I take a little longer in the bathroom than I need to, standing in front of the mirror, teasing out my curls and checking my teeth for remnants of the pasta Brando and I shared before coming to the club.
I hear a latch close, except it doesn’t come from the cubicles, it comes from the entrance. I feel a cold chill down my spine, as if something – or someone – just sucked out all of the atmosphere from the room. I know it’s her before I even turn my head.
Lexi Dark.
She stands in front of the door, one hand on her hip. Her red lips projecting a dark control. She looks like a moving magazine cover, every inch of her body always in perfect alignment. I stare at her and wonder why people bother traveling halfway around the world to see breathtaking sights.
Frozen solid, all I can do is watch her. She steps forward, slow but confident, a supermodel sashay to a beat of heels on tile.
I’ve bitched about singers like Lexi a million times. About their fake appearance, plastic assembly-line songs, meaningless lyrics. But standing here, in her presence, her intensity has never seemed realer.
“Well well well, aren’t you a cute little thing?” she says, reaching out elegant fingers, tipped with multi-colored nails, toward my shoulder. She trails her hand across my back to the other shoulder as she steps around me, sending lightning bolts of tension throughout my body. “Brando’s new toy.”
The words are out of my mouth before I have time to think about what I’m saying. “Maybe he got tired of playing with dolls.”
Lexi opens her mouth in excited pleasure. She leans back on the sink, the arch of her back pornographic.
“Good. There’s some fight in you. Brando likes that. Not too much, though,” she leans in toward my ear, so close her cherry breath tickles the hairs on my neck, “he’s a big guy, but he breaks easy.”
She keeps her face close to mine, close and dangerous. I glare at her in the mirror, her lips glistening in the bright fluorescent lights.
“Has he fucked you yet?” Lexi says, pulling her head back and stretching out her slender neck. “What am I saying? Of course he has; a pretty thing like you. I’ll bet he can’t keep his hands off you.” Lexi brushes the back of her hand against my cheek. My brain screams for my body to move, but I just watch her in the mirror, encased in the iciness of her touch, trapped in her aura. “I’ll bet he has you right where he wants you: not sure if it’s your body or your career that he really wants.”
Something snaps me out of my cage and I grab her wrist.
“Maybe that dress is too tight,” I say, looking right into her emerald eyes, “your bitterness is showing.”
Lexi jerks her hand away and twists her lips into a semi-menacing, semi-sweet smile. She turns to face the mirror, gently touching the already-immaculate strands of hair that fall lovingly around her striking face. Rolling her hands down from tiny waist to lurid hips. She does it all as if I’ve disappeared, and she’s on her own.
“Just a little friendly advice from someone who knows.”
I watch her study herself intently, like an engineer ensuring her well-oiled machine is tuned to perfection, before turning to leave. She glances at me for a second as she turns, a dark flash in her eyes, then strides toward the door, animal grace and clicking heels. She grabs the handle before pausing.
“Try saying his name when you come,” she says, looking back at me over her shoulder, another cover girl pose, “he really loves that.”
I hear her laughing even after the door closes.
Chapter 9
Brando
“Settling down has made you soft, Jax,” I say, as we carry our boards from the ocean to our towels, panting with the exertion of another ultra-competitive surf.
“What’s your excuse then?”
We dig our boards into the sand and stand for a while to catch our breaths, the glorious LA sun glistening off our wet bodies. I flip open the cooler and pull out two beers, popping the tops with my fingers and handing one to Jax.
“How’s Lizzie?” I ask, as we sit on the towels and gaze out at the rolling sea.
“Excited; I’m taking her to Paris this weekend.”
“What is it with chicks and Paris? I never got it. I mean, what’s Paris got that LA doesn’t?”
Jax gives me a sideways glance and smiles.
“Centuries of complex history and culture? Fantastic cuisine? The biggest art collections in the world? The most sophisticated fashion labels? A beautiful language?”
“Shit,” I say, swigging greedily from the cold bottle. “I’d take a girl with a Bronx accent and a good slice of pizza over that any day.”
Jax laughs and takes a sip. After a few moments he asks, “How are things going with your new protégé?”
“Haley?” I say, trying to suppress the smile I get from saying her name. “Pretty good. Yeah.”
But Jax has been my friend for way too long not to notice. He grins widely when he sees it.
“Damn, Brando. You’re really full of surprises.”
“What?”