Chapter 1 Gemma Peters did not like parties. Her idea of a good time consisted of a book and a blanket, perhaps a cup of tea. The loud, raucous bar where she stood was draining her battery faster than a Netflix binge would her phone. Nonetheless, she was dutifully wearing her party smile and positive attitude. She only had to last another hour until her alarm went off, set for a strict departure time of ten p.m. so that she could head home to give her dog his meds and be in bed by ten forty-five like a responsible adult. It was a weeknight, after all. No doubt the party would last until the small hours of the morning because her best friend Lila regarded mundane schedules with the same importance as spam calls. If a fizzy glass of pink champagne-bubbly, beautiful-were a person, it would be Lila. Speaking of champagne, the birthday girl suddenly materialized in front of Gemma, pushing the tiara that had begun to slip from her silky hair back into place and shoving a glass of bubbles into Gemma's hands. "You need another!" Lila screamed at her from inches away. Despite her skin being misted with remnants of the night's festivities, her makeup remained impeccable. Gemma chalked it up to the stockpile of free, high-quality beauty products causing small avalanches on every available surface in Lila's apartment. Companies sent them to her in exchange for a review on her YouTube channel or a post on her Instagram. @Lila_in_L.A. had over two hundred thousand followers. Lila held a matching champagne glass in her own manicured hand, and Gemma knew by the gloss in her eyes that she had had plenty to drink. I don't think I need another, but thank you, Gemma thought about saying, but she knew that refusal would only result in playful pouting, a reminder that it was Lila's birthday, and accusations of being a party pooper. So instead she would take the glass and discreetly leave it on the bar while Lila sauntered off into the clutches of her more spirited guests. The routine was as old as their friendship. Except Lila went off script. She did not smear her painted lips against Gemma's cheek in a parting kiss and gush an inebriated tribute to their bond. She expectantly watched Gemma floating, glass in hand, like an awkward iceberg in a sea full of mostly strangers. "What?" Gemma asked. "Drink it!" Lila commanded with an upward sweep of her hand. The bangles on her wrist tumbled midway to her elbow. Gemma's face filled with warmth as if they were back in their dorm room years before and Lila was asking her to choke down a mouthful of pilfered peach schnapps. "I will," Gemma said with a shy shrug of her shoulders. "No, you won't. You're going to wait until I turn around and then leave it on the bar and hope I don't notice. I know you, Gemma Rose Peters." Lila narrowed her eyes and pointed a finger. "Drink it." Gemma cast her a glare and took a tiny sip. She reasoned that her morning didn't really start until nine a.m. the next day; a slight champagne headache was nothing she couldn't remedy with a jog and a fresh cup of coffee beforehand. "I wasn't aware your thirties was the decade of renewed peer pressure. Why are you being so insistent?" Lila smugly smiled and cocked out a hip. She dug her thumbs into the bodice of her strapless dress and yanked it up, adjusting her sizable chest and doing a little dance. Her dark hair swept her shoulders in a fan made shiny by a host of products with exotic names that Gemma had never even heard of. "Because you're gonna need it." She pressed her fingers to the glass's round base and tilted for another sip. The sharp bubbles sloshed against Gemma's lips as she sputtered. "Lila!" Lila giggled and leaned into the bar to grab a napkin. The Westside lounge hit all the Los Angeles stereotypes: crowded, dim, peddling overpriced cocktails with pretentious ingredients like beets and house-made organic syrups, and full of attractive people slipping in and out of the shadows. Lila brushed against the man beside her. He turned and raked his eyes from her head to her toes, crushed as they were at a needlessly severe angle in shoes Gemma wouldn't dream of wearing, and obviously liked what he saw. He smiled and opened his mouth to say something right as Lila turned back around and blindly whipped him in the face with her hair. Gemma stifled a laugh. "You're fine," Lila said, and dabbed Gemma's lips with a small black square of rough paper. Despite her similarities to a glittering disco ball, Lila had a surprisingly maternal side to her. "But you do need to finish your drink." A mother with an expansive booze collection. Gemma took another tiny sip. "Again, I