"You look… good." It sounded as if the statement had to be extracted from her like an abscessed tooth.
Lowell looked good too, but I didn't tell her that. I didn't want to make her any more uncomfortable than she already was.
"I called for a car," she said as we headed out the door. "I didn't want to drive after having that drink. I'm in enough trouble as it is."
"You always were responsible," I said.
"Except for last night," she muttered.
The driver opened the door for her, and I caught a flash of her tanned thigh as she climbed in.
"We'll make everyone forget about it," I said, climbing in after her.
"I'm not gonna forget about it. My guilty conscience isn't going to pardon me any time soon," she said.
She moved to the other side of the car, as far from me as she could, and looked out the window. I didn't know if she was lost in her thoughts or just trying to ignore me. Either way, it gave me the opportunity to examine the twenty-two-year-old version of the girl I'd known.
Lo's hair was long now, blond and wavy. Her black, strapless mini-dress showed off her curves and muscular legs. In real life, I could see that she'd grown into her body in ways I hadn't fathomed. Her skin was smooth and lightly tanned. I knew she hiked a lot in the canyon—the press was always snapping pictures of her there, making comments about her weight. They were an insidious, ridiculous bunch. Lowell was normal and healthy. Looking at her up close, she was perfect. She looked strong and vibrant, unlike so many other actresses, who were so skeletal they looked as if they lived on nonfat Starbucks and Diet Red Bull.
She turned to me with her brows scrunched up. "What?"
Her face was so pretty that it hurt to look at it.
"Nothing," I said and quickly looked away. I heard the guilt in my voice. Busted.
She put the privacy pane up between us and the driver. "This is insane, Kyle. I can't believe we're in this car together right now."
"I can't either."
"It's been eight years, right?" she asked. "I was thinking about it when I was getting ready…"
Eight years ago, our parents had stood on opposite sides of a courtroom, listening to the judge recite the terms of their divorce. Lo had sat across the aisle, never looking at me. When I heard how much money her mother was getting in a lump sum settlement, I'd snorted loud enough for Lo to hear. Our parents had only been married for four miserable years. Her mother didn't deserve a fraction of that money, in my humble, seventeen-year-old opinion.
When it was over, her mother had grabbed Lo's hand and led her out. Neither one of them said good-bye. That was fine by me. All I was thinking was good riddance.
"I never thought I'd see you again," I admitted. "Even though we were both in LA, I didn't think we'd run into each other."
Lowell raised her eyebrows. "Probably not." Since you're an escort, she kindly left out.
"I saw all your movies. You're a really good actress—it surprised me."
She raised her eyebrows and hiss-sighed. "Thanks. I think."
"I didn't mean that in a bad way," I scrambled. "I just don't remember you having an interest in acting when we were growing up."
"I don't remember you ever actually paying attention to me. Except to torture me."
That was certainly true. I had been so busy with my friends, partying and being popular, that I rarely noticed her. Except to occasionally torture her or swat her away like an annoying gnat.
"A lot's changed in eight years," I said, which was a massive understatement.
"Everything's different," she agreed. "My mother's divorced from Husband Number Four. I'm an actress—that is, if I still have a job. You're… employed. Your father's moved on too." She turned and gave me a rueful smile. "This is beyond awkward, right? I'm sure you don't want to be here as much as I don't want you to be here."
"I don't know about that. I'm pretty happy to have a job—even though it's with you." I smiled at her, teasing.
"I'm not that bad anymore."
"You got that right," I said under my breath.