“I’m eighteen years old. I come from an area of Beverly Hills you might know as Tehrangeles, and I’d be under permanent house arrest if my family knew I was here, wearing these clothes and talking to you. I dream of being an actress, but it’s proven impossible to catch a break. So I took this job hoping it’ll help me live the life of my dreams as opposed to the life my parents have dreamed for me. Ira wants us to fill up the clubs, but if we can bring in celebrities, it counts more toward the win. And I’m telling you this because I already know about you since you’re famous, but also because you’re saying all kinds of complimentary stuff, when you don’t know the first thing about me. Also, I figured you’d find out eventually and I didn’t want you to think I was stringing you along, even though, admittedly, in the beginning, I was.” She took a deep breath and clamped her lips shut. Fearing she’d gone too far when he cocked his head and narrowed his eyes.
“So, you were stringing me along in the beginning, and now?”
She paused; she’d already said too much. But with his green eyes boring into hers, he was impossible to resist. “Now I’m doing something I’ll no doubt regret.” She heaved a deep exhale, hardly able to believe she’d veere
d so far from her earlier vow, which had made better sense. She steeled herself for any reply he might volley, but she was wholly unprepared for the unexpected gentleness of the kiss that followed.
It was just one kiss. Soft. Warm. Over almost as quickly as it started. But the impression lingered.
He drew away and ran his fingers along the curve of her jaw, looking at her as though she was something both fragile and wonderful. “I’ll tell you what, Aster Amirpour of Tehrangeles.” His gaze glinted on hers. “If it helps you secure the win and live the life of your dreams, then I’ll return as often as I can. I’ll even bring Madison. But you have to remember when you see us together that nothing in this town is ever quite what it seems.”
TWENTY-ONE
SUNDAY BLOODY SUNDAY
Layla woke with a raging headache, a soul stained with regret, and her father sitting on the edge of her bed, wearing an old paint-splattered Neil Young concert tee, looking unshaven, scruffy, but still handsome, while peering at her with concern.
“You okay?” he asked, his silver-streaked hair flopping into his eyes.
He seemed sincere, but she couldn’t bear to face him, so she grabbed the extra pillow and held it over her head.
“Come on. None of that. I got you a treat.” He tossed the pillow aside and handed her a cup of coffee from her favorite place down the street.
“I don’t deserve a treat.” She inched up the wooden headboard and took a small sip.
“I added a couple shots of tequila, you know—little hair of the dog—”
“You didn’t!” She pushed the cup away, but her dad just laughed and pushed it right back. “You know you’re not supposed to joke about that stuff.” She reached for the aspirin and water he’d left on her nightstand. “And you’re not supposed to help me feel better.” She swallowed the aspirin and chased it with a big gulp of water, before returning to the coffee.
“Wikipedia claims otherwise.”
She started to laugh, then instantly regretted it when it increased the pounding in her head. “You’re supposed to lecture me, steep me in shame.”
“Figured I could skip that part. You usually handle that just fine on your own.”
She closed her eyes and fell back against the pillows, wishing she could rewind the last week and start over. In addition to all her bad decisions, of which there were many, she’d gotten drunk on tequila and kissed a boy she had no business kissing. What a train wreck she’d become.
Did that mean she was just like her mom?
Was the propensity for betrayal genetic?
She sincerely hoped not.
“So what happened? You try to outdrink all your gets? Is this an occupational hazard of working in a nightclub?”
She rolled her eyes. “I didn’t have any gets.”
“So who’s Tommy then?”
Her eyes flew open. How did he know that name? But an instant later the memory bitch-slapped her smack in the brain.
She’d bolted to the bathroom right after that kiss, only to exit and find Tommy waiting to warn her Ira was there. Then he hauled her outside before Ira could see her.
“Tommy is—” She shook her head and shrugged, having no idea how to explain.
“Well, he got you home safely, so he can’t be all bad.”
He’d insisted on driving her bike, and for the first half of the ride she’d made fun of the way he handled it. The second half she asked him to pull over so she could hurl into the gutter. By the time they got to her door, she fumbled for her keys for so long Tommy took his chances on ringing the bell.