|| Love to Hate Me ||

{Two}

"I don't want to do it your way
I don't want to do it your way
I don't want to give it to you, your way
I don't want to know."
-Under Control, The Strokes
__________

Liana sat at the bar, jotting down ideas in her notebook. Every few lines, she'd scan the crowd to be sure Harlan was still in sight.

Mark and Kyle seemed to be trying to "man up" one another over the same blonde in the corner. It was quite comical—each chugging a pitcher of beer, seeing who could drink the most of it without spilling.

Her eyes trailed to Harlan, seeing two young women beside him, one under each arm. He was sitting in the lounge, his dirty boot propped on the table with sunglasses resting on the bridge of his nose—there was a cigarette in his hand. Although it wasn't lit, Liana could see he was itching to smoke it, which meant he would be stepping out of the bar soon.

She groaned quietly, closing her notebook before chugging the remainder of her beer. She took a deep breath, trying to prepare herself to deal with Harlan.

Awkward was an understatement; Harlan went out of his way to ignore her—to make her feel uncomfortable. She couldn't seem to figure out why. If he hated her so much, why had he agreed to play for her—share a stage with her?

"Hey." A warm voice spoke from beside her. Liana turned, smiling up at the attractive young man wearing a leather jacket. He had piercing blue eyes and jet black hair. He looked suave and clean cut; the smell of cologne overpowering the alcohol in the air.

"You're Liana, right? My niece is a huge fan."

She laughed, "Yeah. What's your nieces' name?"

"Uh, Lynn."

"That's such a pretty name. I can sign something for her if you'd like." Liana was already reaching for her notebook and pen. She was still trying to wrap her head around the fact people knew her—people she didn't know. She was starting to believe people were only coming to her shows to see Harlan Hayworth.

The thought pulled Liana out of the moment; she was turning back toward the crowd to be sure Harlan was still sitting in the booth—he wasn't.

"May I just say, you're way hotter in person." The guy smiled, pulling his bottom lip between his teeth.

Liana laughed nervously, suddenly feeling a little uneasy. This was typical, it happened occasionally; a drunk guy from a bar hitting on Liana, coming up with some bullshit excuse to approach her.

"How do you spell your niece's name-"

"What did you just say?" Harlan's voice broke through Liana's, causing both to look in his direction. The guy stood dumbfounded, looking to Harlan with questioning eyes.

"Oh shit, you're Harlan Hayworth." The patron spoke excitedly, covering his hands over his mouth in disbelief. "Wow, man... it's such an honor."

"Let's see a picture of your niece." Harlan stepped forward, closing the small space between them.

Liana's eyes moved back and forth between the pair, suddenly worried of Harlan's behavior. She had seen him down two shots back to back—no telling how much he had drank when her eyes weren't on him.