ask, why?" "Because I know you, and I know you'll need some liquid courage to go talk to that guy at the end of the bar who hasn't stopped staring at you for an hour." Lila casually tilted her head, and Gemma's eyes shot to the end of the room. At almost the same instant, her whole body flushed, and the alcohol went straight to her head. "Oh no, I'm not-" "Yes! Yes you are!" Lila cheered. "Listen, I've checked him out: he's clean, no ring, looks our age, maybe a little tired around the eyes, but that probably just means he's got a good job and works hard, and he's got the best quality a girl could ask for . . ." She suggestively trailed off, beaming, and slowly swaying back and forth on the toes of her ridiculous shoes. Gemma gulped at her drink simply for relief from the arid desert that had suddenly appeared inside her mouth. She swallowed too hard, and the bubbles burned her throat. Talking to guys in bars was not her thing. It was Lila's thing, hence the birthday party in a bar full of guys. Her best friend stood before her with a devilish glint in her eyes, and Gemma wanted to call it a night early and go home. She risked another glance at the mysterious man in the corner, and he was in fact staring at her. Heat flushed her body anew. From the distance, a good fifteen feet, she could not make out any of the features Lila had listed, except for the fact that he was very good-looking. Had she said he was good-looking? Gemma couldn't remember, but she did remember the last item on the list. "What's the best quality a girl could ask for?" Her words came out sounding like she was in a trance. She suddenly felt as if gravity had shifted, and something was pulling her toward the stranger at the end of the bar. Lila circled around to stand behind her so that they both faced the man. She propped her chin on Gemma's shoulder and spoke right beside her ear. "That even with everyone in here, he's looking at you like you're the only person in the room." Gemma heard the smile in her friend's voice and felt a rush of affection that Lila, look at me Lila, would still play wingwoman at her own birthday party. Not that Gemma wanted a wingwoman. She did not currently have space in her life for a brooding stranger making eyes at her from the shadows. Not even one with the kind of tousled hair that did the wind favors by letting it blow it around and eyes that seemed to shine in the dark. Nope. No room for that. But Lila appeared to be making room whether Gemma wanted it or not. She poked Gemma in the ribs and nudged her forward. "Go." Gemma stumbled a hesitant step, feeling that gravitational pull tug her forward at the same time her feet stubbornly refused to leave the ground. The opposing forces did not mesh well. "Consider it your birthday present to me," Lila said. "I already gave you a present." "Well, then go get yourself one. Go." Lila's interest in her love life had increased exponentially during the year since Gemma's last breakup. While Gemma found solace in solitude, an ease about caring for herself and her geriatric mutt Rex and no one else, Lila encouraged her to join the dating race at every turn. You're a catch, Gem. I don't know what you're waiting for. In truth, Gemma didn't know either, if she was waiting for anything at all. But with pink bubbles bursting in her brain and the sudden, inexplicable shift in the earth's tilt, she wondered if all she had been waiting for was the guy in the corner staring at her like she was the only girl in the room. "Atta girl," Lila quietly cheered when Gemma took a purposeful step forward. Warm bodies pushed against her as she fought her way like a fish swimming upstream to the other end of the bar. The room was hot and thick with indecent desires. A fug of perfumes and heavy air squeezed in from all sides and reminded her why she preferred books and blankets to a night out. But then she arrived on the other end of it all, and the intriguing stranger gently smiled at her. She instantly forgot her distaste for the whole scene. She made note that Lila had been right about everything: clean, no ring, same age. Despite the shine in his blue eyes, he did look a little tired, but Gemma was tired too. Perhaps he was worn out for the same occupation-related reasons. The expectant look on his handsome face told her that she had exceeded the amount of time that was reasonable for walking up to someone and not saying anything. "Hi," she said, and sounded even to herself like a rusty old tool that hadn't been out of the box in ages. "My friend sent me over. It's her birthday." She cringed as his eyebrows rose. It sounded like she