“Gina. With Gina comes drama, rumors, gossip rags. Everything I try to stay away from and you know that.”
“I’m not seeing her.”
“Coulda fooled me.” Elle pursed her lips. “Listen, if you want to end this, just say so. Date Gina, date whomever you choose. Just leave me out of the bullshit.”
“Says the woman who can’t stop thinking about her ex.”
“Excuse me?”
“You heard me.”
Elle froze, uncertain of what she could say in rebuttal. Luke was right. Since their first encounter with Troy weeks earlier, she’d been different, distracted. Her heart and her mind were muddled and confused. And that was her fault, not Luke’s. She was being unfair. She knew that, but she had enough confusion weighing her down; the idea of having to deal with Gina’s dramatics was just too much to handle.
“Look, I’m sorry, I just—” She waved her iPad. “You know this stuff drives me crazy. It pulls my focus, and I can’t have that.”
Luke closed the gap between them, wrapping his arms around her waist. “I’m not interested in Gina. Yes, I was being friendly, and it was loud in the bar so when I talked to her, I leaned in. That’s all these photos show.”
Elle tilted her head, narrowing her eyes at Luke. “Do you think I’m stupid?”
“My lips never touched hers. If they had, don’t you think Paris Hilton would have put that on her blog?”
Elle allowed a laugh to escape her lips. “Perez. Perez Hilton.”
Luke chuckled, pulling his lips into a playful smirk. “What did I say?”
“Paris. As in the hotel magnate’s daughter. The one who eats gigantic cheeseburgers while washing cars.”
“Ah, that’s right.” Luke pulled Elle in close, tickling her ear with his lips. “C’mon. You know me. Nothing happened.”
Elle wanted to believe Luke. She wanted to believe every word that left his mouth. But the truth was, she didn’t know him. Not really. They’d known each other for a few months, and reality was setting in on their relationship. Reality that included both Troy and Gina. And she wasn’t sure where that would leave them.
“Besides, stuff like this is good, right? I mean, for the show.”
If Luke’s eyes hadn’t held such innocence and obvious good nature, she would’ve been tempted to slap him right across his beautiful square jaw. That type of statement was the exact reason why she didn’t date actors—or get involved with anything that could be spread across gossip rags or websites.
“Maybe. There’s a delicate balance between good and bad press.”
“I thought all press was good press.”
“And that’s why you are an actor and I’m not.”
Elle’s posture stiffened and she pulled away from Luke’s embrace, missing him the second they parted. He rubbed his chin as he peered into her eyes.
“I should go. Justine will be back any minute and I don’t want to halt production.”
“Fine, but . . . are we okay?”
Elle nodded, faking a smile, knowing there was nothing more to say. “Yes, we’re fine. I’ll see you out there.”
“He has a point.”
Whitney took a large sip of her lemon drop martini as the two ladies sat at the bar and waited for their dessert to arrive. Elle rolled her eyes, not wanting to hear it. Whitney should side with her, not Luke. Was it juvenile? Of course, but after two martinis of her own, it’s exactly how she was feeling.
“Explain.”
“Well.” Whitney hesitated, biting her bottom lip. “You’re not exclusive, you have no real commitment. He can see Gina and you can see Troy if you want to—see if there’s still something there.”
“Did you seriously just say that? Troy isn’t someone I’d see. Troy is all or nothing. And there will always be something there.”
“Who says?”
“Me. I say.” Elle shook her head. “Our past is just . . . it’s this sea of uncertainty, you know? When we were together, it was blissful—”
Whitney made a gagging sound into her martini glass. “Blissful? I don’t think I’ve ever heard Elle Riley use that word.”
Elle shrugged, shifting uncomfortably on the leather cushion of the barstool. “It’s the truth. But then . . . things always go wrong. Always. They get convoluted and confusing and we end up screaming at each other. Or I get terrified and shut things down completely.”
“Is that what happened in Vegas? You’ve never really told me.”
Elle’s eyes moistened. “I can’t . . . I can’t even articulate what happened in Vegas. I wish I could. Let’s just say it was the worst day of my life.”
Whitney placed her hand on Elle’s shaky fingers. “It’s okay. We don’t have to talk about that. One day you’ll tell me.”
“Thanks.” She wiped the moisture from her eyes. “So what do I do, Whit? I feel so lost.”
“Well, you and Luke are okay now, right? I mean, you threw your tantrum, he calmed you down, and now you’re just . . . I don’t know, kinda dealing with the aftermath?”
Elle swirled her drink and nodded. “Yeah. In a nutshell.”
“Ladies.” The bartender slid a large plate toward them. A large slice of flourless chocolate cake sat atop the white plate, adorned with two forks. Chocolate and caramel drizzle decorated the dessert, making it almost too beautiful to eat. “Enjoy.”
Whitney’s eyes rolled to the back of her head as she tasted the cake. Elle giggled, watching her friend close her eyes tight, the fork still inside her closed mouth.
“That good, huh?” the bartender asked with a laugh.
“Honey, all we need is whipped cream and a curtain.”
Elle rolled her eyes.
“I’m serious,” Whitney insisted. “I need a moment alone with this cake.”
Elle laughed into her hand, shaking her head at Whitney’s candor. The bartender erupted into laughter, slapped the bar, and gazed at Whitney.
“We should put that on the specials board—it’d be the perfect slogan.”
Whitney pointed her fork at the bartender. “You should! You’ll have wall-to-wall women in this place.”
“Sounds good to me.” Dimples formed on the bartender’s cheeks. “I’m Mac, by the way.”
“Hey, Mac.” Whitney flipped her long chocolate locks behind her shoulder before extending her hand. “I’m Whitney. This is Elle.”
“Nice to meet you, ladies. I’ll, um . . . leave you with your dessert. But I’ll check on you later.”
“You’d better.”
Whitney watched the bartender as he walked away while Elle dug back into the cake.
“You’re watching his ass, aren’t you?”
“Yep. And I’m pretty sure I’m going home with him.”
Whitney tipped her head when the bartender looked back in their direction before taking another bite of the delectable dessert. Elle watched her best friend in awe. Her confidence, her humor, her take-life-by-the-balls attitude were all things she admired. Elle had spent so many years living with her own imperfections and fears. Pushing people away in the name of saving herself from being hurt. She knew she could learn a thing or two from her best friend.
As predicted, after hours of flirting, Whitney left for the evening with Mac the dimple-cheeked bartender, but not before calling a cab for Elle. Once she finished her final martini, a more-than-just-a-little-buzzed Elle climbed into the taxi and, without even planning to, gave the driver the address for Anthony’s Pub rather than her home.
Despite her pounding heart and mounting anxiety, a besotted Elle made her way into the bar, plopping herself onto the nearest empty barstool.
“We’re closing in twenty minutes,” a young bartender warned her, a fake smile plastered to her face. Elle studied the plastic-like features of the bartender, disliking the malleable appearance of her nose and cheekbones. And for the slightest of seconds, Elle wondered if Troy was attracted to women like her. It had been a long time since she’d observed Troy’s dating preferences and was no longer familiar with his “type.” She could only hope that even though he now lived in Los Angeles, he wasn’t falling under the spell of women addicted to plastic surgery.