“Don’t laugh, it’s paid for,” he said, holding open the passenger door. An earthy scent wafted out.
“I wasn’t laughing,” I said as I stepped in. “This funky green van is better than what I drive, which is nothing.”
As he circled around to the driver’s side, I glanced into the back, which held plants in green plastic pots along one side, and bags of soil along the other side. No wonder the van had an earthy, yet pleasant, scent.
“I’ve been running a landscaping business with my sister,” Keith explained as he got settled into his side and started the engine.
“In addition to being an underwear model.”
He flashed me a grin. “Modeling is nice work when you can get it. In between the days spent in see-through briefs, playing make-believe with luscious women, I muck around in the dirt.” He pulled the van out of the parking lot, following Mitchell’s blue Miada. “What about you? When you’re not shaking your fruit for the camera, what do you do?”
“I manage a bookstore called Peachtree Books.” I stared out the window at the billboards and passing traffic. “That’s where everything started. I met Dalton Deangelo when he came running in, looking for a place to hide. Then we talked for a bit, and he said he wanted to get to know me. Little did I know—”
My throat started to close off, stopping my anecdote short of where I’d thought it was going. Dalton had only wanted to know me so he could use the research for his movie role. His sudden interest had seemed so romantic at the time, like the foolish notion of love at first sight, but now all I felt was the shame of being so naïve.
Keith didn’t need to know the details, and he didn’t seem to be asking.
“I’m just having fun now,” I said. “That’s the most important thing.”
“If I saw you fully clothed in a bookstore, I wouldn’t have looked twice at you,” Keith said, staring straight ahead at the road.
“Um. Thanks? Thanks for your honesty, I guess.”
“No, I’m sorry about how that sounded. I meant it as an admission of my shallowness.”
“Okay.”
We drove in silence for a few minutes, until finally it became so awkward, I reached for my phone. No new messages from Dalton, which was a relief. I wanted to confront him in person when he came back to LA on Wednesday, and I didn’t want lovey-dovey text messages to weaken my stance. He had strung me along, using lines cribbed directly from his indie film script, and I deserved an explanation. I would officially end the relationship with him, but first I wanted to see him squirm.
Keith broke the silence, saying, “You scare me. My confidence is all an act. Even after hours and hours of meditation and self-reflection, I’m as insecure as f**k. But you’re just… you. And even when I tried to intimidate you on the set, you never backed down. What’s your secret?”
“I’ve got nothing to lose.”
“Explain.”
“Nobody expects me to be good at any of this. I know I’m a colossal joke, a publicity stunt. I’ve got nowhere to go but up.”
“The whole thing is a publicity stunt. I knew it.”
“At least I’m getting paid,” I said.
“What’s the going rate for something like that? For being someone’s pretend girlfriend?”
“You tell me,” I said with a laugh, pretending to know what was going on.
What the hell was Keith talking about? Not that it really mattered what he thought. His job was to stand next to me and fill out underwear, and he was more than qualified for that. Perhaps a little overqualified. My cheeks reddened as I realized I’d been glancing over at his package.
We stopped at a red light, and Mitchell jumped out of his Miada up ahead of us and dashed back. “Roommate disaster unfolding. Custom dress, wrong sequins, giant tantrum. Sorry, but I have to bail on sushi.” He handed a business card to Keith to pass to me. “Call me if you need anything. Please forgive me for bailing. See you Tuesday!”
The light changed and people were already honking as he dashed back up to his car.
Keith turned his head and gave me a deliciously naughty look, his brown eyes twinkling under a wavy lock of black hair. “I think we can do better than sushi.”
CHAPTER 3
I chuckled nervously and crossed my legs, feeling younger and much stupider than twenty-two. A good-looking man with a muscular torso and a sizable flotation device will do that to you, even if he says his confidence is all an act.
Keith crossed three lanes and turned right, looping back the way we’d come.
He wouldn't give me any hints, then he took me to a cozy steak and seafood restaurant where everybody seemed to know him.
A man I assumed was the owner came by with a bottle of chilled vodka and tiny glasses. “My man,” he said to Keith as he poured us all drinks. “I decided on the Alfa Romeo. You’ll have to take it on the PCH sometime, trade me your wheels for the day.”
I accepted the glass of vodka and shot it back, as I didn’t want to be rude. “Smooth,” I said, smacking my lips. “You do know he drives a green van straight out of a Scooby-Doo movie, don’t you?”
The man laughed, partly distracted by another group of people waving him over. “You make sure my man takes good care of you,” he said. “Because if he doesn’t, you know where to find me.” He winked twice, then waved at the other table and headed their way with the bottle of vodka.
“I met Edgar when I started to do the landscaping,” Keith explained. “Don’t get your hopes up. Edgar winks at all the girls, but he goes home to his wife, Vanessa.”
“She’s a lucky woman.”
A waitress with long, dark hair came by our table with a tasting plate, on the house.
I noticed Keith wasn’t checking out the hot waitress, but gazing at me, a look of adoration on his face.
“Why are you being so nice to me?” I asked.
He seemed surprised by the question, and didn’t answer.
I continued, “I’m sure you have a dozen girls on your phone who’d be here with you tonight in a heartbeat. Scrawny girls with big, round boobs up to their chins.”
“I’ve decided not to date models or actresses anymore. I want a real girl, who’s honest.”
“I should introduce you to my roommate.”
“Maybe I’ll have to come visit your town. Foxworth? Farmville? No, that’s not a real town, is it?”