Page 3 of Heartthrob

“Just listen to what I have to say, please.”

He seems so sincere that against my better judgment, I let him lead me to the couch and sit me down. I pull the wet sandy robe closed even tighter around me. A part of me screams that this is his job. He’s an actor - he lies for a living. Another part of me is just curious - too curious to just walk away.

“Do you know who I am?” I scoot over so I’m not in the same place my wet hair was in when he threw me down on the couch the first time.

I nod. Everyone knows who he is. He’s Lincoln Striker - the kid movie star who put out a couple of multi-hit albums before returning to acting. He’s…a star.

It hits me hard that I’m not just in normal trouble - I’ve managed to find a whole new level of trouble. When he dumped Tiffany Strong for cheating on him she never worked in Hollywood again. Hell, she might be working for the same cleaning agency I am for all I know and now, I’ve broken into his house.

I’m a dead woman.

“I need your help.”

“Me? What could I possibly help you with?”

“I need you to be my girlfriend.”

I look into his face for a long time before I jump up, “Fuck off. I’m not a prostitute.”

“What?” Now he seems confused. Maybe…I was too hasty with my assumption that he was propositioning me.

“I…you want me to…”

He must catch on because he quickly stands back up, “No. It’s…it’s not like that. I need someone to ‘pretend’ to be my girlfriend.”

“Why? You’re Linc Striker. Anyone would date you?” None of this makes any sense.

“Yes, but I don’t want just anyone. I want you. Look, I think you might need a little help too and I just thought we could help one another. I’m sure you didn’t start out breaking into people’s homes. There has to be a reason.”

I squirm against the soft fabric. It’s like butter and feels way too good for me to be sitting on it covered in sand, dripping wet. “I had my identity stolen. Which led to me being fired from my job and kicked out of my apartment.”

I leave out the part where my creepy landlord, Sal, told me I could stay if I agreed to sleep with him. Behind his girlfriend’s back of course.

“I tried to stay in my car but it was towed. And then…never mind.”

“What? Tell me.”

“Well, there was a guy at the shelter that, um…”

“Hit on you.” He’s not asking. He knows. It sounds weird to say anything because it makes me feel like a victim when I’m not. Lots of other people have it way worse than I have, and I refuse to feel sorry for myself.

“I can help you find the person who stole your identity. Make them pay it all back.”

“How can you make someone pay it all back? More than likely even if I were to press charges and on the slim chance they go to jail, I still wouldn’t get anything back.”

“It’s all about how you present things, my dear.”

I try not to get excited by his words. Can he really help me?

“What do I have to do?”

“I have a new movie coming out which means I’ll have to do press releases and movie premiers and all that shit. I have to take someone with me or suffer through the rehash of all the girlfriend’s past and my co-star is under the impression we mean more to one another than we really do. My agent will try to push the newest starlet in my lap and I can’t bare another handsy encounter with man-hungry women.”

I see how all of this might be rough, how it could all become tiresome and stressful. “So…I would be your…fake girlfriend?”

“If you pretend to be my girlfriend for the next…two-no, three months, I’ll use my money and resources to find who stole your identity and prosecute them.”

I start to waver about helping him. It seems like a win-win but life is never that easy.

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