Brooke hated that she was staring. But she couldn't stop herself. She was almost a thousand percent sure he was exactly who she thought he was... but why in Atlanta? Why at this hotel?
"You can take over the table if you want, you know." Her co-worker Priyaa came up behind her. "It's obvious you're into him. And I'm about to leave anyway."
Brooke turned to look at her friend. She cut her eyes. "I'm not into him... I just think he's famous." She pulled out her phone and held it up for Priyaa. "I'm just not sure it's him."
Priyaa's eyes narrowed and Brooke watched them shift from the screen to the lounge seating in front of them. The look on her face seemed to confirm what Brooke had been thinking for the last hour. "If it isn't him, he has an identical twin wandering the hotel bars of Atlanta." Her co-worker smiled suddenly. "Just go over there, get an up-close look, and introduce yourself."
Brooke's stomach flipped at the thought of Priyaa's words. Go over there?
Evan Peters was not someone Brooke could just walk over to. If in fact, the pale blonde boy with the mussed up hair across the room was Evan Peters.
Brooke had spent most of her afternoons off taking in all of the seasons of American Horror Story on Netflix. She had fallen in love with the idea of Tate and his ridiculously deep and longing love and Kit's dedication. She knew that no actor was one hundred percent of the characters they played, but if Evan was even an eighth of his on-screen personas Brooke would be happy. His looks didn't hurt either.
There was no way she could just saunter over there and take his drink order like she didn't know who he was.
Plus, he wasn't alone. Evan sat in a single chair, but adjacent to him was a younger-looking brunette and an older man wearing glasses. The table in front of them was scattered with a few packets of paper and legal pads. Maybe scripts?
Or maybe not. Her mind was obviously deeply in favor of this being Tate Langdon.
"He's drinking Jameson, neat. In case you're wondering." Priyaa was on the other side of the bar now. She poured the brown liquid into a rocks glass and slid it across the bar to Brooke. "The other two have waters, and I just topped them off. I'm sure he's finished by now." Priyaa smiled. "You're welcome."
Brooke rolled her eyes. She turned to look at herself in one of the huge wall-length mirrors that surrounded the bar. She pulled down the hem of her dress as much as she could and ran a hand through her wavy black hair. A little bit too much of her dark caramel-colored skin was showing, but there was really nothing she could do. She worked at Bar eleven, a high-end cocktail lounge in the Lowes Hotel in Midtown Atlanta. Black body-conscious mini dresses and sky-high heels were a mandatory part of her work attire. It was normally something she loathed, but if she had to meet Evan Peters tonight at least she would look sexy doing it.
She took a deep breath and picked up the whiskey cocktail. She silently prayed that she wouldn't wobble or fall on her journey across the room and began walking towards the group.
As Brooke neared, her heart began to beat faster. Definitely Evan Peters. There was no mistaking him. He wore a red and black plaid shirt with the sleeves rolled to the elbow and dark denim tucked into brown boots. His dark blonde hair was perfectly disheveled and now that she was closer, she could hear him speak. Definitely the same voice that had promised Violet forever.
"Jameson, neat?" Brooke smiled weakly and waited for an acknowledgment. Evan turned and looked at her. He stared, mouth agape for a few moments. Then spoke.
"Yeah, that's me." He was still staring. The self-consciousness started to set in. Either Brooke had a foot growing from her forehead or he was deeply confused as to why she had just interrupted their conversation. Neither was good.
In-person, the intensity of his eyes was almost frightening. Definitely unreadable. Watching him on screen at home in her pajamas, she could handle the emotions in them, but in person, his eyes bore into her making her feel deeply unsure of herself.
She awkwardly bent over setting the drink in front of him, suddenly feeling really overexposed. She stepped back and pulled again at her too-short hem. She watched Evan's eyes focus on the skin she was covering. Forget what she had thought earlier. She hated the dress code. "I'm sorry to interrupt... just seeing if you guys need anything else?"
The man and woman shook their heads and let her know they were fine. But a slow smile crept over Evan's face. This look was vastly different than the one he gave her at first. "What happened to the other girl?"
"Oh, she just got off... unfortunately, you're stuck with me."
He put his hand out towards her. "I'm Evan."
She reached out and shook his hand. His touch surprised her, as did their eye contact. "I know."
What? She did not just say that. Evan still held her hand as he let out a small laugh. She panicked. "I mean. Yeah, I thought you looked familiar... I love your show. Your characters are so amazing."
"Thank you... but what's your name?" The playful look that he was giving her made her the kind of nervous that you felt when you walked by a group of boys in high school. And he was still holding her hand.
"Brooke. Brooke Garrett."
"It's nice to meet you, Brooke." He finally let go. "I think we are good for now."
Brooke glanced at his companions. They all seemed to be waiting for her to leave. She smiled and retreated slowly back to the bar, feeling dismissed. The entire excruciatingly awkward scene left her feeling a little confused. And unsatisfied. For a moment, it had almost seemed like he was interested? The intense eye contact and lingering handshake...
She looked back at their table and saw the three were deeply immersed in conversation again.
Ok. Maybe her mind was doing too much.
She decided to start her side work to take her mind off of Evan and her embarrassment. They were her last table, so until they needed another drink, she didn't have much to do. She moved behind the bar and kneeled down to start organizing glasses.
She mentally chastised herself for briefly thinking that she and Evan had shared a connection. What did she think? One intense handshake and her interracial groupie fantasy would become true? And yes, his on-screen wife was black... but who knew if his willingness to swirl was real or just acting?
Hopefully, they would be gone soon. Her earlier moment of word vomit replayed in her head over and over again. She silently prayed that whatever brought him to her bar and her city would take him away just as suddenly.
