by Erin Watt
I grind my teeth. “Gee, thanks for the restraint, W. I should give you cookies for not sleeping with her? Just kissing her?”
“Yes. If you’re kissing Oakley Ford—with tongue—then I need something more from you.”
“It’s not a competition.”
“So you’re saying you won’t sleep with me?” He sounds utterly disgusted with me, like I’m refusing the most reasonable request ever.
The pressure makes my stomach churn. I search for a way out, and, as if a higher power decided to take pity on me, the doorbell suddenly rings.
I bolt off my chair. “I need to answer that.”
“Paisley can do it,” W says coldly.
“She’s in the shower.” I toss out the lie over my shoulder on my way to the door. Truthfully, I have no clue what Paisley is doing, but I need a moment to regroup.
Unfortunately, W decides to follow me, which brings a silent scream to my throat. I need...distance, damn it. I need to collect my thoughts and figure out how I feel about everything we just talked about.
He kissed someone else.
So did you...
Yeah, but my kiss was staged! It wasn’t real.
Wasn’t it?
I’m two seconds away from releasing the scream. I’ve never been more confused in my life, and feeling W’s breath on my neck on the way downstairs makes me tense and anxious.
We reach the front hall, where he finally quits crowding me. He leans against the wall with his arms crossed and his surly expression fixed on me.
I open the door to find Oakley standing on my porch.
“Oh,” I squeak. “What are you doing here?”
Before he can speak, W’s enraged voice sounds from behind me.
“Oh, hell, no!”
21
HIM
1doodlebug1 @OakleyFord_stanNo1 She looks like trash in those pics!
OakleyFord_stanNo1 @1doodlebug1 she IS trash. Don’t know what Oak sees in her.
1doodlebug1 @Oaksgirl69 Think he’s a good kisser? @OakleyFord_stanNo1
OakleyFord_stanNo1 @1doodlebug1 um, DUH!!! Best kisser ever!!!!!!
1doodlebug1 @OakleyFord_stanNo1 How do u kno??
OakleyFord_stanNo1 @1doodlebug1 b/c he looks like it. Sooooooo much tongue in those pix!
1doodlebug1 @OakleyFord_stanNo1 She doesn’t deserve him.
OakleyFord_stanNo1 @1doodlebug1 nope.
“What the hell is he doing here?” the asshole behind Vaughn growls. “Did you invite him over?”
I look from Vaughn to the asshole, wondering the same damn thing. What’s he doing here, and did she invite him over?
“No, I didn’t invite him,” she says.
Her words are like a knife to the gut. To think I came over tonight to apologize to her.
“And this isn’t a good time,” Vaughn adds, turning back to me. “I’m kind of in the middle of something.”
I bet she is. I swallow a dose of anger, but I’m not sure why I’m so pissed. I knew going into this that she had a boyfriend. I’ve made fun of the douche bag on more than one occasion. But knowing and seeing are two very different things.
This frat boy loser is in her house. They were probably having a romantic evening before I showed up. Maybe I even interrupted them having sex.
Another rush of bitterness coats my throat. Fuck this. I shouldn’t have come in the first place. I should’ve just ignored the guilt that was gnawing at me all day, ever since I hung up on Vaughn. But it had been impossible to ignore. My mom called a few hours after her lunch with Vaughn, and I’ve never heard her rave about someone so much. Listening to Mom gush about how smart and sweet and wonderful Vaughn is only twisted the guilt knife deeper, made me feel even worse about the way I taunted her outside the club yesterday.
I came here armed with an apology, but now, as Vaughn’s boyfriend and I stare each other down, I feel like I’m the one who deserves a fucking apology.
“Do you have a hearing problem?” W asks frostily. “She said we’re in the middle of something.”
For some reason, I stay rooted in place. “Maybe I’ll wait until you’re done.” Jesus. What am I saying? I don’t want to do that at all. But something about this jerk brings out my hostile side.
