“Vaughn! Your stupid phone won’t stop buzzing,” Shane calls from the deck. “It keeps knocking down our cards!”
“Ha!” she calls back. “Your cards keep collapsing because your foundation sucks!”
She’s right. I’ve never seen a more pathetic pair of cardhouse builders. Vaughn and I drift over to the deck, where she swipes her phone off the table. She checks the screen then walks several not-so-discreet steps away and starts typing furiously.
I come up to her. “Who you texting?”
“Uh…no one,” she says absently, angling the phone to shield it from my view.
“No one?” My hackles are instantly raised. Is she still in touch with W? She told me yesterday that she hasn’t heard from him since the sloppy seconds comment, but what if that was a lie? What if she’s still talking to the jerk?
Vaughn lifts her head. When she notices my dark expression, she puts on a reassuring tone. “It’s not W.”
“Then who is it?”
“No one,” she repeats.
I swallow my rising irritation. “You just shot off five text messages. You’re saying they were addressed to nobody and just disappeared into some weird cyber dead zone?”
Vaughn tucks her phone in her pocket. “I promise you, it’s nothing shady, okay? Can we just drop this?”
“Have you met me?”
An exasperated laugh pops out of her mouth. “Just this once, can we pretend you’re not a nosy busybody?”
“I’m not a busybody,” I object.
“Then drop it.”
“No.” I stubbornly cross my arms. “Who are you texting?”
She hesitates.
“Come on, tell me. If it’s nothing shady, then what’s the big deal?”
After another long beat, Vaughn lets out a heavy sigh. “It’s your mom, okay?”
I blink in surprise. “You’re texting with my mom?”
“Yes.”
“Why? And since when?”
“She’s messaged me a couple of times since we had lunch,” Vaughn confesses. “Just to say hi and see how I’m doing.”
Something twists in my stomach. I think it might be jealousy, but that’s crazy, right? Why should I care if Mom is texting Vaughn? I know they both liked each other when they met, so I guess it makes sense that they’ve kept in touch.
Must be nice.
I choke down a rush of resentment. Well. Lucky Vaughn. Katrina Ford likes her enough to say hi and ask her how she’s doing. You’d think she’d like her only son enough to do the same for him, but apparently that’s hoping for too much.
“I was telling her about the barbecue and I think she was fishing for an invite.”
I stiffen.
“But I didn’t invite her,” Vaughn adds quickly. “I wouldn’t do that without asking you first.”
“Are you asking me?” I ask in a tight voice.
“No…Yes? I don’t know. Do you want her to come? We’ve got plenty of food.”
Which Mom probably won’t even touch. She’s been off red meat since I was in diapers. And why the hell does she want to come anyway? A backyard barbecue is way too pedestrian for Katrina Ford. She prefers black-tie events with shiny lights and swarms of admirers.
“I don’t care either way,” I answer, hoping my tone sounds as indifferent as I’m trying for it to be. “But I don’t get why she’s even interested. Barbecues aren’t her style.”
Vaughn jerks suddenly then fishes the phone out of her pocket again to check the incoming text. Her teeth sink into her bottom lip. “Oh, Oak. I think she really wants to come. Look at this.”
I peer at the screen that Vaughn flips toward me.
I haven’t had a steak in years! Now I’m craving one, thanks to you. Might need to ask my asst to run out and get me one.
Yup, she’s fishing for an invitation, because the woman doesn’t eat meat.
“Just invite her already,” I mutter.
Vaughn brightens. “Yeah?” She immediately starts typing a response.
I leave her to it, wandering over to the grill to have a word with Ty. “My mother’s on her way.”
His shaved head swivels toward me. “For real?”
I nod.
“She bringing her entourage? Should I call in for more bodies?”
“I don’t think so. Besides, Mom knows how to move under the radar. If she doesn’t want the paps to track her here, then they won’t.”
“I hope she wears the red Annie wig,” Big D pipes up. “And those big seventies-style shades? Remember that combo?”
“And the pink leather pants,” Ty reminds him. “Don’t forget the pants.”
I can’t help but laugh as I remember the disguise Mom wore to my last concert in order to sneak backstage unseen. Not that she wasn’t seen. Everyone had been gawking at her. Except the outfit was so ridiculous that not one person suspected it was Katrina Ford, because Katrina Ford wouldn’t be caught dead in something so awful. It was brilliant.
Right now, though, I’m less concerned about the outfit Mom’s going to be wearing, and more concerned about how awkward shit is about to get.
31
HER
Kat Ford joins Weisenberg’s all-star lineup!
Another A-lister has come on board for Oscar-winning director Mick Weisenberg’s upcoming thriller, set to begin production this summer. Katrina Ford, star of such romcoms as Mr. Right Now and Hopeful Romantic, has just signed on to join the cast of Weisenberg’s newest nail-biter. Ford will be putting her comedic chops on the shelf and bringing her former scream queen experience (Machete Head 2, Dead Night 1-3) to this much-anticipated film.
Also attached to the untitled project are Julie Drake, Oscar winner Freddie Herrera, and up-and-comer Natalie Gale.
“Is your mom wearing an embroidered sweat suit?” I gawk as Oak’s mom steps gingerly into our backyard.
Katrina has brought a few people with her—two big muscly guys who I peg as bodyguards and a black-clad assistant carrying two phones, a huge bag under her arm and a giant white box. Kat is clad, head to toe, in a Kelly-green sweat suit with flowers all over it. It’s one of those things you’d see in a store window and know that you’re supposed to like it, but don’t. Somehow, Oak’s mom pulls it off.
“Who knows,” he mutters.
Clearly he’s still not superhappy his mother is here, as if her arrival signals the end of his fun. I’m a little astonished at how much he’s enjoyed himself these past couple of months, just hanging out with me and the family.
If he’s not in the studio, he wants to be here. And the boys can’t get enough of him. They’ve missed having Dad around more than I ever realized, and Oak is the big brother they’ve always wanted. It helps that his toys are out of this world, but they’d be following him like little ducks even if he showed up with empty arms.
Oakley is a kid at heart, and I suspect he’s never had a lot of playtime. Oh, he has tons of people who want to be with him, but his guard is up. And that has to be stressful.
“Hopefully Ty comes back with more food. I didn’t buy enough meat for all these people,” Paisley frets.
“My mom doesn’t eat meat,” Oak assures her. “Whatever you have is fine.”
“Do you think you should say hello?” I ask him.
“You invited her here.”
Yup, still grumpy. I grab his hand and drag him toward Katrina. I’ve been doing that more and more lately—holding his hand. It feels…right.
W was never into public displays of affection. Holding my hand in public was a pretentious form of love, he’d said. Real couples don’t need to brag about their relationship. I agreed, of course, because I never felt like rocking the boat with W. I needed him more than I needed to have my hand held.
But gosh, it always sends tingles up my spine when Oak’s hand immediately closes around mine. He holds me tight in his clasp, like he never wants to let me go.
He does that when we’re making out, too. And when we’re doing…other things. Just thinking about all the naughty things we’ve done sets my cheeks on fire. Oak hasn’t pushed me to go further than I’m comfortable with, but the kissing…and the touching…it’s…incredible.