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He rubs his hands together, then reaches over and grabs the soda from where I left it in the cup holder between us. “Pretty sure I’m going to get lucky tonight.”
Maybe even in more ways than one.
CHAPTER30
TATE
After the movie—a full-on hanging-on-the-edge-of-your-seat action thriller that was pretty decent—some of the younger members of the cast approach us, making easy conversation that leads into them inviting us to go to dinner at a nearby restaurant.
I of course accept, and Scarlett doesn’t seem to mind, so we hop in our town car and make our way down the street to a tiny Italian restaurant tucked behind a wall of ivy. The moment we walk inside the restaurant, the atmosphere is warm and welcoming, every single table full save for a long one in the back that has a tiny folded card set up in the center that saysReserved.
“Oh my God, it smells delicious in here,” Scarlett practically groans, and I glance over at her, giving her hand, which is still in mine, a squeeze.
“You’re still hungry after all that popcorn you consumed?” We’ve been teasing each other all night. The more we spend time together, the easier it is with her. Nothing feels fake or forced between us.
I actually like her. I’m fairly certain she likes me. And the closer we get, the more I want her.
Scarlett rests her other hand against her flat stomach, smiling almost apologetically. “I didn’t eat that much.”
She ate a lot, but I’m not going to give her shit for it. I ate a lot of popcorn too. And the candy.
Shit, I’m going to have to go for a run every morning for the rest of the week to burn all of these extra calories off. And we’re having a late pasta dinner on top of it?
It’s like I’m trying to sabotage myself. Roger keeps harping on me about how I need to stay in shape, and he’s right. I need to be physically ready for a tour, which is already tentatively scheduled.
Fucking terrifying, how I’m handing over my life to my record label and they’re just making shit happen and consulting me after the fact. I’m expected to say yes to everything they do, and normally I do. But when does it ever stop?
At the rate it’s going, it feels like never.
The hostess takes us to our table, and the six of us settle into our chairs, Scarlett sitting right next to me. We all glance over the menus and discuss our options, Scarlett remaining quiet as usual, and I wish she weren’t so shy. Though I know it’s hard for her to make small talk with other people. She claims she’s better behind a camera than in person, and I’ve come to realize that with strangers, she’s not wrong.
One of the actresses from the film, Katrina, sits on my left side, her gaze knowing when mine meets hers.
“We met once, you know,” she tells me as the server is on the other end of the table, starting to take all our drink orders.
I frown, scrutinizing her face, but it’s not familiar. “We did?”
Katrina nods, her lips curved into a smug smile. I can’t deny that she’s gorgeous. Icy-blond hair that hangs in a straight line at her shoulders, her full lips covered in bold red lipstick. The dress she’s wearing is a shimmery gold and clings to her curves. I’d peg her as a little older than me, but then again, maybe I’m wrong.
Hollywood, celebrity—it hardens a lot of us. Makes us seem older than we are. Only because we’ve seen so much and done so much compared to the average person that’s our age.
“A few years ago,” she says vaguely. “Before you had your public meltdown.”
Everything seemed to happen to me before my meltdown. “So a lifetime ago then.”
“Yes.” Katrina leans in a little closer, her gaze falling to my lips. “We met at a club.”
“Okay.” Where is she going with this?
“I was a dancer.” Her laugh is sultry, and I’m immediately uncomfortable. Nothing good ever came out of a club back in our heyday. “I gave you a lap dance. You slipped me an extra five hundred, and we met back up so I could give you a blow job later that evening. You were drunk off your ass. Had a hard time coming.”
Oh fuck. Embarrassment coats my skin, and I swallow hard, wishing I could forget that ever happened.
Unfortunately, I remember that night. Not one of my prouder moments.
Katrina is watching me, waiting for my reaction, and I swear it seems like she’s enjoying this. Seeing how uncomfortable her words make me feel.
“Well, it looks like you’re doing great now,” I say, trying to steer the conversation away from the fact that we’ve had a sexual encounter.