“No, you’re gonna turn around and get back in your limo or whatever the hell you drove here. She’s off the clock, asshole.”
“W!” Vaughn chides.
“Wait, are you paying her salary now?” I give him a cool smile despite the fact that his arrow actually stung.
“I don’t have to. Vaughn doesn’t need to be paid to be with me.”
“W!” Vaughn nearly shouts. She takes a breath and addresses me again. “You need to go,” she says in a trembly voice that cuts right through me.
“Yeah. Whatever. I’m gone.” I jerk open the door but try to get one last dig in. “Enjoy the rest of your night. Looks like you’ve got a real keeper there, babe.”
Then I stomp out, ignoring Vaughn’s protests and W’s sputtered threats, and march back to the Escalade.
Ty’s face is a picture of concern, and even that makes me snarl. “Everything okay?”
“She’s busy,” I mutter. “Let’s go.”
“Where we going?”
I’m already reaching for my phone. I scroll down until I find the perfect companion for tonight. “Feel like getting wasted?” I ask Luke.
“Always.” If he’s surprised to hear from me, it doesn’t show in his voice.
“How about The Head and we’ll go back to my place after.”
“Solid plan, my brother. I’ll be there in twenty.”
Ty shakes his head in disapproval but changes directions immediately because he’s paid to protect me, not to argue. I don’t know why that makes me feel worse, but it does. Is there anyone in my life who isn’t on my payroll?
“Women are complicated,” he says.
“You’re single, Ty,” I remind him.
“Because women are complicated.”
And the ones you like are employed by your boss, I nearly retort, but after shooting off my mouth to Vaughn, I don’t feel real talkative anymore. I slink down in my seat, replaying the disaster that just happened.
I don’t know what I’m angrier about—that Vaughn was on a date with that douche or that she didn’t correct him when he said I was only her job. What the hell is the matter with her? Does she realize how many chicks would kill to be with me? If I wanted to, I could give out the address of The Head and a few thousand girls would raze the club to the ground trying to gain access to me.
I work myself into a self-righteous rage by the time we reach The Head. Ty pulls up and puts the SUV in Neutral.
“I’ll go in and tell the manager you’re here.”
“No. I’m walking the line,” I insist. I need...something. A hit off the adulation stick.
Ty frowns. “That’s way too dangerous.”
But like a good employee, he knows his limits. He doesn’t tell me no because that’s not his place. I hop out and slam the door. The tail end of a string of curses is cut off before Ty joins me on the street. At first no one notices me as I walk toward the entrance.
But as I pass more people, the whispering swells until it’s a wave of noise. Is that Oakley Ford? Holy crap, I think that’s Oakley Ford. Ask him for a picture! A picture. Oakley! Oakley! Oakley!
Hands reach for me. The bouncer at the door is on his feet, holding the line back. Girls are jumping over the rope-bound barricades.
What the hell was I thinking?
I quicken my stride and then realize I’m not going to make it unless I do something. I halt, turn toward the crowd and raise my hand. “I’m going inside and hope to see you there.”
The
crowd pushes forward. Ty grabs my arm and drags me inside.
“Okay, not my best moment,” I admit, brushing a hand through my hair.
Ty avoids my gaze, likely trying to hide his irritation at having to babysit my punk-ass self.
I wonder if I should warn him that his babysitting duties are only getting started, because I plan on fucking shit up tonight.
But nah. I’ll let him find that out on his own.
HER
“So he’s just showing up at your house for booty calls now?”
W is livid as we face off in the living room two minutes after Oakley’s angry departure. His cheeks are a scary shade of purple, and the vein in his forehead looks like it’s going to burst any second.
I want to tell him to keep his voice down because my sister and brothers are right upstairs, but I can’t get any words out. I’m still in a stunned stupor over what just happened. Why was Oakley here? Why did I let him and W get into it like that?
“Answer me!”
