19
La Smith is packed, but when Avery and I show up, La greets us with a welcoming smile and gets us a table immediately. She also fusses at me for my ankle, though I assure her I am fine.
“I’m happy for Margie,” I tell Avery once our dinners have been served and La is back behind the bar, “but squatting where you eat—where we eat… She’s as bad as me with guys.”
“La’s not a guy,” Avery offers unhelpfully.
“I know, but I mean, if she and La don’t work out, we’ll need a new restaurant.”
Avery swipes a fry but then cuts me a piece of his fish. Boy Scout can’t even steal properly. “This thing with La seems different somehow.”
I shove a bite of fish into my mouth and mutter, “Or maybe you’re in love and wearing rose-colored glasses.” Though I begrudgingly admit to myself he’s right.
Instead of acknowledging my comment, he asks, “Was Anna over at Jack’s?”
“No, I haven’t seen her. What’s going on with you two, anyway?”
Avery shrugs a broad shoulder, and a flash of naked vulnerability washes over his face. I’ve never seen him put himself out there with someone he wasn’t sure of. It’s so foreign to see him this way.
“Haven’t heard from her since the party.
She mentioned some issues she was having with her fiancé and…
um… She tried to kiss me up on the flight deck, but I didn’t want her to do something she’d regret.
I mean, I wanted to kiss her, obviously, but not like that.
I think she got offended. Anyway, I’m just worried. ”
“Wow. Okay… You know what I think?”
“J?germeister was invented by the devil?”
“Yes, it was, but also, you need to take the advice you’ve always given me: take a breath, let things happen how they will. Don’t force it. Don’t sabotage. Just be.”
He grunts in acknowledgment and gives me a wry look. “I’m very wise. Should we order Margie something to eat?”
I pull out my phone to ask Margie exactly that when I realize she texted me about a half hour earlier.
Can’t make it. Retakes. Incoming, though— Lucas needs that script. Told him to meet you at La’s.
“Margie isn’t coming here. Lucas is!” I immediately drain my wine and fuss with my hair.
“Her costar?”
“Shit, he’s here.”
La’s at the entrance, taking over for a very flustered hostess. She points in our direction, and Lucas Webb strides through the crowded restaurant. The music never stops, but it’s a record-scratch moment for the patrons here.
Lucas smiles. “Penny, my femme fatale! How are you?” He’s wearing a white cotton Henley shirt and dark slacks, and there’s a rope of gold around his neck. His teeth are white and even, his blond buzz cut immaculate. “Avery, great party. Thanks again.”
I offer a half hug. The guys shake hands. “Join us for a drink?” Avery asks.
Lucas glances at his watch and nods. “I’ve got time for one. What are you drinking?”
Avery pulls over a chair, and Lucas hails the waitress. And just like that, I become the envy of every woman in this place, sitting here with two incredibly handsome men.
One drink becomes a handful on top of the two I had before Lucas arrived.
But the time flies as Avery shares details about his work—which Lucas soaks up like a sponge, explaining that he never knows when information like that might come in handy for an acting job—and Lucas talks about his quest to break into movies.
With the exception of two feature films, he’s been relegated to TV, stuck in his long-term contract on the show.
I laugh when appropriate, exclaim, show outrage, but I largely stay quiet, my mind drifting to the demon on the other side of The Hole.
But then Lucas’s eyes are roaming my face, and I’m not sure if I imagine his gaze lingering on the part of my neck still shadowed by the hickey Jack left there.
My hand goes straight to the spot I applied cover-up to so meticulously this morning.
I palm the area and rest an elbow on the table, hoping the effect is more interested head-tilt than confused puppy.
Ha, ha, I’m a super-normal human female who wasn’t necking like a teen with a man I thought I hated.
I’m totally not the type to put a hole in a wall or chase away someone’s appraiser. Normal!
“So, tell me more about you, Penny,” Lucas says.
“Me?” I’m so startled he wants to know about my plebe life that I nearly reveal the hickey. To cover, I kind of bobble my head, hand still firmly pressed to my neck. “Oh no, I’m boring.”
Avery snorts.
“You’re not boring to me. Killer slow dancer. Plotting murders and all.” Lucas winks, and it is pure sex on a cracker. I am unmoved, damn it. My pipes seem to work only for Jack. How depressing.
“Okay. Well. Prepare to be amazed. I’m originally from the incredibly exotic state of New Jersey.
South Jersey, actually. I went to NYU for undergrad with Margie and this dunce.
” I gesture toward Avery. “Go Violets…” I mime a cheerleader and slap my hand back over my neck, remembering.
