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“Cute, but no. What’s your real name, sweetie?”
She sighed and muttered something under her breath, then reached into the purse slung over one shoulder. After locating her wallet, she cleared the distance between them and held her driver’s license in his general direction.
Taking it between two fingers, Ethan reviewed the information. A 1986 birthday made her a bit old for his tastes, but it was time he branched out from the barely legals. Besides, twenty-six wasn’t old. In theory. In his business she’d have been applying for her pension, but in the real world she was still considered young.
And she looked good, so what did it matter?
Organ donor. Nice.
Samantha Elizabeth Hart.
Too bad her name didn’t start with an M because with a moniker that boring her initials might as well have been MEH.
But she wasn’t lying, her real name was Samantha Hart, which was more than he could say for the Samantha he’d been expecting. Ethan handed back the card, and she shoved her wallet back into her purse.
“Happy now?” she asked, a haughty, defensive tone in her voice.
Ohhh, he liked it when they acted like bitches. This one didn’t seem like the bitchy type, more the high-strung, type-A type, but she was putting on a good show for him.
The more flustered she got, the more her skin pinked up with a healthy, rage-induced glow.
“You have the same name as a porn star,” he informed her, and much to his delight her cheeks went from shell pink to post-O red in under two seconds. A new record.
“Come again?”
He could if she asked nicely. “Your name, Samantha Hart? There’s a porn star with the same name.”
“You just happen to know that offhand?” She gave him another look, probably taking in the motorcycle jacket and battered boots and pigeonholing him as a pervert.
That was fine.
He was a pervert.
“Sure I would. It’s my job.”
“It’s your job to watch porn?”
Ethan snorted. Oh this poor girl had no idea. “Not watch, no.”
“Sell?” The red in her cheeks had extended to her ears, and the red in her hair was making it all the more apparent.
“Nope, try again.” He grinned, having far more fun with this than he ought to be.
“You…act?” She didn’t seem to think the word was right, but he couldn’t blame her. Acting wasn’t the best phrase for it.
“You betcha.”
“You’re a porn star?”
“I take it you’ve never heard of me.”
“I’m more of a rom-com girl.” She glanced past him as if trying to suss out the shortest escape route. Like being alone in a room with a porn actor meant he would whip out his cock at any moment and a ’70s groove would start playing over the speakers.
“I did a porno spoof of 27 Dresses called 27 Cock—”
“Oh, yeah, no. Don’t finish that sentence.”
“—suckers.”
