Free To See You by Rachel Blaufeld Page A

probably skip the next premiere, anyway. Opting for a worn-in pair of jeans and a flannel thrown over a Stones T-shirt, I shoved my feet into a pair of Chucks.
    “Come on, girl,” I called to Harriette, and let her into the backyard for a quick pee.
    She did her thing, I gave her a cookie, and I walked up the street to the main drag toward Bastion’s. It was a trendy bar with all the old-school fun stuff like pool and darts.
    A small crowd of people stood so many feet away from the door smoking, and I brushed past them and into the bar. It was dim with a DJ spinning tunes in the corner.
    I decided to stop at the bar first . . . I needed something to erase the earlier events.
    “Whiskey, make it a double,” I shouted across the glass bar.
    Lots of pretty people occupied the stools, laughing and clinking their glasses without a care in the world. Women with long, shiny hair and men in fitted Henleys and skinny jeans.
    I was invisible to them.
    I grabbed my drink and tossed back half, the burn making me forget the few minutes I wasn’t invisible—the half hour when Charli looked at me, not through me or around me. As soon as I removed the glass from my lips, the moment was over.
    I threw some money on the bar and made my way to the back, finishing my drink by the time I made it to the pool table.
    “Griff! What’s happening, man? You ditch the penguin suit?” Peter greeted me over his pool cue before bending over the table to take a shot.
    “Hey, Griff.” Adam slapped me on the back and silently motioned toward the bucket of beer. “So, the super-famous Katie didn’t drag you back home?” the ass had the balls to ask me as I grabbed a bottle of Heineken.
    “I’m her Saturday-night man.”
    “You wish,” he tossed back.
    “Actually, she’s not the girl for me.” The whiskey was now having an unexpected effect. Rather than calming me, it was acting like a truth serum.
    “Oh yeah.” Peter looked up. “You’d throw her out of bed, I’m sure.”
    I took a big swig of my beer and looked toward him, taking in his scrawny frame, wire-rim glasses, and unkempt brown hair. “She may prefer you, big guy!”
    He ran a hand through his hair and jutted his hip out. “You know what, you may be right.” He proceeded to sashay around the table as if I’d said he thought he was funny.
    “I got next,” I hollered and settled onto a stool to wait. “Who the hell are you playing, anyway?”
    “I’m warming up, letting my shooting arm get ready.”
    “This isn’t basketball, Pete. You know that, right?”
    He ignored me.
    “Can I get you guys anything?”
    A scantily clad waitress with long red hair sidled up next to Adam. He was the good-looking one of our gang. By day, he was a lawyer at one of the studios, and by night he was our resident manwhore.
    His words, not mine. Seriously.
    “Wings, mild with bleu cheese, coupla orders, doll,” Peter yelled.
    The ginger glared at him.
    “Ignore him, honey.” Adam stood close to her, running a hand through his shaggy blond hair as he winked at her. “We’ll have some wings, please, and how about another bucket of beers?”
    “Anything for you,” she said, swinging her hips from side to side as she headed back to the kitchen.
    “Guess who’s going home with her tonight?” Adam asked us, then turned both of his thumbs toward his cashmere-clad chest and declared, “This dude.”
    His eyes damn near sparkled at the prospect, and I wondered what it felt like to have women be such an easy conquest for you.
    Once the waitress was out of sight, Adam turned his gaze back on me. “So, if a Hollywood superstar isn’t enough for you, does that mean you met someone else? A better woman?”
    “Nah. Thought I might have, but nope.”
    “Interesting. I notice your hair’s all styled. Was she there tonight?”
    “Adam, what are we . . . two girls trading secrets over coffee? Shut the fuck up and get ready to play pool. Hopefully the funny guy is almost warmed