Free Heart of Glass by Zoey Dean

then checked out her reflection in her full-length mirror.
    I would do me
. No higher compliment could be given.
    For the last week, she’d been driving her father’s new cherry red Lamborghini. Even for Los Angeles, capital of the universe of the internal combustion engine, the Lamborghini was something special. At every stoplight there were admiring stares from passersby. She took it to Trieste, tossed the keys to the valet, and a moment later was waved into the club by the very hot, very bald doorman. He was new, she noted. Very tasty. She favored him with a wink as she shimmied past. No block-long line or velvet rope for her.
    As she made her way to the juice bar at the back, her typical club experience began. That is, she was hit on early and often. No to the businessman from France.
    No to the lipstick lesbian from Hancock Park. No to the race-car driver from Holland. There was only one guy at Trieste she wanted to hang with. And there he was, behind the juice bar, making the famous fortified fruit smoothies for which this patio was becoming famous.
    “Well, well.” She sidled up to him, thinking it was impossible for Ben Birnbaum to look anything but hot, even in a basic white Trieste staff T-shirt and black Diesel jeans. “If it isn’t my favorite bartender.” “And if it isn’t my favorite ex-girlfriend,” Ben replied. He flashed a huge, handsome grin. “What can I get you?” Cammie flashed her most winning smile at him and resisted her natural inclination, which was to say,
You. Me. And the Presidential Suite at the Hotel Bel-Air.
    “What’s the specialty concoction tonight from the Ben Birnbaum magic blender?” “Coconut crème-papaya smoothie with a vitamin B boost. Will make you forget that Jamba Juice was ever invented.” “I’ll take a half,” she decided, “and the other half Jamaican rum.” Ben laughed. “Make it a quarter, and you got it. Go have a seat, I’ll bring it to you.” Cammie spotted an empty pair of red-and-white striped lawn chairs under a eucalyptus tree and commandeered them both, putting her feet up on the one that would be Ben’s. While he blended her smoothie, she fended off an approach from a Japanese artist dressed in severe black, and also a cute guy who claimed to be one of the writers of the new hit show
    Heroes.
    Suddenly, a half-glass of coconut smoothie materialized in front of her—Ben had snaked it around from behind. “I made it a third rum. Call it a compromise,” he murmured in her ear, sending shivers down her spine. “Enjoy.” Cammie raised her glass, which held the same off-white, creamy concoction as Ben’s did.
    “Here’s to ex-boyfriends and -girlfriends,” she proposed. “Because you never know.” Ben clinked her glass and then sat in the chair she’d saved for him. “I’ll drink to that.” “So, speaking of . . . How are you dealing with Ben-and-no-Anna?” Cammie tasted the drink. It was easily one-third rum. And not bar pour, either. Good stuff.
    “The word’s out, huh?”
    “It’s all over MySpace. Also aintitcool.com. And then there was the full-page thingie in the
Hollywood Reporter,”
she joked.
    Ben stretched and rubbed the back of his neck, which made his biceps bulge nicely. “I forgot about the Beverly Hills gossip line. The underground railroad had nothing on you guys.” For a moment, Cammie bristled. Just what did he mean by “you guys”? She wasn’t that big of a gossip. She was too busy being the star to spend that much time on other people. But she decided to let it go. She wasn’t here to bitch. She was here to make nice. Very, very nice.
    “Everyone saw you at graduation,” Cammie replied strategically, stretching out her legs for maximum visual impact. “Everyone saw Anna get into that guy’s—” “Caine. His name is Caine.” “How biblical. Yeah, I met him at Sam’s party out on the
Look Sharpe
. Tattoo Guy. Pretty odd for Anna, but whatever. She blew you off for him?” Cammie was careful