Page 3 of Overexposed

“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.

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