“YOU DON’T HAVE AN ice cube’s chance in hell, man,” I say to my buddy, Kai, as he straightens the folded bandana he uses to keep his long, dark hair out of his face. He hasn’t taken his eyes off the tall brunette in the corner since she stepped foot inside my house.

Then again, neither have I.

“Watch and learn.” I take a swig of beer, holding my focus on the dark-haired vixen standing in the corner talking to one of my friends.

The rest of the gang is out on the patio and a few are hanging out in the living room, but I’m afraid to let this one out of my sight on the off chance one of these other assholes think they have a shot.

“What’d you say her name was again?” I ask.

“Meegan,” Kai says, emphasizing the long ‘e.’ His expression is crestfallen, but I’m doing him a favor.

Kai’s a nice guy, but every other word out of his mouth is “dude” and his brain is way too baked to carry on a decent conversation with anyone, let alone a sexy chick he’s trying to score.

Friday nights at my place are where my friends come to chill, to get away from the hustle and bustle of the city after a long week of busting our asses for not nearly enough pay. I tend to do a little better for myself than most of my friends, but still, money doesn’t grow on trees for any of us. We’re just a bunch of normal guys who’ll never find our names on VIP lists or on the pink slips of Porsches and Range Rovers.

I’m pretty sure Meegan came here with Raj and his girlfriend, Nahla, and I’m pretty sure she’s a work friend of Nahla’s, but I’ll confirm that in two point five seconds.

Grabbing a cold beer from the fridge, I strut in her direction and hand it over. Her dark eyes land on me, then the beer, and back again.

“What’s this?” she asks, angling her body toward me. There’s a flicker in her dark gaze, a twitch on her red lips.

“Exactly what it looks like.”

She takes it from me and twists the cap. “I don’t normally drink beer.”

“I don’t normally give my beer away to strange women.”

I’d offer her some of Melrose’s wine, but the bottles are covered with sticky notes with words like, “RESERVED” and “POISON” and “NOT YOURS.”

“Guess we’re both making exceptions tonight, aren’t we?” she asks, body almost swaying back and forth as she works a flirtatious half-smile.

“Sutter,” I say.

“Meegan.” She takes a small sip, and her eyes don’t leave mine, not for a second.

“You came here with Raj and Nahla, right?”

“I did. I work with Nahla. I dragged her to a party last weekend, so I’m returning the favor,” she says. “Not that she had to drag me here …”

“I’m so sorry. The least she could’ve done was take you someplace where strange men wouldn’t shamelessly hit on you.”

“Is that what this is?” she asks.

“What else would it be?” I pick at a loose corner of my beer’s label, but I keep my sights on her.

I mean seriously. She’s an attractive girl—interesting attractive, not plastic attractive, seems smart enough to carry on a conversation. Surely she knows that when any man approaches her with an alcoholic beverage, it’s akin to saying, “You’re hot. Let’s get drunk and screw each other’s brains out” and if we weren’t on the same page, she wouldn’t still be standing here, talking to me.

The front door opens and I lean forward to peek through the living room toward the entry, only to spot Melrose standing and taking in the fact that the house is crammed with strangers. But it only fazes her for a second, and then she heads to the kitchen and grabs a bottle of wine from a cupboard, crumpling one of her Post-Its before retrieving a corkscrew from a drawer.

“Is that red Moscato?” Meegan asks, pointing. She’s standing so close to me our arms are practically touching, but it appears I’m now going to have to fight a bottle of wine for her attention. What is it with girls and their annoying little dessert wines?

Drink the real shit for crying out loud.

“It is. Want some?” Melrose turns to her, lifting a brow.

“I’d love some.” Meegan places her beer bottle on the counter before helping herself to my cupboards, trying one after another until she locates some stemware I didn’t even know existed—must be something Melrose brought. “You’re the best. Thank you.”

The girls pour their glasses and clink them together before taking dainty little swigs that don’t so much as disturb their lipsticks.

“Long day?” I ask Melrose.

“Yeah.” She exhales, leaning against the counter, her pink painted fingertips pressed lightly against the glass in her hand.

“You should probably go relax or something,” I say, eyes pointing to the ceiling since her room happens to be directly above us.

