“How are you?” I ask, then purse my lips at myself. Do I know this girl? Have we met? No, we haven’t. So why am I talking to her like we’re old acquaintances?
“I’m… alright,” she answers, and her gaze breaks away from mine as she glances gloomily back down at the drink in front of her.
Wow, we just met and she’s already lying to me. I don’t know how to feel about that…
“That’s a load of bullshit,” I grin, taking a seat next to her, putting our faces level. Well, almost, since she’s much smaller than me. She quirks an eyebrow. “You’re over here sulking. Something must be wrong.”
“I don’t know…” she mumbles, giving me a guilty look. She’s already the most complex person I know and we’ve said basically nothing to each other. “I should be happy. I just booked the space across the street for an art exhibit.”
“You’re an artist?” I knew it.
“Yea. Painter, mostly,” she nods. “I have a collection I’m debuting in a few weeks. It’ll be my first one…”
“So… then why do you look like you’re here to drown your sorrows?” I invite, picking up the glass the bartender just sat in front of me.
“It’s complicated,” she mutters, then takes a big gulp to kill her drink.
“I love complicated stuff,” I flick my hand and the same bartender pours her another round. Scotch. I won’t acknowledge my intrigue. “Remember K’nex? That was like my favorite thing when I was a kid.”
She giggles and her face lights right up. It’s fascinating. She has a wonderful complexion; skin dark golden like wildflower honey, and some freckles dusting her cheeks, which are now subtly flushing. I like it, a lot.
I raise my drink and she lifts hers.
“To a great day for both of our crafts.” We clink and sip.
“What’s your craft?” Her head tilts to the side while she gives me her undivided attention. It pleases me so much more than when other people pretend to pay attention to my answers, like in interviews, or when fake assholes mock giving a shit about what I have to say.
Must be her eyes. They’re very inquisitive.
“I’m an actor,” I tell her, settling into my seat. “I just signed a new job today on a potential series. Pilot season that could lead to a contract.”
Her lips curve into a smile, and I’m drawn in hungrily to how good her mouth looks. Full, naturally pink lips that almost take the shape of a heart when pressed together. I tighten my fist around my glass to stop my train of thought before my dick can respond. Besides, I’ve already achieved my goal of making her smile, and we’ve been talking for five seconds. Mission accomplished.
“Wow! Congratulations!” She chirps with animation. “That’s amazing!”
I chuckle and bite my lip. This is getting a little ridiculous.
I’m a bachelor. Flirting is my side-game, and I bed more girls than a Tempurpedic store. How is this chick siphoning my edge when I don’t even know her name?
“I’m sorry, but I’m really trying to put a name to your face,” she cringes, shooting me a timid look that sends a tremor through a certain organ that’s not supposed to be getting involved right now. “I know I’ve seen you in stuff before, but…”
“Oh my God, please,” I lift my hands and laugh. “I don’t expect everyone to know who I am.”
It’s the truth. I’ve been a professional, working actor since my twenties, but I don’t play lead roles. I stay in my lane as a supporting actor because it’s what I’m good at, and I’m more than fine with it. I’ve been nominated for awards before, I have fan pages dedicated to me on Facebook and I make enough money to fill massive spaces with it and swim around, a la Scrooge McDuck. I’m more than happy with my acting career, and I don’t need the validation of everyone I meet recognizing me to feel successful.
“Well, I’ll spare you the awkwardness of pretending you don’t know who I am,” she teases and extends her hand. “I’m Alexandra Mackenzie. But non-fanboys call me Alex.”
I laugh out loud. Cute, witty, sexy… Really feelin it.
“It’s an honor to finally meet you, Alexandra,” I smirk and she giggles while we shake hands. Hers are surprisingly warm, and my heart raps a few significant times. “Noah Richards.”
“So, Noah Richards… What is this part we’re celebrating?” A look of pleased contentment settles on her face, accentuating how truly gorgeous she is.
Her features are exquisitely symmetrical. Pointed slope of a nose between those round, brilliant green eyes; high cheekbones, perfect mouth and jaw… Even her chin is somehow cute. If I was a total loser, I would ask if she’s ever modeled before. I mean sure, she’s short, but that face… It’s the kind of inspiration artists like herself search for their whole lives.
I zone back in on the conversation. “It’s freaking amazing. The role of a lifetime. I can’t tell you all the details, but basically it’s an apocalypse survivor drama, and I’ll be supporting the lead… Let’s just say you definitely know this guy. If all goes along schedule, I’ll meet him soon. Hopefully he’s not a total dickwad. He’s British, so you never know.” We both laugh.
I’m surprised at how much I enjoy talking to this girl. She’s easy to converse with. And even easier on the eyes.
“Well, I’m sure you’ll rock it,” she flips her hair, and I can’t help but grin wide as we clink glasses again.
The next thing I know, two hours have gone by, and we’ve killed a whole bunch more drinks.
In short, Alex Mackenzie is my new favorite person.
She’s smart and funny, and is exactly the artsy nerd I guessed she was when I started staring at her.
And clearly she’s vibing on me, too.
I don’t want to get my hopes up for anything, but she’s already touched my leg a few times, and I’m more than pleased that the sullen, sad girl I noticed earlier is long gone. She’s been laughing and smiling up a blizzard, telling me all about her art, her interests and how excited she is to finally exhibit her work at a real, apparently hip gallery.
She’s also been asking a lot of questions about me, but not obnoxious stuff. She’s as interested in my career as I’d want her to be, but she seems more amped to hear about my favorite music and recent shows I’ve gone to. We have the exact same taste in music, which is usually a make-or-break for whether I can stand to be in a girl’s presence, when talking is involved, that is.
Now we’re comparing tattoos. She’s showing me her identical lilies on her wrists, and I’ve slipped my arm inside my shirt so I can show her the shoulder piece I finished last week.
“Oh my God!” She gasps, trailing her finger along the muscles in my blade. It leaves electric tingles in its wake, which is startling, though it feels too good for me to panic over. “This is the Mad Hatter?”
I nod, keeping quiet while she touches me gently. I shift subtly in an attempt to keep the movement below my waist in check. Those soft little caresses from her fingers are winding me up for reasons I really can’t fathom.