Chapter Five
CHAPTER FIVE
ANGEL
There are two types of people in this world. Those who practice humility as a religion, and those who consider it to be one of the seven deadly sins. I’ll give you two guesses which category the guy at table four falls into.
He may be a pompous ass, but I have to give him points for creativity. Attempting to bribe my number out of me was inventive and slightly entertaining. Besides, it’s not like he stands a chance of winning. Taking his bet is easy money and a fast-track to making rent. And that’s why I didn’t shut him down.
I wonder if he’s still staring.
Taking a risk, I glance across the bar to find him in deep concentration, scrolling through his phone. The way he stares at it with his thumb pressed deep against his temple as his fingers fan above his head scratches at something in the back of my mind. It's an itch I can’t reach no matter how hard I try.
“See something you like?” a voice says behind me. Spinning around, I find Violet standing with her arms crossed and a cocked eyebrow.
I roll my eyes and grab a nearby rag. “It’s called being friendly,” I say, becoming overly invested in wiping down the bar. “You should try it sometime. Maybe you might make better tips.”
“Sure, that’s it.” Scooting beside me, she drops onto her elbows. “And it absolutely has nothing to do with the way that black T-shirt clings to his chest or those sexy tattoos covering his arms.”
I glance down at my nails. “Nope.”
“You’re a shitty liar.”
I growl, but not because I’m mad at her. I’m mad because she’s right. It has everything to do with his tight T-shirt and tattoos, not to mention his hair. That chunky piece of dark hair that keeps dusting over his eyes, refusing to comply no matter how many times he brushes it back.
Flop. Brush. Flop. Brush.
As if on cue, he lets out a long string of curses and shoves his fingers deep into his dark hair, holding it in place by the roots, a scowl anchored across his face.
Something about watching that smooth, unflappable exterior devolve at something so menial makes everything even more ridiculous. So, I laugh out loud.
And that’s the moment he looks up.
I grip the bar to steady myself as he flashes a slow, wolfish smile. And there it is again. That scratching in the back of my mind. But like always, the minute I reach for it, it stops. So I let it go. Maybe it matters, maybe it doesn’t. I refuse to waste time chasing maybes. I learned early in life that they’re a waste of time.
Pushing off my elbows, I jerk a tray from under the bar. My blood pressure kicks up a notch, fueling my resolve. It’s exactly what I need to refocus. To cut through this thick tension. To remember there are no maybes in life. Do or don’t, but maybe is never an option.
Icy blue eyes track my every move as I tuck the tray under my arm and make my way across the bar, a smug smile on my lips. I’m used to being underestimated, and something tells me underneath all that caked-on arrogance, this guy is, too. But while he flashes his insecurities like a dog in heat, I’ve learned to play them to my advantage.
I jump as Violet appears by my side. “So, about that guy—”
“Vi,” I sigh, flinging the rag over my shoulder as I walk away. “Let it go.”
Violet didn’t let it go.
In fact, she’s been on my heels for the past ten minutes, following me around from table to table. “So, are you going to tell me the story?
“What story?”
Smirking, she drapes herself over the edge of the booth. “The story starring you and clit-bait over there.”
I let out a deep sigh and stare down at the sticky wasteland of melted daiquiris and spilled cocktails. “There’s no story. He’s just another jerk.”
Just another jerk could be the title of my autobiography.
I hate this. Neither of us should have to resort to what we do. In a perfect world, maybe that would be true, but reality is never perfect. Plus, it’s my fault we’re in this mess. We lived in Hollywood for two years and still managed to keep the rent paid, our legs closed, and our hands clean. Now, because of me, that’s changed.
She’s quiet for a moment. “You know, you could always call your old agent. ”
Snorting, I slide the heavy tray off the table and onto my shoulder. “He only managed to get me one audition in two years, and it was for a porno.” Before she can say anything else, I add, “And his cousin was the director.”
She follows me to the next table. “Okay, forget him. At least let me buy you a bus ticket.”
“To where?”
“Ala- fucking -bama.” Rolling her eyes, she stacks a dirty glass on the already overloaded tray. “Where the hell do you think? LA, baby! You got that part in that Optimax film all on your own. You can do it again, Ang.”
“No.”
“But—”
“I said no.” There’s that sharp tone again, but this time it’s accompanied by the sound of breaking glass. Glancing down, I see the remains of what used to be a beer mug on the floor and blink away the wetness stinging my eyes. “Look,” I say, grabbing a rag and bending down with a dry laugh. “It just wasn’t meant to be.”
Violet drops down beside me, picking up pieces of jagged glass with her bare hands. “Yeah ,and you got cheated out of it by a narcissistic shitbag. If I ever get my hands on—”
“Vi, let it go.” I need to end the conversation and fast. Wrapping as much of the glass as I can in the rag, I dump it on the tray and hoist it back onto my shoulder.
Luckily, Violet gets the hint and returns to the bar as I manage to lug the tray to the kitchen. But even as I wander back out, I can’t get her offer out of my head.
It’s ridiculous. I could never put myself through that again. Hollywood is built on the almighty dollar. I found that out the hard way. Talent can get your foot in the door, but it only takes greed and an offshore bank account to slam it in your face .
Pushing the thought from my mind, I keep busy by serving drunks who will eventually pay their bills and continue traveling to parts unknown. Someplace else. Any place else.
Lucky bastards.
“So, what’s that all about?” The question catches me by surprise, and I turn to see Violet again, draped over the bar like she doesn’t have three waiting customers giving her death stares.
“What’s what all about?”
Smirking, she pushes up on her palms. “That,” she says, making duck lips at table number four. “I know eye-fucking when I see it, and that, my friend, is a ‘bent over the table, do-me-from-behind ’ kind of eye-fuck.”
My breath catches. I feel those infuriatingly cocky blue eyes on me before I see them. Violet is right. His stare is vicious. Feral . An arctic blast that seems to look through me and peel back layers of raw skin.
“Considering the way he bulldozed in here swinging his dick around you’d think he owned half of California.” She cocks a hip, a smile dancing under her nails as she drums them across her lip. “He may be one to keep around, Ang.”
“Oh, shit, I almost forgot!” Spinning around, I dig in my apron and pull out a folded piece of paper, shoving it in her hand. “I need you to make this for me.”
Violet, lifts an eyebrow, slowly unfolding it before wrinkling her nose in disgust. “Who the hell ordered that ?”
Stealing a cherry from the garnish tray, I pop it in my mouth and wink. “Someone about to get a hard dose of reality.”