Wardrobe Malfunction(8)

“Numpty?” She throws me a confused glance, totally ignoring my new nickname for Vaughn West.

I think it’s a great nickname. I should get it printed on T-shirts. I could make a killing.

“It’s British. Means dumbass.”

“And you’re British? Since when?”

“I’m not. I just like their curse words. They’re way more fun than ours.”

“You’re so odd.” She laughs.

“I prefer the term unconventional.” I playfully stick my tongue out at her.

She makes a lane change, and the car in front cuts her off. She honks her horn.

“Mirrors, asshole!” she yells at the driver of the car, who obviously can’t hear a word she’s saying, as she angrily waves her hand around. “Fucking asshole needs to learn how to drive a car. And they say women are bad drivers. Dickhead!”

Note to self: Never piss off Ava while in a car.

“Steady there, Ronda Rousey.”

She glances at me, her face moving from pissed to embarrassed. “Sorry.” She grimaces. “Idiots like that just piss me off.”

“No kidding. Remind me never to get on your bad side,” I say, making her laugh. “So, the film?”

“Oh, yeah. I told you West is in it”—oh, yes, you did, and he’s mainly the reason I’m here—“and that Evans is directing. It’s a gangster film, so the clothes are pretty much straightforward—suits, classy dresses. Natasha Warner is in it, playing the female lead.”

“Ooh, I love her.” I clap my hands.

“Yeah, she’s super nice as well. I met her last week. She and Vaughn are gonna steam the screens up.”

“And I will be watching that scene with the utmost concentration.”

I grin, and Ava giggles, her brows rising in agreement.

“Right?”

“Those two would make beautiful babies,” I muse.

“Agreed. But Natasha’s married, and she already has a baby, remember?”

“Oh, yeah. She’s married to that hot NFL player…”

“Carter Williams.”

“Lucky bitch.”

We both sigh at the same time.

“So, what about you? You seeing anyone?”

“Nah.” I shake my head. “I’ve been busy a lot as of late, and after the disaster that was Michael, I decided to give dating a break.”

“Wasn’t that about two years ago? And I guess you are super picky.”

“I am not picky!” I squawk, affronted. “I work in the clothing industry. Most of the men I work with are gay.”

“I work in this industry, too, and I managed to meet someone.”

“An actor. I don’t want to date an actor.”

“Says Miss Not Picky. And what’s wrong with actors?” She flicks me a look.

Oops.

“Nothing. I just want to date a blue-collar guy.”

Honestly, I think it would be hard to date an actor, having to watch them get it on with other women on the big screen. Also, there’s a high probability that said actor would screw his costar and dump me. Plus, actors are high-maintenance. I might drool over hot actors—aka Vaughn West, Chris and Liam Hemsworth…God, two brothers. Anyway, I wouldn’t say no to a roll in the sack with any of them—and, yes, I know dreams don’t come true. But, in reality and for the long-term, I want a nice, normal blue-collar guy who works with his hands all day long and then comes home and ravages me with those rough, callous, hard-working hands.

“Wasn’t Michael a drug dealer?” Ava pipes up.

“Yes, he was a drug dealer, but I didn’t know that when I met him.” I frown. “He told me he worked construction. I dumped him as soon as I found out his real profession.”

Of course, dumbass that I am, it took me six months to figure it out. But it’s not like I could have had anything serious with Michael—or with anyone back then. And, still, not now—well, for a short time longer, that is.

“And, well, I can’t be that picky, considering I went out with Michael,” I add.

“Yeah, he was a dick. But a good-looking dick.” She grins.

She’s right. He was gorgeous.

“He had a good-looking dick, too…very big.” I size out with my hands. “That’s the only thing I miss about him.”

We both giggle.

Ava pulls off the highway, heading onto Sunset Boulevard. I watch out the window, taking in the sights.

“So, who else is on the team?” I ask her.

“It’s just me, you, and Logan.”

“Logan?”

“Logan Cheung.”

“I don’t think I know him,” I muse, tapping a finger to my chin.

“He’s an LA native. Wants to be an actor.”

“Who doesn’t in this town?” I quip.

“He’s lovely though. Told me he started working in wardrobe to try and get a foot in the industry. He’s real good, and he has a real natural flair for style. And, God, can the man sew.”

“And, without stereotyping, I’m guessing he’s gay?”

“Of course.” She smirks.

She pulls up in front of the hotel. I stare up at it. It looks okay. And I stayed in worse places back when I lived in Philly.