Page 59 of Bad at Love
When we get to Mr. Chow, just off of Wilshire Blvd., she’s back to her usual good spirits. The valet takes the car gleefully, a fan of vintage Camaros, and I take Marina’s hand, holding it tight as we walk into the restaurant.
I’ve never been to this place before but it’s pretty much what I expect. It’s busy, the tablecloths and walls are all white, there are lots of people waiting for a table, dressed to the nines, and everyone seems to know each other.
Luckily, the man at the front isn’t snobby in the slightest, neither are any of the waitstaff. We’re seated in a nice corner spot across from someone I recognize as a movie producer with his very young wife or girlfriend.
“I think I see Jennifer Aniston,” Marina whispers over her expensive martini, staring at the entrance.
“Look at you, all star-struck even though you’ve lived in LA for how long now?”
“Hey, if you don’t get star-struck by people every now and then, what’s the point in living? I’m not going to pretend to be too cool for school.”
“Neither am I. But the people I see in LA are rarely the ones I care about. All mine are in New York, or back in England.”
“That’s because all your idols are musicians.”
“If I was ever lucky enough to meet David Gahan or Jimmy Page or Tom Waits or Nick Cave, then yeah, I would be star struck.”
“I would love to see that,” she says, giving me a small smile. “See Mr. Cool lose his cool.”
“Mr. Cool?” I laugh. “You must have short-term memory because yesterday I completely lost my shit. Not one of my finest moments, I must say.”
“I don’t know,” she says rather coyly, “something good came out of it.”
My skin feels impossibly warm at that.
She didn’t regret the kiss.
Thank fucking god.
“Excuse me,” a voice says to the right of me.
I tear my eyes away from Marina and look up to see a stunning brunette with golden tanned skin and a mega-watt smile that she’s directing at me, dressed in a chic black dress that shows off her legs.
I glance quickly at Marina to see if maybe she recognizes her and actually it seems like she does. She’s wide-eyed and curious as she stares at her.
“Uh yes?” I say to the woman.
“Are you Lazarus Scott?” she asks.
“Uh, yes?”
“Sorry to be so nosy,” she says, smiling warmly at Marina before turning her attention back to me. “Ioverheard them calling your name for the table. Are you the poet Lazarus Scott? Like, on Instagram.”
“That’s me,” I tell her. This is always awkward. Well, okay it’s not normally awkward when a gorgeous woman approaches me like this but it’s awkward now with Marina here. I don’t want her to feel left out.
“Wow, I thought so,” she says, brushing her stick-straight hair behind her ear. “I didn’t know what you looked like so I hoped it was you. I don’t mean to interrupt your date.” She glances again at Marina and smiles.
“It’s not a date,” Marina blurts out. “We’re just friends.”
Okay then. In case I was wondering where we stood, there we have it.
“Oh, okay. Cool,” the girl says. She sticks out her hand to me. “My name is Colleen. It’s nice to meet you.”
I shake her hand, my grip firm enough to leave an impression, but as hot as she is and as much as Marina made it clear we arejust friends, I’m not interested.
“Lazarus. Nice to meet you.”
She takes her hand back, that big smile still on her face as she looks between the two of us. She points behind her. “Well, I’m going to go back to my table over there. Having a girl’s night with a few friends. Sorry for interrupting and I’m so glad I got to meet you.”
