Page 5 of Mr. Wrong
“You’ve got way too much hair to be a super-villain,” she says, shaking her head. “Besides, a super-villain would’ve figured out a way to get me a drink by now.”
Challenge accepted.
Planting my hands on the bar, I vault over it, landing on the other side. “Whiskey ginger?” I say, reaching under the bar for a glass.
She nods, her warm brown eyes widening slightly before sneaking a look down the length of the bar. Seth, the bartender on duty, doesn’t even look at me. “You work here.”
I shrug because I don’t want to tell her the truth, but I don’t want to lie either. Filling the glass with ice, I give it a generous pour of top-shelf single malt before forcing myself to give it a shot of ginger ale with the mixer gun. It’s good whiskey. Adding anything to it seems sacrilegious. “Not-Elle isnotan actress.” I add a cherry because the damage is already done and because I want to watch her put it in her mouth. “You’re alsonotfrom LA,” I say, setting the glass in front of her.
Giving Seth one last look, she finally settles her gaze on me and shakes her head. “What gave me away?” she says reaching for the glass with a lopsided smile. “Was it the sweater?”
I make a non-committal noise in the back of my throat and take a drink, mostly to hide the fact that now that she mentioned her sweater, I’m imagining her in it and nothing else.
“Doyou work here?”
“Is your name really Elle?” I don’t know why it matters to me, but it does. Maybe because for the first time in days, I don’t feel like smashing everything I can get my hands on.
“Yes.” Heat rises in her cheeks, staining them pink while she does that thing with her bottom lip again, rolling and chewing on it while she thinks about my question. “It’s short for Ellenore.”
“Ellenore…” I try it out and find that I like it. I’ve met enough Brandis and Santanas and Taylors to last me a lifetime. “My brother owns the place.” There I go, telling the truth again. I tell myself that it’s because she told me the truth, so it’s only fair, but that’s not really why. I tell her because even though it’s been a shitty day and I’ve only known her for ten minutes, I like her. A lot.
And I want her to like me back.
She laughs and shakes her head while stirring her drink with the straw I stuck in her glass. “So, not a super-villain—just super-privileged.”
“Can’t I be both?” From the corner of my eye, I watch the redhead she was sitting with slip out of their booth and saunter her way across the room. She looks vaguely familiar—whether because she looks like every wannabe starlet in LA or because she’s an actual working actress is hard to tell.
“I guess.” Elle laughs and gives me a shrug while swirling the cherry in her glass around by its stem. “But wouldn’t that just make you Batman?” She pops it into her mouth before rolling it around with her tongue and I’m 100% certain she has no idea how fucking sexy she is. Before I can recover from watching that tongue of hers and imagining how it would feel wrapped around my cock, her friend sidles up to the bar.
“I’m sorry to interrupt,” she says, flipping her long, red hair over her shoulder with a practiced flick. “I just realized I have a 5AM call-time tomorrow.”
“Oh…” Elle looks at me, the regret on her face palpable. Goddamn, she’s adorable. “Okay. Well, it was nic—”
“Don’t be silly.” Her friend shakes her head. “I’m sure—” She looks at me, obviously waiting for me to supply my name.
“Renaldo.”
“Right.” She smirks. “I’m sureRenaldois more than willing to give you a ride home.” Is it my own wishful thinking or did she just emphasize the wordride?
I look at Elle. “I think I can manage that.”
She does that thing with her bottom lip again. A nervous habit that inadvertently draws my attention to her mouth. “Dan—”
“Have fun.” She leans in and presses her glossy lips to Elle’s cheek and murmurs something that has Elle’s eyes bulging and her head shaking. Before she can say anything, the redhead looks at me and smiles. “I took your picture,” she says, lifting her phone. “So, play nice.” No matter how plastic she seems, she obviously cares about her friend.
“Yes, ma’am.” I give her a snappy salute.
She gives Elle a wink and walks out the door.
Three
Ellenore
What just happened?
What the actualfuckjust happened?
My best friend—the one person I can count on in this world, the person I rely on most—basically just pimped me out to the hottest guy in the bar.
