When It's Real

by Erin Watt

  A sigh slips out. “Actually, you probably shouldn’t take any advice my dad gave me. My parents made some terrible decisions.”

  Oakley looks intrigued. “Yeah? Like what?”

  “Like...” I pause, because my parents did so many dumb things it’s impossible to pick just one. “Like one time, Dad blew all our vacation savings on a boat, even though he knew nothing about boats. It was so expensive, but he swore that it would end up paying for itself with all the countless hours of fun it would bring us. So instead of going to Disneyland, we took our brand-new boat on its maiden voyage—and it capsized ten minutes in.”

  “Well, that wasn’t really his fault,” Oakley says carefully, but I can see him fighting a smile.

  “And another time, he and Mom decided that we were going to drive across the country, West Coast to East Coast and back. But neither of them thought to get the car checked before we left, and the transmission died somewhere in Nevada, stranding us in the desert for more than a day. I swear, turkey vultures started circling overhead.”

  Now Oakley laughs for real. I’m happy to see that the deep furrow in his forehead and the tired lines around his eyes have been smoothed away.

  “Pretty much, my parents were spontaneous and fun, but utterly irresponsible. They didn’t plan ahead. It was ‘live for the moment’ with them.” I hate myself for the pang of resentment I feel. Because Mom and Dad are gone. I loved them and I miss them and I’m not allowed to be angry at them for being impulsive and wanting to live life to the fullest.

  But...I am. At least a little bit. Why didn’t they put aside money for their children? Why did they refinance our mortgage just to fund that safari in Africa? We didn’t need to go on a safari! That money could have gone toward Spencer’s and Shane’s college funds. My college fund. Paisley used every cent of those tiny life insurance policies to keep the house. There was hardly anything left over.

  A warm hand latches on to my knee. I jump in surprise, and my pulse quickens when I look down and see Oakley’s long fingers lightly stroking me.

  “You’re allowed to be pissed at them,” he says gruffly. “Just because someone dies doesn’t mean they automatically become a saint.” His fingers rub my knee again, ever so slightly, before he slowly moves his hand away. “With that said, at least your parents were...there.”

  I see him swallow, and wonder if he’s thinking about his own parents, who he barely talks about. “Yeah. They were.”

  Silence falls between us. I suddenly feel so bad for him. I feel bad about his creative block and his absentee parents and the fact that he’s sitting here alone in his dressing room instead of surrounded by friends and family.

  I’m tempted to throw my arms around him and hug him tight, but that’s superawkward. So I try to make him feel better in another way.

  “I’m having so much fun tonight,” I say softly. “So are my friends. It was supernice of you to get them all passes. I never would’ve dreamed of asking you for that, but I’m glad you did. Now they’ll love me forever.”

  He nods. Watching me.

  “What?” I mumble, shifting uncomfortably under his intense gaze.

  “You actually mean that, don’t you?”

  “Mean what?”

  “You wouldn’t have asked for passes for your friends.”

  “Why would I? It was already ridiculously generous of you to invite me. Why would I get greedy?”

  Those green eyes never leave my face. He’s staring so hard that my heartbeat accelerates to a dangerous rhythm. My breath is caught in my throat. My skin feels hot and tight all of a sudden.

  Breaking the eye contact, I stumble to my feet. “Come on,” I urge, “let’s go back out there. You don’t want to miss your friend’s performance.”

  “Set,” he corrects, but he gets up, too, and we head for the door.

  “Is a set not the same thing as a performance?”

  “Well, yeah. It is. But in this business we call it a set.”

  “Okay, but it’s still also a performance,” I argue. “They’re synonyms. Therefore, both words are acceptable.”

  “Fine, Miss Know-It-All. Go ahead and ignore the industry professional.”

  “Ooooh, because your nineteen-year-old self is such an expert. You’ve been around the block for so long.” I’m grinning as I reach for the doorknob.

  “Hey, I’m still more of an expert than you are. In more ways than one.”

