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Olivia
"Another shot of tequila, please."
The bartender flashes me a grin, then snatches up the bottle of Patrón.
"Oh, no, I can’t afford that brand," I protest.
"But the man who’s paying for your drink can." He nods at the space over my shoulder. I resist the urge to glance back. No doubt, whoever offered to pay for it will ask for something in return. And while I’m not above the occasional one-night stand, I prefer for it to be on my terms and with my choice of a partner. If a man has to pay for my drink before he introduces himself then, sorry, he’s lost my interest already.
"No, thank you." I narrow my gaze on the bartender. "I’m good with Jose Cuervo."
The bartender reaches under the counter to grab the bottle of Jose. Good ol’ Jose, he’s been a good friend to me all these years. When I left home at eighteen, it was like the metaphorical chains around my wings had been lifted. I went a bit crazy those early days, partying at every opportunity. I had to make up for the time my family had cloistered me and tried to hold me back. Well, fuck them. I made it out, didn’t I? Despite my brother’s and my mother’s opposition. Only my father supported me.
He asked me to think carefully about my choices, and if I still felt this was the way forward for me, he wouldn’t stand in my way. I didn’t have to think twice, to be honest. Becoming an actress is my dream; it’s what I’ve lived for since I was five years old when I acted in a school play. I stepped on stage, and I knew this was it for me. My calling. My profession. What makes me happy. So, I left, with my father’s blessings.
That was three years ago, and I’ve been back once. It was when my father dropped dead of a heart-attack. If only I’d gotten to spend more time with him. Was I selfish to leave when I did? And if I had stayed, would I have regretted it?
The bartender tops up my shot glass, then pops the bottle back in its place under the counter. I nod at him, and he moves away to attend to another customer. I toss back the glass of tequila and warmth explodes in my stomach. A pleasant heat suffuses my skin, and I toy with the rim of the second glass.
When I signed up to be the understudy inBeauty and the Beast,I had no idea it would be opening in Palermo. In Italy, the place of my birth. The place I left to pursue my drama studies in LA, and had hoped not to return to until I was a successful actress and proved myself.
I changed my last name, and because my father had sent me and my siblings to an American school, I already spoke English with an American accent. It ensured no one could trace my roots.
I met Jeanne and Penny at drama school, and when they moved to London to pursue opportunities in the West End, I moved with them. The two of them, along with my other friend Declan, who studied with us in LA, have been my support network since I left home.
The only person outside of my father I’ve kept in touch with is my sister Solene. It pained me to leave her behind, but if I’d stayed, it would have meant following in the footsteps of my older cousins—married at eighteen with two children by the time they were twenty-one, and already settled in the ways of their mother and their grandmother before that. Nope, that wasn’t going to be me.
So, I made it out, and wouldn’t have taken this part, but for the fact that roles don’t come easily. That, and the fact that Jeanne and Penny are also acting in it. It’s the first time since graduating from drama school that we’ll be acting together, so when I got the offer, I couldn’t say no. Now here I am, stuck on my own, on a Friday night, no less.
To be fair, Jeanne had invited me over to her place to watch a movie. I’d briefly thought about accepting the offer when Penny had, but this is the only free night I’m going to have in a while, and I wanted to de-stress. My plan is to down a few drinks, perhaps pick up a one-night stand for a quickie, then drive back tomorrow. And if I don’t find a one-night stand? I’ll simply find a room in the hotel attached to the bar, sleep off my booze-addled high, and leave tomorrow.
Maybe it’s a little dangerous I decided to come without informing my friends about where I was going; but I’d rather not have my best friends around to judge my actions tonight. It’s also why I didn’t go to any nightclub in town, for fear of running into someone I know from my family or friends’ circle. Instead, I opted to come to this bar in Monreale, an hour’s drive from Palermo. Weeks of rehearsing, followed by constant monitoring of what I ate and drank, left me with the need to break free. I left home wanting to lead a life where nothing held me down. I landed in a profession where my every move is scrutinized on stage and on screen. Go figure.
Jeanne and Penny don’t seem to have the same need to let loose once in a while like I do. I love my friends, but my idea of a fun Friday night is not watching Netflix, with no chill. I need… something more. Something that challenges me, makes me think differently, excites my brain cells and the cells between my legs, ideally at the same time. What’s a girl got to do to find someone who’ll stimulate both her brain and her clit, hmm?
The bartender refreshes my drink and I snatch up my second—no, if I’m being honest, it’s my third glass of tequila this evening—and raise it to my lips when thick fingers circle my wrist. "You’ve had enough.”
Static electricity zings up my arm, then arrows to my core. The hair on the back of my neck rises.What the—I whip my head around in his direction. "What do you think you’re doing? How dare you touch me, you—"
Colorless eyes, gray like an impending snow storm. Flickers of gold spark deep inside like distant thunder. The irises are rimmed a dark blue, and the pupils are so black, they’re like the bottomless pits of hell. The breath catches in my throat. I try to drag in air, but my lungs burn. Try to drag my gaze from his, but it’s like I’m held in tractor beams. Every cell in my body hums. My nerve endings seem to fire all at once, sending a bunch of signals to my brain which I can’t interpret.
The skin around his eyes creases. He seems as confused as me, for his eyebrows draw down. A crease dents his perfect forehead. It draws my attention to his nose that juts down over his mouth. And what a mouth it is. Jesus-fucking-Christ, that perfectly-bowed, thin upper lip with just the right hint of cruelty to send a shiver spurting down my spine. The pillowed lower lip, which I want to chew on and bury my teeth in. That jaw of his, which is square enough to give Superman a complex. And those cheekbones. Surely, it’s not possible that someone is blessed with such razor-edged facial architecture that he could hurt me with it.Hecould hurt me. If I gave him the chance. I try to pull my arm from his grasp, but he holds on to it.
I try to speak. I honestly do, but the words are lost somewhere between my brain and my mouth. Stupid braincells that seem to have melted and congealed beyond recognition. He rubs his thumb across the pulse that drums at my wrists, and I feel it in my core. My breasts seem to swell, my nipples tighten, and a throbbing flares to life between my legs. What madness is this? How can I be so attracted to this stranger?
"You were saying?" His voice is darkness coated in sin, dipped in vanilla ice cream.Stop it. Have you gone crazy? He’s just a man… A very good-looking, spectacular specimen of a man who you happen to find very attractive.
I tug on my hand again, and his lips twitch. Is he smiling at me? He’s smiling at me. Probably laughing at my reaction to him.Jerk.
"Let go of me," I snap.
"Okay." He releases me so suddenly I slide back on my barstool.
I raise my hand to slap him, then pause when he shakes his head. He smirks. A twist of his lips that is so hot, so lethal, liquid heat coils low in my belly. I blink. "This is insane." This response to him is beyond weird. It’s like nothing I have ever encountered before. Not with a stranger; not with anyone. If I stay here, I’m either going to try to hit him, or kiss him, or worse. My thighs clench. Shit, the thought of sleeping with him is far from hateful. My toes curl, and my ovaries seem to burst into a happy dance, similar to the one I was practicing before I left rehearsal today. That’s it. I’ve officially lost it. I grab my purse, pull out some bills, and drop them on the counter. Then I turn to leave—
"Running away?" His deep rumble chafes my skin.
