Pretty Reckless (Addicted Hearts Book 1)

Chapter 5

Chase

Silence falls between us. She sits across from me with this adorable pout, flapping her mile-long lashes. I feel like an asshole. I came on too strong, and I touched a nerve. God, why does she look so much like her? The incredible likeness is etching its way under my skin, festering from the inside out. Back then, I was too much of a fucking mess to see what was right in front of me. That's the problem with addiction. You don't see it when it's happening. It's not until you've clawed your way out of the impossible hole you've dug for yourself that you realize how badly you've truly fucked up your life.

The waitress's return is a welcomed distraction from the heavy cloud descended over our table. "Another Long Island?" she asks, setting down our plates.

"No," is Kat's clipped response.

Dammit. I fucked up.

"So. Tell me about your job," I say, trying to lighten the mood.

"I'm the head esthetician and makeup artist at the salon." One sculpted brow arcs while she watches me prepare my meal. "What are you, on the Atkins diet or something?"

"White bread and refined grains, in general, aren't particularly nutritious." I layer a thick slice of tomato on top of the burger and make a bun with the scraps of lettuce.

Kat snorts and shoves a french fry into her mouth. "You're one quirky dude, Chase."

I nod. Suppose I am. "Esthetician is skincare, right?" A hint of pink peeks from the corner of her glimmering lips as she tongues away a dab of ketchup. "Why only worry about the outside?"

"What do you mean?"

"Concentrating on just one part is like throwing flowers on a toxic waste pile. Sure, it's pretty, but inside is a big old mess. We only get one body."

A cutting glare twinkles in the lights strung overhead as her mouth curves into a smirk. "Well, then, shouldn't you be afraid to get lead poisoning from all that metal in your face?" She points in my direction and whips her index finger in a Z formation.

A bubble of laughter pops from my chest. "Touché."

"And maybe get a check for hepatitis while you're at it," she quips, tapping a sparkling black fingernail on the right side of her neck in the exact location of my butterfly tattoo.

"Okay, okay. Point taken. Tell me more about yourself."

"What else do you want to know?"

When my lips part, I have to physically restrain myself from saying the first word that pops into my mind. Everything. I want to know as much about her as I can, but that's a lot to ask from a girl I just met. Instead, I shrug and stuff the corner of my burger in my mouth.

"I love the spa, but what I really want is to move out to California and do makeup for the stars. My brother is a big-shot financial broker in Los Angeles. If he'd let me stay with him while I got on my feet, I know I could make a killing out there."

"Have you asked him?"

The corners of her mouth turn down. "Nikos thinks what I do is a joke. He keeps telling me to get a real job."

"That's shitty."

"Thank you!" She throws her hands in the air. "He and my parents think I'm wasting my time because I'm not out making a stellar living, but they don't get it. I'm passionate about what I do, and I'm good at it. All I need is to catch a break. But, until then, I'm the broke-ass troll who lives in my mom's basement."