“What’d you say her name was again?” I ask.
“Meegan,” Kai says, emphasizing the long ‘e.’ His expression is crestfallen, but I’m doing him a favor.
Kai’s a nice guy, but every other word out of his mouth is “dude” and his brain is way too baked to carry on a decent conversation with anyone, let alone a sexy chick he’s trying to score.
Friday nights at my place are where my friends come to chill, to get away from the hustle and bustle of the city after a long week of busting our asses for not nearly enough pay. I tend to do a little better for myself than most of my friends, but still, money doesn’t grow on trees for any of us. We’re just a bunch of normal guys who’ll never find our names on VIP lists or on the pink slips of Porsches and Range Rovers.
I’m pretty sure Meegan came here with Raj and his girlfriend, Nahla, and I’m pretty sure she’s a work friend of Nahla’s, but I’ll confirm that in two point five seconds.
Grabbing a cold beer from the fridge, I strut in her direction and hand it over. Her dark eyes land on me, then the beer, and back again.
“What’s this?” she asks, angling her body toward me. There’s a flicker in her dark gaze, a twitch on her red lips.
“Exactly what it looks like.”
She takes it from me and twists the cap. “I don’t normally drink beer.”
“I don’t normally give my beer away to strange women.”
I’d offer her some of Melrose’s wine, but the bottles are covered with sticky notes with words like, “RESERVED” and “POISON” and “NOT YOURS.”
“Guess we’re both making exceptions tonight, aren’t we?” she asks, body almost swaying back and forth as she works a flirtatious half-smile.
“Sutter,” I say.
“Meegan.” She takes a small sip, and her eyes don’t leave mine, not for a second.
“You came here with Raj and Nahla, right?”
“I did. I work with Nahla. I dragged her to a party last weekend, so I’m returning the favor,” she says. “Not that she had to drag me here …”
“I’m so sorry. The least she could’ve done was take you someplace where strange men wouldn’t shamelessly hit on you.”
“Is that what this is?” she asks.
“What else would it be?” I pick at a loose corner of my beer’s label, but I keep my sights on her.
I mean seriously. She’s an attractive girl—interesting attractive, not plastic attractive, seems smart enough to carry on a conversation. Surely she knows that when any man approaches her with an alcoholic beverage, it’s akin to saying, “You’re hot. Let’s get drunk and screw each other’s brains out” and if we weren’t on the same page, she wouldn’t still be standing here, talking to me.
The front door opens and I lean forward to peek through the living room toward the entry, only to spot Melrose standing and taking in the fact that the house is crammed with strangers. But it only fazes her for a second, and then she heads to the kitchen and grabs a bottle of wine from a cupboard, crumpling one of her Post-Its before retrieving a corkscrew from a drawer.
“Is that red Moscato?” Meegan asks, pointing. She’s standing so close to me our arms are practically touching, but it appears I’m now going to have to fight a bottle of wine for her attention. What is it with girls and their annoying little dessert wines?
Drink the real shit for crying out loud.
“It is. Want some?” Melrose turns to her, lifting a brow.
“I’d love some.” Meegan places her beer bottle on the counter before helping herself to my cupboards, trying one after another until she locates some stemware I didn’t even know existed—must be something Melrose brought. “You’re the best. Thank you.”
The girls pour their glasses and clink them together before taking dainty little swigs that don’t so much as disturb their lipsticks.
“Long day?” I ask Melrose.
“Yeah.” She exhales, leaning against the counter, her pink painted fingertips pressed lightly against the glass in her hand.
“You should probably go relax or something,” I say, eyes pointing to the ceiling since her room happens to be directly above us.
“What do you think I’m doing right now?” she asks, taking a generous gulp. Her dark blue eyes flicker. She knows exactly what she’s doing.
“What do you do for a living?” Meegan asks. Only she isn’t asking me … she’s asking Melrose.
How the hell she’s taking more interest in Melrose than me is blowing my goddamned mind, and if this continues, I’m going to be picking my jaw up off the floor here soon.
“I’m an actress,” Melrose says, offering a humble smile as if on cue.
I wonder if she rehearses that.
“I thought you looked familiar!” Meegan’s face lights. “I’ve seen you in something … I know I have.”
Melrose rattles off her entire IMDB summary, and Meegan nods as she bounces on her heels.