  Winking, he tugs on my hand. Except he does it at the exact same moment my other hand turns the knob, so the force of him drawing me toward him causes me to let go of the door.

  Which means it swings open just as Oakley presses his lips to mine.

  18

  HIM

  The kiss lasts no more than a second. My mouth presses against Vaughn’s, catching her midsmile. My tongue sweeps across her lips, but I don’t get the chance to slide it past them.

  Flashbulbs go off. An explosion of them, like bright bolts of lightning in the cramped hallway.

  I catch sight of Tyrese’s startled expression, but he doesn’t look half as surprised as Vaughn, who stares up at me as cameras continue to click around us.

  Shit. She had to choose this moment to open the door?

  Stifling a sigh, I yank her back into the dressing room and slam the door shut.

  “Vaughn,” I start to say. Vaughn, I want to kiss you again. Vaughn—

  She doesn’t hear me because she’s talking, too. “Wow, talk about perfect timing there.” She draws two fingers across her lips. Is she wiping my kiss away? “I didn’t expect it, but I guess that’s a good thing because this way it looks more natural.”

  Natural? Did she think—“You think I planned this?”

  “Didn’t you?” The furrow in her forehead appears.

  I run an agitated hand through my hair. I kissed her because she was funny and sweet. She didn’t mock me when I confessed I was blocked. She tried to comfort me with silly stories about her family even when it was obvious those same memories caused her pain. She doesn’t expect anything from me beyond what we’d agreed upon. She’s different and I wanted a taste of that. I wanted to know what it felt like to be her, and the only way I knew how to do that was to put my mouth against hers.

  But obviously she didn’t feel a damn thing, so I have to pretend I didn’t, either. “Yeah, totally planned.”

  She shoots me an uncertain smile. “Well, it worked. You and Claudia know what you’re doing. Anyway, I guess we should go? Listen to the next set?”

  Now would be a good time for me to come clean, but because this isn’t real for her, hell if I’m going to be the one to admit that I’m not on the same page. So I open the door and gesture for her to exit.

  Maverick’s band is already on stage when we get out there. I endure a few backslaps from acquaintances and do a fist bump with Luke.

  “Sorry about that thing with your house and all. I would’ve said something at the club the other night, but I didn’t have the chance,” he whisper-shouts in my ear. “I wasn’t thinking.”

  “Yeah, no big deal,” I answer even though it is a big deal, but I don’t want to get into it here.

  “Didn’t think so.” He grins. “It’s just a bed, right? No harm, no foul.”

  “I burned that bed.”

  Luke laughs. “You can afford it. Yo, Vaughn, your girls are smoking hot. Any of them single?”

  She darts a glance toward me, wanting direction. What’s the plan? she silently asks. I’d like to tell her that there’s no plan now, just as there wasn’t one five minutes ago, and that she’s flirting with me, Oak Ford, online. Ever since the ice cream date, I’ve seized control of my social media accounts from my PR team, but I haven’t had the balls to tell Vaughn that she’s actually interacting with me and not a bunch of
assistants.

  “Luke’s a dog,” I warn. “But if your girls are down with that, he plays a mean guitar.”

  “Hey, I’m not a dog. More like a puppy, really.” He spreads his hands apart.

  The innocent ploy makes Vaughn laugh, and an unfamiliar feeling that I label annoyance—not jealousy—sweeps over me. Luke is making her laugh? I grab her hand and pull her against me, both grateful and irritated that she doesn’t draw away. We’re in public now and she’s invested in the act.

  Which is why she shifts her weight and leans into my side. Her small hand finds the back of my shirt and grips it. And I slide my arm around her back, letting my fingers dangle over the curve of her shoulder. Because this is how we’re supposed to look. Loved up. Infatuated. Just one washed-up recording artist and his made-for-the-press girlfriend.

  From the way the crowd is bobbing their heads, Maverick’s killing it on stage. But none of his notes register for me. I can’t stop sneaking peeks at Vaughn, who seems more interested in watching one of her friends—a tall blonde with a good rack—flirt with Luke.

