If he doesn’t already own one.
With no other options for a quick way out, I stare at the opposite wall and mouth something incomprehensible, giving my mother the impression that someone needs me right away.
“I’m so sorry, Mom. I hate to do this, but I have to go.”
“Not so fast. Does he at least have a name?” she keeps prying, her tone dubious enough that I know she doesn’t believe a word I say.
“Everyone has a name.”
So clever, Audrey.
Mom sighs a sigh of utter disappointment, seeing through my bullshit as if she has a first-row seat into my mind. “Oh, Audrey...”
“Mom, you’ll meet him soon, okay? I really need to go. Love you!”
And cut. Not my finest performance, I admit.
“Like I said, I’m not looking for you,” I tell Colt, though I think we’d have fun together.
The problem is that his definition of fun more than likely involves sex, and I’m not trading the goodies for help.
“How’s avoiding manslaughter on your brothers going?”
“They’re safe tonight.” He sweeps his thumb across his bottom lip, staring into my eyes. “They dragged me here against my will. They’re worried I work too much and don’t have a life outside my job, so I think you can guess what my attitude was like toward tonight based on that.”
“Shitty at best,” I say.
He nods, eyes not veering from mine.
It’s unnerving how he maintains this casual, carefree aura while watching me so intently.
“Imagine my surprise when I realized this thing isn’t a complete waste of time.”
Now he looks away. Or ratherdown. Not to my boobs, though... my lips. It’s quick, barely a fleeting glance, but enough to give me a fever.
“It’s not?” I ask, my voice unnaturally high and quivering.
“No, it’s not. I want your number, Addie.”
I’ve spoken to twenty different men tonight, yet Colt’s smile was the only one to send tiny sparks rippling across my skin like a shock from a live wire.
“You’ve got about as much chance of getting my number as I have of finding a genie to grant my wish. Take it as you may.”
“Just one wish? Genies usually grant three.” He drops his hand, toying with his whiskey. “How impossible is it on a scale of one to ten? Anything under eight, and I’ll make it come true if I can have your number.”
A certain determination in his stare pushes me to bite the bullet. I don’t weigh the consequences. Instead, I silence the voice of reason, and lean over the table.
“Fine. You wish for my number. I wish for a man who will act—” I sit up, my eyes growing wider as a light-bulb moment hits.
Act.
Yes! That’s what I need. Anactor.
How did I not think of it sooner? It’s so simple. We’re only an hour from Los Angeles. The city’s bursting with broke wannabe movie stars.
I could hold an audition. Fifteen grand for a week of playing pretend ought to convince a few men to try their luck.
“That’s brilliant,” I mouth, searching the room for my friends, ready to drag them out of here, but before I locate either, my eyes fall on guy number fourteen.
