Page 1 of One Filthy Kiss

1

MEGAN

“How do I look, Meg?”

“Wow.” I blink at my best friend. Plenty of comments spring to mind while I figure out how best to word my response. “You look…”

“Like someone else?” Nikki peers down at her black Capri pants, flat black pumps, and crisp white shirt. “Or like a waitress in a back-street diner?”

I chew my bottom lip. I know what she wants to hear, but we’ve always been honest with each other, and right now, she doesn’t even look like the girl I’ve known since our first day in primary school. “Both?”

“Okay, stop being diplomatic and hit me with the truth.”

Two men walk past discussing props and lighting, their general American accents making us sound even more noticeably British. I follow them with my eyes as if they have magnets attached to the back of their heads.

“I still can’t believe I’m here, Nik.” I turn back to my friend, my entire body emitting a silent squeal.

Hereis a film studio set in LA.

LA! As in Los Angeles, California, USA.

I’d never been further than Cornwall until I came here. My passport, unused, still carried a photograph of sixteen-year-old Megan Walsh with her hair tied back into a high ponytail and clear braces on her teeth. The Customs Officers at London Gatwick Airport and LAX eyed me and the passport suspiciously, and I’d experienced fleeting moments of sheer panic that I’d be hauled away by Airport Security and locked up in a cell for identity theft.

But here I am. Thanks to Nikki’s parents.

When Nikki landed herself a tiny role in a movie being made by a new production company in LA, she’d begged me to come with her.

“You deserve a vacation, Meg. Sunshine, Venice Beach, the famous Hollywood sign.”

I was tempted, of course I was. But there was the small matter of paying for the vacation, not easy on the wage of a wannabe cake designer currently working in a boutique bakery in East London.

“Timothee Chalamet. Austin Abrams. Every other hot actor you’ve ever dreamed about.” Nikki waggled a finger in my face. “Go on, say yes, Meg. I’ll help pay for your flights. Maybe the production company will let you stay with me.”

The next day, Nikki’s parents surprised me with an email confirming my round trip flights from London to LosAngeles.

Nikki shakes her head and smiles. “You’ve been here three days and you’re still acting like the hottest kid in high school just asked you on a date.”

“How does anyone ever get used to this?”

I peer around the busy film set, eyes saucer-wide, and finally settle on a guy in a pinstripe silver suit and pale-blue turtleneck sweater, raven-black hair swept away from dark swoon-worthy eyes. “Jesus-fucking-Christ-on-a-bike,” I whisper under my breath. The guy is an actual demi-god in a city filled with demi-gods.

When Nikki tried persuading me with the promise of sunshine, golden sand, and famous signs, she failed to mention that everyone here is sculpted from marble and bestowed with the kind of brazenly healthy beauty that would sink a thousand ships. Or launch them. I’m not sure which.

Nikki laughs out loud. She crouches in front of my little sister Amber and tucks a stray golden curl behind the five-year-old’s ear. “Okay, kiddo, while your sister is fangirling over every actor she spies, how about you and I have a little chat, eh?”

Amber gives her a shy smile and slides her hand into mine; I squeeze it reassuringly.

Since she started school, Amber has been coming out of her shell a little, but her confidence is something I’m still working on. Amber has lived with me since our mom died. She was only a baby, so I’m all she has, but I know what we’ve lost, and I worry that my overprotectiveness isn’t helping. But I refuse to lose her too.

“Woman-to-woman,” Nikki continues, “do I look different-bad or different-good?”

“Different-good?” Amber’s voice curls upward like a cat’s tail.

“You look beautiful, Nik.” I rest my other hand on my little sister’s shoulder. “You’ll smash this role and get offered another part, and then we’ll never see you again. One day, we’ll be watching one of your movies at the cinema, and I’ll say to Amber, ‘Do you remember Auntie Nikki?’ and she’ll say, ‘Auntie who?’”

We both laugh.

Nikki’s tone turns serious. “Yeah, that’s never gonna happen. Do you have any idea how long I spent in makeup to look like this?”