Total pages in book: 101
Estimated words: 98789 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 494(@200wpm)___ 395(@250wpm)___ 329(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 98789 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 494(@200wpm)___ 395(@250wpm)___ 329(@300wpm)
I pulled into a parking spot and glanced in the rearview mirror. Ran a hand over my scruffy jaw. “Yeah, but my surface level is really nice. I’m growing a beard now that Malibu Splash is done. It looks good.”
She laughed before scolding me again. “Stop it. You can’t charm your way into an Oscar, Dash. It’s not enough to be ridiculously handsome—in fact, that’s often a detriment.”
Tired of arguing, I opened the car door and stepped into the late spring California sunshine. “Fine. I’ll talk to the spirit lady. It’s not like I have anything to lose.”
“I agree,” Izzie said. “Let’s not waste any time. I’ll pick you up at ten tomorrow morning, and we’ll go to her shop.”
We hung up, and I headed into the gym.
It was usually a place nobody bothered me, probably because it was full of guys like me—cocky, good-looking dudes with athletic bodies who’d left their hometowns full of confidence, ambition, and maybe even some talent. Everyone was ripped, everyone was driven, and everyone was hoping for the one big break that would land them on the A list.
But I hadn’t come out to Hollywood just hoping to get by on my face or my biceps. I worked hard. Ever since I was a kid, I’d loved the idea that you could forget about yourself and just get lost inside someone else. Live in their minds, speak their words, experience their feelings instead of your own.
It wasn’t like I didn’t take it seriously. I’d enrolled in classes. I’d gone to every open audition I could and did commercials for everything from toothpaste to taco sauce. I’d spent plenty of nights parking cars, waiting tables, and bartending, and I knew what it was like to crash on friends’ couches because you couldn’t afford rent.
When I’d gotten the role on Malibu Splash, I’d fallen to my knees with gratitude, certain it would serve as a stepping stone to where I really wanted to be.
Now I was hoping it wasn’t the best I’d ever get.
“This is it?” From the passenger seat of Izzie’s car, I scanned the storefronts of a typical L.A. strip mall, a dubious expression on my face. Dollar store, wig boutique, nail salon, crystal shop, bubble tea parlor. In front of the crystal shop was a sandwich board with a metaphysical menu on it.
Tarot Cards $60
Aura Cleanse $75
Chakra Analysis & Alignment $85
Full Psychic Healing (includes Relief from Energy Blocks and Spiritual Attachment Removal) $220
“This is it.” Izzie pulled into a spot in front of the bubble tea parlor.
“Spiritual attachment removal?” Skeptical, I folded my arms over my chest. “I don’t need an exorcism, Izzie. I just want better acting jobs.”
“That’s why we’re here.” She put her car in park and pointed a red-tipped finger at me. “Now don’t go in there with a bad attitude. You have to have an open mind.”
Grumbling under my breath, I got out of the car and followed Izzie into the shop. As my eyes adjusted to the dim light, I saw crystals, books, and decks of cards displayed on tables of varying heights. In the air hung the scent of patchouli, and New Age music played softly. A barefoot young woman wearing jeans, a gauzy white blouse, and armfuls of bracelets greeted Izzie with a hug, and then turned to me. “Hello,” she said, offering a hand. “I’m Delphine.”
“Hey. I’m Dash.” As I shook her hand, it struck me how much she looked like someone I knew from back home—my sister Mabel’s best friend, Ari DeLuca. The resemblance was almost uncanny. She had the same shade of brown hair that fell in corkscrew curls over her shoulders, the same heart-shaped face, the same wide-set dark eyes. Ari had practically grown up at our house and had been like another little sister to me.
Until one day she wasn’t.
“Oh.” Delphine’s eyebrows furrowed as she continued to clasp my hand. “Wow. You’ve got some dark, cloudy energy in your aura.”
“Can you clear it?” Izzie asked nervously.
“I can try.” Delphine squared her shoulders like she was preparing for battle and motioned for me to follow her. “Come on back.”
“I’ll wait out here,” called Izzie. “Good luck.”
Walking behind Delphine through a curtain of beads into a small, dark room, I noticed she was built sort of like Ari too—medium height and curvy.
Ari’s curves had seemed to come out of nowhere. One day, she was a skinny middle school kid whose baggy clothes hung on her gangly frame like sheets on old furniture. Then suddenly I turned around and she was a smoking hot bombshell showing off an hourglass figure in low-cut jeans and crop tops, not to mention that cute little uniform she wore when she worked at her parents’ diner. I remembered sitting at the counter as she poured me a cup of coffee, some seriously unbrotherly thoughts in my head.