I jolt at the violent command. Taking a breath, I meet my boyfriend’s eyes. “It wasn’t a booty call.”
“Then why did he come here? How often do you have him over?” W asks bitterly.
“Never. He’s never been here—no, once. He’s been here once, but that was a PR meeting. All his publicists were here, too. Other than that, I’ve never had him over.” I exhale in a rush. “Look, I don’t know why Oak showed up, but—”
“Oh, you’re calling him Oak now? Is that in your contract?”
I hadn’t even realized I’d done it. “No, it’s just...” God, what do I even say? “Everyone calls him that.”
“Is this is a game to you?” W snaps.
“No, of course not—”
“What are you telling him about me?”
The question confuses me. “Nothing. We don’t talk about you.”
W’s eyes blaze. “So you pretend you don’t have a boyfriend? That I don’t exist? Is that what you do when no cameras are around? What, are you embarrassed of me?”
Argh! I just want to scream until my lungs are sore. Everything I say is being twisted. If I don’t talk about him, I’m forgetting him; if I do, I’m betraying him.
“What do you talk about, then?” W demands.
I swallow. “Stuff. Stupid stuff.”
“Like what?” he insists.
“I don’t know. Music. My parents. His parents.”
“So stuff we used to talk about. Couple stuff.” He snarls. “And you’re telling me that it’s all fake and you still love me, right?”
I rub my forehead. Every word that comes out of W’s mouth is an accusation of wrongdoing. Angry words fill my mouth. Things like at least Oakley doesn’t pressure me for sex. At least he doesn’t view this as a competition. At least he doesn’t kiss other girls. But I don’t say those things, because unlike W, I don’t say the first spiteful thing that comes into my mind.
“This is a bunch of BS,” W fumes. “You’re ruining my first year of college, you realize that? I’m a frickin’ laughingstock. I get up in the morning and people can’t shut up about how Oakley Ford is screwing my girl. Do you have any idea what that’s doing to me? How do you think it feels being the guy whose girl dumped him for a rock star?”
“What does it matter what other people think?” I ask desperately. “Remember after Mom and Dad died, and I had that awful, embarrassing moment in morning advisory where I just started crying and had to run out of the room? Everyone started calling me a head case, and you told me it didn’t matter what they thought. That it’s only the people you love whose opinions matter.”
My attempt at reasoning with him fails. “Well, I love my friends,” W snaps back. “And their opinion is that I’m a total loser. And I can’t even tell them the truth because of some stupid thing I signed.”
I choke down my frustration. “We both signed it, and there’s nothing we can do to change that. Jim Tolson will murder us if we—”
“Oh, we’re talking about Tolson now?” W interrupts snidely. “Great, let’s talk about Tolson. Why the hell is he taking so long to get back to me about the show?”
I freeze.
Oh, crap.
I might look convincing when I’m kissing Oakley for the paparazzi, but my poker face doesn’t stand a chance in front of the guy I’ve been dating for two years.
W immediately steps closer, his dark eyes narrowed in suspicion. “What aren’t you telling me? Did Tolson hate the show?”
“No,” I say quickly. “He didn’t hate it. He...” Didn’t see it. I swallow the awful confession.
“He what?” W pushes.
Crap. Crap.
Maybe W is right. Maybe I am the worst girlfriend on the planet. How else do you explain the fact that I totally, completely forgot to send W’s clip reel to Diamond?
“He hasn’t had the chance to look at it yet,” I lie weakly.
Very weakly, because W sees right through me. I know the exact moment that the truth dawns on him. His features sharpen. His lips twist into an ugly line that matches the ugly cloud in his eyes.
“You didn’t give it to him.” He speaks softly at first, almost thoughtfully, but it doesn’t take long before his rage boils to the surface and then spills over. “You didn’t fucking give it to him?”
I stumble backward from the force of his fury.
“Vaughn,” a tentative voice calls from the stairs. It’s Paisley, and she sounds more worried than I’ve ever heard her.