had been sent over on Lila's behalf. The fact that he didn't immediately look over her shoulder for the curvy brunette in question won him a point. Everyone in the bar knew it was Lila's birthday thanks to the tiara and intermittent cheering with every round of drinks. "Happy birthday to your friend." "Thank you. I mean, thank you for her." She cringed again. In her defense, she didn't spend too much time talking to other people, not at her job in the production booth at a radio show, and especially not to attractive ones with secrets in their eyes. Other than the nights Lila succeeded in dragging her along, she didn't go out much. She couldn't put her finger on it, but there was something about him. A flicker of familiarity like a scent tied to a memory that couldn't quite be placed. "Not really your scene?" he asked without a hint of judgment. She quietly laughed, feeling exposed for being so obvious. "No, not at all." "Mine either." "Then what are you doing here?" The words slipped out more in surprise than anything. He was obviously alone, not even avoiding a party like she was. She hoped she didn't sound harsh. Thankfully, he shrugged and gave her half of a smile that she suspected would have wobbled her knees at full wattage. "Waiting for someone special." It felt like a line, and despite herself, she fell for it. She sank onto the stool next to him, which was somehow empty in the bustling crowd. "I'd ask what you are doing here too, but you've already told me as much with the birthday party. Can I get you a drink?" he asked. She looked down at her waning pink champagne bubbling with only half the gusto of when Lila had handed it to her. She imagined it had gone warm in her nervous hand. She set the glass on the bar and decided to see where saying yes to this friendly stranger would lead her. "Sure." "Great. I actually have a talent for guessing people's favorite drinks." He had started with a line and shamelessly moved to a gimmick, and Gemma normally would have called him on it or rolled her eyes, but something about him left her willing to follow his lead. "Oh, really?" "Yes, really. Watch, I'll show you." He threw up a hand and waved at the bartender. Gemma noted how long his arm was and that he wore a vintage watch on his wrist. She saw no discernible tattoos in the band of skin between his watch and the rolled-up sleeve of his shirt, which of course didn't mean that he didn't have them elsewhere. She had grown accustomed to expecting ink on men in L.A., especially ones hanging out in bars like this. "You strike me as someone who prefers a classy cocktail, probably something bitter." She bit her lip instead of telling him he was right. "Am I warm?" he said with a smile at the look on her face. The bartender, a man who indeed did have tattoos decorating his arms, materialized and nodded at them. The man with the watch and shining eyes and killer smile-who still didn't have a name-gave Gemma a coy grin before turning to place the order. "Two Negronis, please." Gemma's mouth popped open. She managed to close it by the time the bartender nodded and whisked off. "How'd I do?" the man beside her asked. "That's my favorite drink," she confessed, too shocked to summon any flirtatious banter. He proudly shrugged a shoulder. "Told you I was good at it." She shook herself and regained her bearings. "Maybe it was a lucky guess." "Or maybe not," he said with a grin. Right then, a pop song that instantly took Gemma back to the free-spirited, early days of college came on the house speakers. Every lyric came back to her even though she hadn't heard the song in ages. She knew if she caught Lila's eye, she'd get a knowing wink and they'd mouth the chorus to each other across the room. "Did I miss something?" the man asked, and Gemma realized she was grinning like a fool. "Oh, I just love this song. I haven't heard it in a long time, and it always puts me in a good mood." "Is that so? Well, looks like we're stumbling into all sorts of luck tonight." The bartender returned with their drinks. He lifted his in toast. "To luck and all the good fortune it brings." Gemma lifted her glass to clink his and paused. "Wait. I don't even know your name. I feel like it's bad luck to share a toast without knowing." "Fair." He held her gaze. His eyes searched hers long enough to make her feel like he was waiting for something. Excerpted from The déjà Glitch: A Novel by Holly James All rights reserved by the original copyright owners. Excerpts are provided for display purposes only and may not be reproduced, reprinted or distributed without the written permission of the publisher.
