Bad Liar (The Reed Rivers Trilogy 1)

“Aren’t you about a decade too young to be having a midlife crisis?” Josh says, pulling me out of my reverie.

“Actually, my brain keeps saying that exact same thing. But, apparently, it seems other parts of my anatomy are running the show.”

“Just be careful. The young ones fall hard.” He snickers. “Probably because their brains aren’t fully developed yet.”

“Fuck you.”

“Seriously, though. Tread softly, Rivers. I’m sure she’s got huge stars in her eyes when she looks at you. You’re gonna be able to manipulate her way too easily, so don’t.”

“She doesn’t seem starry-eyed or manipulatable at all. I saw her earlier today, at that panel thing, sitting in the audience. I flirted my ass off from across the room for an hour and made it clear I wanted her to hang around afterwards and wait for me to get through my line, but she left anyway. I think that’s what I like most about her—that she’s willing to walk away. So rare these days.”

Josh scoffs. “Sure, that’s what you like most about her, you sick fuck. Clearly.”

He indicates with his chin, where, at this moment, Georgina is bending down to grab something off a low shelf, gifting us with an insane view of her ass.

“Well, that and a few other things,” I concede.

Josh laughs and sips his drink. “Is she a music student?”

“No. At least, I don’t think so. She claims to be a journalism student, graduating next week. She said she went to that event today to meet CeeCee.”

“She claims? She said?”

“I just think there’s probably more to the story than that.”

“Careful, Reed. Your paranoia is showing.”

“I dunno, man. My gut keeps telling me she’s got an agenda. Maybe she’s a model on the side, and she’s got her sights set on starring in RCR’s next video. Or she’s a dancer who’d ditch her big journalistic dreams in a heartbeat to back up Aloha on her next tour. I have no idea. All I know is, when I saw her at that event today, she zeroed in on me awfully fast, and came on like gangbusters. She’s way too confident, and way too flirtatious with me, not to have an angle.”

Josh shakes his head. “She zeroed in on you? Are you sure it wasn’t the other way around, player?”

I shrug. “No, I’m not sure. That’s my point. I’m usually sure when I’m the hunter, versus the hunted. With this girl, I don’t know which way is up—who’s got the upper hand. Who’s got the bow and arrow. She’s giving me whiplash in the best possible way.”

Josh rolls his eyes. “Then enjoy it. No need to analyze it.”

I sip my drink. “Oh, I’m enjoying it. Tremendously. But, still, my gut feels like she’s got something up her sleeve.”

Josh shrugs. “Maybe she thinks you could put in a good word for her with CeeCee.”

I sip my drink. “Yeah, that could be it.”

“If it’s anything at all. Maybe, just maybe, she’s a twenty-one-year-old journalism major who went to an event to meet CeeCee and unwittingly hooked a huge marlin on her line, when she hadn’t even gone there to go marlin fishing. Maybe she’s elated to catch the eye of a rich baller, who’s not half-bad looking, who can take her backstage to meet Red Card Riot or Aloha Carmichael or 2Real or 22 Goats, any time he wants. Not to mention, take her to the best parties in town. And the best restaurants. Or to Paris on a whim. You’re an exciting guy, Reed. To any woman. But especially to a kid like her.” He claps my shoulder. “Stop being so fucking cynical. Not every woman in Los Angeles is looking to exploit you for professional gain. Some of them want to exploit you for your money, hot body, access to parties and private aircraft, and backstage passes.”

I laugh. “You’ve gone soft on me, Faraday. Before Kat, you were even more paranoid than me about women’s ulterior motives. You were a gold medal athlete in the sport of sniffing out gold diggers. We were brothers in paranoid arms, remember?”

“Yeah, before Kat, I was a paranoid asshat who didn’t know the true meaning of happiness and wouldn’t have known unconditional love if it bit me in the ass. So don’t make my paranoia sound more glamorous than it was.”

“Oh, for the love of fuck. Not this again. You swore at Henny’s wedding you’d never again torture me with another speech about Kat ‘saving you from—’”

“Thanks again for the generous tip, Mr. Rivers.”

It’s Georgina, standing before us with my credit card and receipt.

I smile and take my card. “You earned it.” I motion to Josh. “Georgina, this is my best friend, Josh Faraday. Josh, this is Georgina Ricci. Bartendress extraordinaire. Aspiring journalist. Fellow UCLA alum, as of next week. Hustler. Chess enthusiast. Full-grown adult.”