  But while I’m still sorting out why I kissed her, how good it felt, and that I’d like to do it again right now even in front of all the gossip journos and paps, she looks totally unaffected. Like it was no big deal that I kissed her.

  And that pisses me off.

  I want to shake the complacency out of her. All the chicks in this room would trample each other to get a chance to lock lips with me. Half of them would let me screw them up against the wall while their boyfriends watched.

  But Vaughn’s face shows nothing but mild interest—and not in me. Shit, is she crushing on Luke?

  “That guy sold access to my bedroom.” I jerk my thumb toward Luke, who’s got his hand on the blonde’s shoulder and is pulling her toward him.

  Vaughn’s head swings around. “Luke?”

  “Yeah. And he’s twenty-five.”

  “Eww. That’s gross. Why do you even talk to him?”

  “He’s my bassist. I can’t ignore him just because he’s a dickwad sometimes.”

  “Well, come on. I can’t let him slime all over my friend.” Vaughn shrugs my arm off, but before she stalks away to rescue her friend, she grabs my hand.

  For appearances, I’m sure, but I grip it tight and let her drag me across the bar floor.

  “Hey, Carrie.”

  “Oh, my God, Vaughn! This is so cool!” Carrie throws her arms around Vaughn. The two girls stumble back, Vaughn’s body pressing against my already tense one.

  I push them both upright. The last thing I need tonight is to show some inappropriate wood in my tight jeans. That’d give Claudia a coronary.

  Vaughn slides me another uncertain look, one that I easily read as hurt. I open my mouth to tell her I’m sorry, but I’m tired of saying those words to her because I’m not even sure what I’m supposed to be apologizing for. Kissing her? And then trying to put some distance between us when she’d rather stand here in the middle of a sweat-soaked crowd than make out with me in the green room?

  “Thank you for inviting us.” Carrie pushes Vaughn to the side to launch herself at me. I catch her because otherwise she’d fall on her face. “You were amazing. So amazing.”

  “Hey, hands off my merchandise,” Vaughn jokes. She slips between her friend and me, creating space. Her hand reaches for mine again and presses it against her waist.

  Again, I have to remind myself that she’s just acting. And she’s good at it. So good that it makes me think, for a second, that she wants my hand on her. That she likes my body pressed against her back.

  It’s all getting damn confusing for me.

  “I know.” Carrie winks. “But I couldn’t resist. I mean, God, Oakley Ford. I can’t believe I’m standing next to him. Or that I touched him.” She prattles on as if I’m not even a real person.

  “He’s standing right beside you, Carrie,” Vaughn chides with sweetness so her friends don’t take offense.

  I hide my appreciation behind a cocky smile.

  “Oakley, this is Carrie, Tracy and Kiki—she did my hair the other night—and her boyfriend, Justin. Justin’s favorite song of yours is ‘Do Her Right’.”

  The big dude behind Kiki flushes.

  “Hey, man.” I hold out my free hand to slap his. “Mine, too.” We all know that the first single release from Ford is about sex, so it’s not like I’m going to bust his chops over it, but his cheeks burn even hotter. He taps my hand and then pulls his chin into his chest.

  The girls share a giggle that turns into a roar.

  “I’m going to piss,” Justin says then stomps off.

  “What’s that about?” I ask.

  This time it’s Kiki who blushes, and I finally get it. They must’ve played the song while doing the dirty.

  Vaughn smirks. “Let’s just say that you’re responsible for a lot of action at Thomas Jefferson High.”

  “Glad I could be an inspiration.”

  This sets the girl crew into hysterics.

  Luke decides it’s time to open his piehole again. “We should hit up Oak’s house tonight. How about hosting an after-party, dude?”

  If I wasn’t standing here in front of Vaughn and her girls, I would’ve told him no immediately, but now I don’t know what to do. I don’t want to invite a bunch of strangers into my home. If it was just me and Vaughn? I’d be okay with that. The rest of the crowd? Not so much. But it’s Vaughn’s friends and I’m kind of weirdly desperate for her to like me.