“Leave us the fuck alone, Paisley!” W shouts at the doorway.
I gasp in horror. “Don’t talk to my sister like that!”
“I’ll talk to her any way I want!” He’s swaying on his feet now, as if his anger has infected his motor functions. His incensed gaze burns so hot that I’m scared it’ll turn me to ashes. “I can’t believe you did this to me, Vaughn.”
I struggle for air. “I...forgot. I’m so sorry, W. It slipped my mind—”
“It slipped your mind?” he explodes. “My career, my future, slipped your mind? You’re a tease, you know that? You make a lot of promises about everything. About how much you love me. About how you’re going to help me get on TV. But it’s all a bunch of bullshit words. And you know what? I’m done.”
He marches to the doorway then stops, turns to glower at me, and repeats himself for good measure. “I’m done with you.”
I’ll never know how I manage it, but I’m able to keep the tears at bay. I stare at him, unblinking, unmoving, until finally, he stalks out of the living room.
That’s when the tears pour out, accompanied by a sickening mental recap of every horrible thing that happened tonight.
W sniping at Oakley.
Oakley storming off.
W’s fury over me kissing Oakley.
His confession that the pictures drove him to kiss someone else.
And it’s not until I hear W’s car engine start that I realize he couldn’t have seen the photos last night.
They weren’t online until this morning.
22
HIM
1doodlebug1 @OakleyFord_stanNo1 He’s at The Head!!! You’re in socal, rite??? GO!!
OakleyFord_stanNo1 @1doodlebug1 I don’t have a driver’s license!!!
Ty leads me toward the VIP stairs of the club, not so gently shoving people out of our way. The bouncer at the door recognizes us immediately and swings open the panel behind him.
The Head’s VIP lounge is a lot more private than some. A one-way glass mirror that can be turned into a see-through panel with a flick of a switch spans the wall between the so-called important people and the rest of the crowd. We get to watch the normals like they’re animals in a zoo.
In reality, we’re the main attraction and everyone’s
paid to see us perform—like monkeys. I throw myself into a velvet lounge chair while Ty takes up position behind me. Despite my not-quite-legal status, a highball appears at my right hand before I even think to ask for one.
“Hey, Oakley,” an eager voice says. “Mind if I sit down?”
I look the newcomer over in her tight black dress, high heels and perfectly done hair. There’s a light sheen on her forehead, maybe sweat worked up while dancing or maybe it’s nerves from talking to me. I’ve seen girls faint before from merely laying eyes on me.
“I’m waiting for someone.” I try to keep my tone friendly, but fail.
She winces and tries again. “I can wait with you.”
I debate what to say to her when my phone buzzes. I whip it out thinking that maybe it’s Vaughn apologizing. I’ll graciously accept it and send a car to pick her up. We can—Oh, hell, it’s Luke.
Need your help man. Assholes won’t let me in.
Ty probably told the bouncer to be extra careful, which the bouncer likely took to mean: hot chicks only.
“Sorry. Gotta go get my friend,” I tell the girl.
She stands there like a statue as I walk toward the door, apparently paralyzed by the fact I even spoke to her.
See, Vaughn, lots of chicks out there would love to be in your shoes. This girl is so starstruck she can’t even move.
“He’s with me,” I inform the bouncer, holding up my phone to show him a picture of Luke.
“Just being careful,” the no-neck tells me.
“Hey, Oak, getting the party started without me?” Luke says as he bursts through the door. Behind him about ten more people stream through, guys and girls.
The bouncer raises his eyebrows as if to ask if I meant for all these people to come. I shrug. It’s Luke. I knew what I was getting into when I called him.
“Thought this girlfriend of yours had taken your balls and put them in her backpack.” Luke pulls me in for the standard clenched fist, backslap bro hug.
Anger stirs up at the insult toward Vaughn, but then I remember what she’s doing, no, who she’s doing right now.