to play?”
“Only if I can set the terms for the wager.”
Oh, now I was intrigued.
“I’m listening…”