So, I may or may not have finished that one drink. It wasn't like a single beer was going to get me drunk at a strange bar in Hell's Kitchen after 9PM on a Monday night when I had to work the next morning at 5AM. Right? The second one I bought for myself, however, that probably didn't help. Especially considering I'd only eaten half a hot dog since I'd gotten off my shift at Starbucks, the alcohol went straight to my head.

I made friends with the bartender, Matt, who brought me an order of fried pickles on the house after I admitted that I'd been stood up. I think he could tell that I didn't quite want to believe it, especially since I didn't leave right away. Part of me hoped Andrew would show up and prove me wrong, but the rest of me knew it wasn't gonna happen. Even if it did happen, what did it matter? I didn't have time for a relationship. I didn't have time for dating. Meeting a cute guy on the street wasn't going to change that I wasn't ready.

After an hour of chatting with Bartender Matt, as I kept calling him, and evading the man in the green shirt, I finally paid my bill - leaving a hefty tip for my new friend - and slipped off my chair at the u-shaped bar. It was past ten o'clock, and the bar was emptying out. A few regulars sat at one table, shouting at the television while they watched whatever sport was playing, and I did a final sweep of the place before waving at Matt and pushing open the door.

The temperature had dropped a few more degrees, and I shivered as the chilly air pricked at the bare skin of my arms. Alcohol provided a convenient temperature barrier, wrapping around me from the inside out so I felt warm and fuzzy, but there was a significant difference from inside and out that still left me feeling a bit cold.

Sighing, I took out my phone and opened up maps so I could find the closest subway station to get home. I was a little fuzzy on my sense of direction in this part of town, and - being tired and tipsy - I decided I would rather look like a tourist than risk getting lost in Manhattan at night. It was to call a cab or an Uber, but I already spent $25 on a single beer tonight after my hefty tip. I couldn't justify the expense, not when I needed to be saving every penny for school.

Instead, I pulled out my headphones and popped them into my ears, opening Rihanna's new album in Spotify, and headed north on Ninth Avenue. Rounding the corner on West 55th Street, I quickly sidestepped - avoiding a collision - before ducking my head back down and picking up the pace.

"Cait!"

Wrinkling my forehead in confusion at what sounded like my name, I tugged out one of the earbuds while slowing down.

"Cait!"

I spun on my heels whilst patting my pockets, assuming it was Bartender Matt following me to return something I'd forgotten inside the bar. I was surprised, however, to see Andrew jogging up to me instead with a look of relief on his face.

"You're late," I muttered as I rolled my eyes, turning away from him and replacing the earbud as I power walked away from him.

"Cait," he reached out a hand to grab my shoulder, turning me toward him, and I groaned as I removed both headphones and wadded up the cord in my hand. "Wait..."

I pushed his hand off my shoulder, "I already did. I waited for, oh..." I checked an invisible watch on my wrist, "nearly two hours. Now I'm going home."

"I'm sorry," he replied, running a hand through his perfectly styled hair. "I got caught up at the thing. I tried to leave, but --"

"I get it, shit happens," I told him. "But I never should've agreed to meet you. This was..." I sighed. "This was just a big mistake, I'm sorry."

Shaking my head, I headed back up the street only to have Andrew jog past me and block my path.

"Cait, please," he pleaded, his blue-green eyes staring into mine. "Give me another chance."

I scoffed, "You don't get turned down a lot do you?"

"Honestly--"

"Don't answer that," I cut him off, raising a hand. "Look, Andrew, you're seem like a decent enough guy. You're gorgeous, so you've got that going for you, especially since you look exactly like..."

My voice trailed, and my eyes grew wide as I took in his appearance. He'd swapped his expertly tailored suit for a pair of jeans, a fitted grey t-shirt, and a dark green zip-up hoodie. Now that his hair was messed up from running his hands through it, the resemblance hit me like a sledgehammer to my fuzzy, alcohol-delayed brain.

"Oh my god," I murmured, lifting a hand to cover my mouth. "Are you?"

He nodded, and I stared blankly at him. That's why he seemed familiar, why I felt like I knew him before. I'd seen his face several times before, watched it on my laptop when I binge-watched movies late at night if I couldn't sleep, and I'm pretty sure every female between the ages of 13 and 30 knew who he was.

Lincoln Shepherd. International movie star, Lincoln Shepherd. He was named People Magazine's "Sexiest Man Alive" for two years in a row, his face was plastered on billboards all over the city in ad campaigns, posters for his new film RACHE, and Val was obsessed with the TV show he was in a few years back that launched his career. That's where I'd seen him before, and that's why I recognized him.

"You're Lincoln Shepherd," I stated, as if speaking it out loud might change the fact.

Andrew, or Lincoln, grimaced, "Listen, Cait...I'm sorry I didn't tell you. I wasn't sure if you recognized me or not, so I didn't want to say anything right away."

"So you lied to me?" I asked him. "What, did you think it was funny that some girl on the street didn't recognize you right away? Was this some big joke to you? Did you really think I wasn't going to find out?"

"No!" He shook his head. "I didn't lie to you."

I scoffed, "Telling me your name is Andrew wasn't a lie?"

"My name is Andrew," he insisted. "It was, I mean. I changed it to Lincoln when I got cast in my first role."

"I-I..." I stuttered, shaking my head, "I can't do this. I'm sorry. I need to go."

"So that's it then?" He replied bitterly, disappointment darkening his features. "Because I didn't tell you I was famous, you're not even gonna give me a chance?"

Covering my face with my palms, I exhaled and ran my hands through my hair.

"No, Andrew. I mean, Lincoln....whatever your name is," I said, dropping my hands to my sides. "You stood me up. You had your chance, and you didn't show. Besides, I don't even know you."

He took a step forward, "Then get to know me. Please."

"Why does it even matter this much?"

I couldn't believe his tenacity. Why wouldn't this guy just let me go? Anyone else would've given up a few minutes ago, and here he was practically begging me to give him a second chance. He's famous, for pete's sake. All he has to do is tweet, "Girlfriend wanted, DM for details" and he'd be flooded with thousands of girls who were prettier and more interesting than me.

"I want a chance to be a normal guy," he admitted after a lengthy pause. "For just one night, I want to go on a date with a girl who is interested in me, in Andrew, not in the celebrity version of me."

I bit my lip, "I'm sorry, Andrew. I have to go."

I felt like a horrible human being, telling him that, but what was I supposed to do? He stood me up - showing up two hours late to our date - and I found out he hid the truth about who he was from me. I understood, honestly, but I just...I couldn't deal with that. Not when my life was already complicated enough. Getting involved with someone - let alone getting involved with someone like Lincoln fricking Shepherd - wasn't on the agenda. It was way too complicated for me, and I just...I couldn't handle complicated. Not after what happened.

He stared at me for a few seconds before I finally mumbled an apology and headed off to the subway. Glancing over my shoulder, I hated seeing his shoulders curl forward in defeat as he dropped his head and stared at his shoes before turning away. I felt like I'd been punched in the gut with a familiar sense of guilt, but I forced myself to keep walking. I couldn't go back. I just...I couldn't.