“I, ah, studied communications. And I once did a bit of acting myself, actually.”
“Oh, really?” Lucas sits back in his chair. His expression is pleasant, but there’s something there, hovering on his face. Apprehension? He’s not as good an actor as he thinks. “A budding actor. What have you done? Let me guess… I’m thinking…community theater? Commercials?” He thinks I want a job.
“Very close. Pluck Cluck Chicken, actually—the fast food place down on Fourteenth. I dressed up as their mascot for one miserable month in college and held a sign down by the park to try and get people to come in. The smell of that costume haunts my dreams. Like body odor and chicken grease.” I am seductive as shit, talking about smelly chicken costumes. Jesus.
Avery laughs. “Pluck Cluck Chicken! I haven’t thought of that in forever!”
Lucas laughs, too, harder than I expected. It draws the attention of a local newscaster and her husband seated nearby. They’re regulars, and until Lucas showed up, she was the hyper-local celebrity people gawked at. “I’m sure you were a convincing chicken, though.”
I pick at my food daintily, wishing I could rip into my burger the way I was doing before Lucas got here. But I never eat much in front of men I don’t know well.
Maybe all those breakups were just because I was hangry. Gotta call Wendy and tell her I’ve had a therapy breakthrough.
Avery’s eyes slip to my neck, and I see him frown.
I, well lubricated at this point, have no idea what he’s looking at.
I vaguely remember I’m supposed to be covering my neck.
Oh, right…hickey. Crap. I haven’t told Avery about what happened with Jack because I didn’t want him discussing it with Anna, but I can see the question in his eyes.
How visible is this thing? I need to see how bad it looks. And I desperately need to pee.
“Will you excuse me for a second? Just need to use the ladies’ room,” I say, sliding out of my seat with my purse.
It isn’t until I’m standing in front of the bathroom mirror that I realize all those drinks have produced one fairly tipsy Penny. I decide to give the woman in the mirror a much-deserved pep talk.
“You’re so fucking hot, with your little black work dress and your…” I lean forward to investigate a spot of something in my teeth.
No. Stop. That’s the old you. You’re not trying to be hot.
You’re not trying to attract Lucas. You’re not going to contort yourself into his dream girl only to let it be another flash in the pan, not even to prove you don’t need Jack.
You’re not interested in repeating the same old patterns anymore.
With anyone, including Jack. And besides…
“Jack is maybe sexy, but he’s… He’s a pig! Yes! Made out with me and then whatever that was with Yelena the next night? He’s not nice. And beauty fades. Pig is forever.” My voice quavers. I can’t even convince drunk Penny of any of this. I’m doomed.
On my way back to the table, I toss my hair over my shoulder and try to remember how humans walk. Pretty sure I nailed it, until I see Avery watching my legs in concern. It also occurs to me that I forgot to check out my hickey in the mirror.
“I think it’s time to call it,” Avery says, standing and handing me a water. “I’ll walk you home, Penny.”
“I don’t mind walking her home,” Lucas says. “You have your morning meeting, and I need to pick up my script anyway.”
Avery says nothing, but I see the question in his eyes. I pat his cheek. “I’m okay walking with Lucas. Let’s get out of here.”
There’s an end-of-summer breeze in the night air, refreshing and just sobering enough to steady my gait.
Lucas throws his jacket on my shoulders, and I smile up at him in appreciation before hugging Avery goodbye.
Lucas waves away his car service but probably regrets it when a handful of paparazzi start snapping pictures of me leaning heavily on his arm. The flashes are blinding.
“Who the hell called them?” Lucas mutters.
“Who is she, Lucas?” one photographer calls out.
“Did you give her that hickey?” another shouts. My face is lava red.
Lucas waves the questions away. “Gonna have to dig your dirt up elsewhere, fellas. Nothing to see, but if you want to take the walk with us, be my guest. Just give us some space, okay?”
That seems to deflate the paps, and two of the three disperse. One trails us at a distance for a bit, though I lose sight of him as we approach my building. We probably bored him into submission, our conversation pleasantly superficial.
We climb the steps to my apartment, and instead of feeling the tension of Jack’s eyes on my ass, I mainly just want to get to my place and take off these shoes.
For a few seconds, there’s just silence punctuated by squeaking stair treads.
And then Lucas says, “Margie mentioned she left the script here because you’re her go-to for running lines. ”
“Yeah, I do them in stupid voices to see if she can remain in character with an over-actor.”
Lucas chuckles. “I’ve got to hear that.”