Page 23 of Faking It

“That’s better,” she smiles. “Quit worrying about Ana. She’s young, stunning and talented. I’m sure there are roles lined up waiting for her.”

Recalling that panic in her eyes when Aunt Cheryl dismissed Ana earlier, I’m inclined to disagree. She needs this job, maybe even more than me.

“Find some other way to get in her pants, dear nephew.” She’s smirking now. “I’m not about to sacrifice my career so you can get laid.”

Twisting on my heels, I head through the door, knowing it’s no use arguing with Aunt Cheryl, anyway. I’m a man of action, not words. Right now, my mind is already spinning for a plan to make things right.

Ana getting rejected was my fault. I know that. Her mini meltdown wouldn’t have happened if I hadn’t been so persistent, pushing her to admit we’d met six years ago. Granted, it boggles my mind that she pretended, especially when I saw the recognition in her eyes. Why would she lie about our encounter? It doesn’t make sense to me.

As I press the button to summon the elevator, my thoughts go back to when we met. It was the night I wrapped up filmingEclipse, my superhero movie debut. Some guys from the crew wanted to celebrate, and I joined in. We stopped by that bar in the hip strip—I still can’t remember the name. What I do remember, though, is her face. She was the first person who caught my attention when I entered the lively establishment, and it wasn’t the bottle-flipping tricks she’d been doing to entertain her customers sitting around the counter. It was the sparkle in her eyes. Like in that moment, she was truly happy. I envied her. It was an emotion I hadn’t experienced in ages.

I remember walking up to the bar, trance-like, with an urge to feed off her happiness. Her gaze shifted to me, and the sparkle dimmed for a short beat, a look of interest dwelling there. She paused; her grip tight around the bottle neck. Her eyes slowly scanned my body, and I saw the sharp bounce of her chest before she went back to doing tricks with that bottle, the sparkle returning at full blast.

Now that I’ve seen her, I realize the details of that night never left my mind. They’d been hiding in a dormant folder, waiting to be summoned.

She smiled politely when I took the seat right in front of her. Asked me what my poison was. Her brows slightly lifted when I told her I wanted something tart with no alcohol. For some reason, I wanted to explain.

“I don’t drink,” I told her, and she nodded.

“You’ve got company,” she replied, reaching for a bottle of orange juice. “I don’t drink, either.”

It was my turn to raise my brows. “A bartender who doesn’t drink? Weird.”

“I know, right?” she giggled. “Hard to believe, but it’s true.”

She got busy making my drink and throughout the conversation with my crew, I kept glancing back at her. The soft-looking curls of her dark hair, crimson spots on her round cheeks, full pink lips she continuously moistened with her tongue. I could only see the upper half of her body, the white buttoned top covering a voluptuous chest and a flat stomach. She was an attractive girl. Beautiful.

The conversation with my friends no longer enticed me. I wanted a conversation with the bartender instead. Her non-drinking piqued my curiosity. Was her reason for abstaining from alcohol the same as mine?

“You like your job, don’t you?” I asked as she slid the mocktail toward me with a pleasant smile, our fingers brushing before she let it go.

Weak conversation, dude.From the way she shrugged, I suspected she agreed.

“I guess,” she replied, wiping down the counter with a yellow rag. “It pays the bills, you know?”

No, I couldn’t relate. It wasn’t a boast, just a fact. At that point, I’d been working to add more value to my father’s legacy. Acting wasn’t a means to survive.

Until now.

“So, how long have you been working here, Miss Bartender Who Doesn’t Drink?” I asked.

Her brows furrowed again, and it seemed as if she debated whether to answer me. “Just a few weeks,” she replied, and I heard a slight stiffness in her tone.

Seeing her discomfort made me pull back the questioning.

“How about you?” she asked, washing her hands by the sink. “Where are you from?”

She obviously didn’t know who I was, which didn’t surprise me. Although I’d been in the industry since I was five years old, I still hadn’t gotten a breakout role. My dad swore this superhero movie would be it.

Fingers crossed, or else I’d never hear the end of how I failed him again.

“Forgot your address?” she asked with a smirk.

“Born and bred here in Cali,” I replied, my insides warming from her scrutinizing eyes.

A customer interrupted to make an order, and I sipped my mocktail until I waited for her to finish. I tried to guess her age. She looked about nineteen, but I doubted it. No way would such a popular establishment hire an underaged girl.

“So, you know what I do for a living. How about you?”

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