“A while,” she answers, visibly swallowing.
“And you’ve never worked the ring before…” It’s a question, but it comes out like a statement.
“No,” she answers. “Brynn was supposed to, but Niko asked me.”
Hmm. Still not enough information for me to connect any dots.
“Do you ever go out?” I ask.
“Sometimes,” she answers, and I swear there’s a hint of a smile in her answer, or at the very least, amusement. “Why do you want to know?”
“Because I know I’ve seen you before.”
“I doubt that,” she answers. “You and I probably don’t go to the same places.”
“Fair enough,” I say, and the light turns green. Right before I pull my gaze back to the road in front of us, I see her roll her eyes and shake her head with what is definitely a smile.
“Elsie’s,” I say.
“The speakeasy?” she asks.
“Yeah. You look like a speakeasy kind of girl,” I say.
She snorts, catching me off guard. “What’s that supposed to mean?” she asks.
“You’re dressed up. Fake lashes. Fake nails. High heels…” I nod over at her.
“This is my work uniform. Is ityourfirst time at the Cockpit?” her quick snapback almost makes me smile. Almost. Because it’s really starting to drive me crazy that I can’t figure out where I have seen her before.
“Trust me, you don’t know me,” she says, and while I’m not so sure, I decide to drop it.
For now.
We pull up to her apartment, and I crane my neck to look the building over. It’s a bit run-down, though I wouldn’t call it slummy. The girl unbuckles her seatbelt and reaches for her purse.
“You promised you weren’t going to judge me,” she says.
“I said nothing,” I say.
“Yeah, but your face is saying a lot. You know not everyone in LA has lots of money and lives in secluded beach houses with heated pools and sprawling kitchens,” she says, and my eyes narrow.
“How do you know I live in a house like that?” I ask, and if I didn’t know any better, I’d swear her cheeks flushed.
“It’s an assumption,” she says quickly.
“It was very specific,” I tell her, my lips curling up in one corner of my mouth. “Are you sure we’ve never met before?”
“I can assure you that you don’t know me,” she says.
Her eyes, the color of bourbon, sparkly in the light of the glitching lamp outside, are locked on mine, and I watch as she swallows.
She smells like raspberries and roses, and for a moment, I forget where I am.
I forget about the day I’ve had and the problems that are pressing against my brain and even the gash on my forehead.
For a moment, I shove all of that out of the here and now because something about this girl, familiar or otherwise, is enticing.
Enticing enough that there is suddenly another question in my mind.
