“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.
“Nah. Just wasn’t feeling it before.” I’m not feeling it now, either. The music, the action, the girls don’t interest me at all, and I know, even before Luke calls for the first thousand-dollar bottle of Cristal, that this is a mistake.
The waitstaff busily rearranges a seating area for my new entourage. There are other celebrities here. I recognize a television actress and a couple of guys well-known for their comic action films, but the others combined don’t have the star power that I do. Which is why the staff of Head is bowing and scraping for me.
I opt for a chair on the end and leave the middle for Luke, because even though I thought I wanted company, I now realize it’s the last thing I’m in the mood for.
A girl—I don’t know her name because I paid zero attention when Luke was introducing everyone—touches my arm for about the hundredth time in the last ten minutes.
“I’m not interested,” I respond, sharper than I should be. Across from me I see Ty frown, and I soften my tone at her stricken expression. “Sorry. Just…not a good night, okay? And I’ve got a girlfriend.”
A girlfriend who’s currently having a romantic evening with her boyfriend.