“What do you think I’m doing right now?” she asks, taking a generous gulp. Her dark blue eyes flicker. She knows exactly what she’s doing.

“What do you do for a living?” Meegan asks. Only she isn’t asking me … she’s asking Melrose.

How the hell she’s taking more interest in Melrose than me is blowing my goddamned mind, and if this continues, I’m going to be picking my jaw up off the floor here soon.

“I’m an actress,” Melrose says, offering a humble smile as if on cue.

I wonder if she rehearses that.

“I thought you looked familiar!” Meegan’s face lights. “I’ve seen you in something … I know I have.”

Melrose rattles off her entire IMDB summary, and Meegan nods as she bounces on her heels.

“Yes! Yes, that’s it!” Meegan says. “That’s so crazy. You’re like a micro celebrity or something. Can we take a selfie?”

I squeeze my eyes shut to keep them from rolling, and I stiffen my neck to keep my head from snapping back.

All respect I had for Meegan … evaporated in the last twenty-three seconds.

Gone.

Just like that.

She was so intriguing with her dark, exotic features and bold mouth and a hint of a sense of humor.

I had hope.

Now that hope is gone all thanks to a piece of work named Melrose Claiborne.

“Has anyone ever told you, you look like Jennifer Lawrence?” Meegan asks. “But, like, you’re way prettier.”

Melrose bats her hand. “Stahp.”

“Do you ever worry people will confuse the two of you?” Meegan takes another drink of wine, stepping closer to Melrose. I might as well not exist, an invisible voyeur to the lamest conversation I’ve ever witnessed.

Melrose shakes her head. “I’m so not there yet. I’m still booking small roles. My name isn’t even on anyone’s tongue yet. But if that day ever comes? I’m not worried. I think we’re different enough.”

“I love how modest you are.” Meegan tilts her head, like she admires Melrose. Like she wants to be her instant best friend. “And you’re so talented, oh my gosh. You’re going to be huge one day, I know it. Look at me! I have goosebumps right now.”

Meegan drags her fingertips along her forearm as if it’s some magnificent spectacle, and Melrose’s gaze travels to mine.

Whatever’s happening right now is unreal.

Girls don’t do this.

Girls fight like cats, claws out and ready to pounce.

They stalk each other.

They give backhanded compliments.

They’re not supposed to be getting along, not like this.

“Anyway, enough about me. What do you do?” Melrose asks. Her mouth curls at one side. It’s not a smile, it’s a smirk. She knows what she’s doing. She knows I was about to do my thing with Meegan and now she’s cock-blocking me.

This must be retribution for that date with the wrinkled dick guy the other night. Yeah, part of me did it on purpose because it seemed like the perfect sort of thing to fit into my masterplan, but honestly, I was only doing the right thing. I don’t care what anyone says, a balding, gray-haired, imported sports car-driving prick who looks like a melting Oompa Loompa only bags girls like Melrose because they have money, and they only want girls like Melrose for one thing and one thing only—I don’t care what she says.

It’s disgusting, really.

Someday she’ll thank me.

Someday when a bunch of actresses come forward about what a fucking sleaze bucket that guy is, she’ll look back and remember the night I saved her from his wrinkled balls and hair plugs and she’ll whisper a silent thank you—to me.

“I’m an accountant at a staffing agency,” Meegan says. “Super boring. But I’ve taken some acting classes though, sort of dabbled a little. Nothing serious.”

Ah, so that’s where all the flattery and fawning is coming from. Meegan is networking. Makes sense. I guess.

I yawn.

“Oh, yeah?” Melrose nods toward the living room. “Want to go sit down?”

I must be made of cellophane because neither of them so much as glance in my direction, extend an invitation to join them (not that I’d need one in my own home), or seem to care that I was talking to Meegan first.

The girls leave to the next room, taking a seat together on the sofa and squawking away like two excited little finches.

Dragging my hand along my jaw, I glance toward Kai, who’s seated in the back of the kitchen at the table, thumbing through his phone.

“So that’s how it’s done, dude?” he asks, chuckling as he shakes his head.

“Shut up.”

“Want some ice for that ego, dude? I think it’s going to bruise,” he says.

I ignore Kai’s stupid comment and head outside for some fresh air so I can try not to think about the fact that she got me again.

She fucking got me again.