  “No, we need to get home,” Vaughn says, and I try not to make my relief too obvious. “My friends have class tomorrow.”

  “Vaughn,” Carrie moans, clearly embarrassed at the implication that they’re too young to stay out. “It’s fine.”

  “I’m tired,” Vaughn replies. She crosses her arms across her chest and stares mutinously at her friend.

  “Me, too,” I lie. It’s not even midnight.

  Luke glares at me.

  “In fact, after this set, I’d like to go home,” Vaughn says.

  “Why?” Carrie presses. “You aren’t working. You don’t have classes.”

  There’s a slight judgmental tone in her voice, as if Vaughn is a worthless piece of shit. Maybe we can abandon her with Luke.

  Vaughn ignores this. “Can Ty take us home?” she asks me.

  “Yes.”

  Carrie relents, realizing that Vaughn’s not going to change her mind. And when it becomes obvious that I’m not going to let Luke take any one of these high school girls home with him or host a party at my place, he wanders off in search of easier game. Or at least more available game.

  Maverick wails his last note, and the lights dim once and then twice to indicate a break. The crowd makes a beeline to the bathrooms.

  “Thanks for inviting us,” Kiki tells me.

  “Yeah, it was so awesome. We should take a picture!” Carrie shoves her camera into Vaughn’s hands.

  They mean with me. Vaughn’s shrug says exactly what’s running through my mind. I can’t escape. The two girls insert themselves under each of my arms. Vaughn presses her lips together, trying not to laugh because she knows how much I hate this.

  April wouldn’t have laughed. She would’ve been jealous. Vaughn thinks it’s funny that I’m being felt up by her girl squad. In fact, I think Carrie’s hand is halfway down my back pocket.

  “Take the picture,” I mouth.

  Vaughn gives me the thumbs-up and snaps one picture. Her friend Kiki darts out from under my arm and hands her another phone. A bunch of other people are taking pictures now. Inside the club, so dark that I’m certain the only thing that will show up on Carrie’s camera is three shapes and three sets of red eyes, there are cameras being pointed at me from all directions.

  Somewhere on
the internet, this picture’s going to be labeled Oakley Ford’s handful at the club. Already stepping out on his girlfriend?

  Thankfully, it’s over quickly, and then we’re walking out the back toward the waiting Escalades.

  “W’s going to be so jealous when he hears about tonight,” Carrie says.

  Next to me, Vaughn tenses. A revolting thought hits me. Had she pretended that W was kissing her? When she leaned against me in the club, was she thinking it was W? When she pressed my hand against her waist, was that W’s hand she was holding?

  I hadn’t planned on kissing Vaughn again tonight. I’m sure Claudia is already in a rage over the first one, but I’m not letting Vaughn get in that truck until she knows exactly who’s kissing her. It’s not her wannabe, hat-wearing, plaid-loving boyfriend. It’s me. Oak Ford.

  “Hey.” I tug her back before she can climb in behind Kiki.

  “Oh, right, our public goodbye.” She pushes some of her hair away from her face.

  Behind us, I hear the clicks of the cameras. The flashes of bulbs light up her face every half second.

  She rolls her eyes, which only stirs up my anger. “Smile for the cameras, baby. That’s your job, remember?”

  “I’m not your baby,” she grumbles.

  “You are for a year.”

  Her eyes flash angrily. All the warm feelings that were stirred up in the green room are getting flushed down the toilet, but I can’t seem to stop my stupid mouth. Every time I open it, something assholic comes out.

  “Now kiss me like you can’t get enough of me.” I wind my hand through her hair and tip her head to the side. “A better angle. Tongue this time.” With my mouth millimeters from hers, I pause. “What’s my name, baby?”

  This time her eyes flicker with confusion. “Oakley Ford.”

  Elation fills me. “That’s right.”

  My lips press hard against hers and I sweep my tongue inside, tasting the sweetness of the cola she sipped on all night and the mint she popped into her mouth as we were walking out.