When It’s Real by Erin Watt
10
HIM
#squadgoals #dinnertime #whyisthewaitsolong
I stare at the picture of Vaughn’s family on Instagram. They’re all squeezed together as they wait to be seated at some random restaurant I don’t think I’ve ever heard of before. I can’t remember the last time I ate with my mom and dad. Hmmm. The last time I sat down at the same table with Mom and had a fork in my hand was…the Golden Globe Awards last year?
Holy shit. I almost laugh at the sad absurdity of the situation. Dad, on the other hand, I haven’t eaten with in years. Old man can hold a grudge like nobody’s business.
I feel a strange tightness in my chest. That isn’t…nah…it isn’t envy. I flick the app closed and stare out the windows. What I need to do is get out of the damn house. I’ve been stuck inside these walls and the studio—where nothing but garbage is getting recorded—for too long.
Purposefully, I stride to the kitchen where I find Tyrese. “Let’s get some grub.”
He tucks away his phone. “What do you have in mind?”
“I don’t know. How about—” A wicked idea pops into my head.
“Uh-uh.” Ty rocks back on his heels. “I’m not liking the look of that smile on your face. It says we’re about to get into trouble.”
“How about fondue?” I reply innocently.
I need to figure out what to wear. A hat and sunglasses aren’t going to be enough.
“Sure. There’s a place over on La Cienega Boulevard,” he says.
Ty’s a foodie. Man knows all of the good places, but I don’t want to go to Restaurant Row.
“I was thinking about Fondue Heaven over on—” I open the app, and sure enough, Vaughn has her Instagram geolocation on. “El Segundo. It’s on Main Street.”
Ty looks offended and faintly disgusted as he trails after me into my room. “A chain, brother? In El Segundo? That’s an hour away.”
I ignore him as I rifle through my walk-in closet. I should wear my lowest slung pants. The ones that hover around my ass crack. I wonder if I got rid of those? I dig around in the back of the closet.
“Those folks are gonna be gone before you get there,” Ty says from behind me. He’s not slow.
“Not if we take a chopper. That’s fifteen minutes. The apps are probably being served at that time.” I find the pair of ratty jeans that I hate in a pile under an old pair of sneaks. I lift the denim to my nose. They smell clean. Musty but clean.
Ty raises a judgmental eyebrow. “Really?”
“My jeans or the chopper?” I ask, stripping out of my sweats and pulling on the pants. I haven’t worn them for a couple years so it’s a tight fit. I’ve bulked up since my Slim Jim, sixteen-year-old days.
“Both.”
I slip a dark hoodie over my T-shirt and rub my hands together. “Ready?”
“You have me on record that I think this is a bad idea, right?” Ty asks as he turns into the parking lot.
“I heard you the first three times.” I adjust my hat using the visor mirror in the car we’re renting. It’s not a full disguise, but I’m banking on the fact that no one’s going to expect to see Oakley Ford in El Segundo at a fondue chain restaurant.
“Jim’s a scary man and I’ve got family,” Ty reminds me.
“What family? You have kids I don’t know about?”
“Sisters.”
Right. I’ve met Ty’s sisters. If anyone should be afraid, it’s Jim, because those chicks put the F in fierce. Highly protective of their “baby” brother and with no filter, they tell it like it is. “Honey—” that’s what they call me. I’m not sure they even know my name anymore “—Honey, you gotta pull those pants up before you start a riot.”
At fifteen and dumber than a box of rocks, I told Shanora, Ty’s oldest sister, this was the style. “Honey, that’s no style. I didn’t see wannabe hoodrat on the shelves last time I was in Macy’s,” she replied. “What you have is a lack of imagination.”
Because of her advice, I’d ditched the saggy jeans, backward cap and wife-beater, and tried to find a style that hit somewhere between rock god and Abercrombie douche. Not sure I’ve found it yet.
“Jim knows that this is my idea. He’s not going to blame you.” I flip up the visor. “He’s never blamed you in the past.”
Ty only grunts as he pulls into a parking space. While the lot itself is busy, there aren’t a ton of people around, and the few restaurant goers outside are taking zero notice of me. A couple walks right by me and doesn’t stop. I give Ty a surreptitious thumbs-up behind their backs.
He shakes his head.
Excitement courses through me. I feel like I’m breaking the law, getting away with something I definitely shouldn’t by having dinner at this subpar chain restaurant. I can see my next interview. “What’s the most exciting thing you’ve done since the Ford tour?”
“Well, I went to eat fondue and no one noticed me. That was the highlight of year nineteen of my life.”
“You let me do the talking with people,” Ty says as he opens the door. “Your voice is too recognizable. Let’s at least get some food in our system before we have to make a run for it.”
“Sounds like a plan.” My voice does have a distinctive rasp. A writer from Billboard once asked if I smoked a lot of cigarettes as a kid. She was only half-joking. But nope, just how I was born.
Inside the restaurant there’s a crowd of folks waiting to be seated. Ty muscles his way to the front while I hang back and scan the interior. Near the kitchen, a table of four catches my eye.
“The wait’s going to be about twenty minutes,” the harried hostess informs Ty.
“No problem,” I say. “We’re meeting someone.” I point to Vaughn’s table.
The hostess looks surprised. “They didn’t tell me.”
“No worries.” Then I start walking before the lady can ruin my surprise.
“So much for letting me do the talking,” Ty mutters in my ear.
I ignore him and drop down next to Vaughn, pushing her over closer to her sister. “What’re we having?”
She turns, her mouth open to deliver some kind of rebuke, then proceeds to stare at me for a good long moment.
I stare back, finding myself drawn to her wide mouth. She’s not wearing lipstick, or even a hint of any other makeup. Her dark hair is pulled up in a messy ponytail, with her bangs falling into her eyes and framing the sides of her face.
My new girlfriend is kind of a scrub, but she’s a hot scrub. Her thin see-through sweater and skinny jeans reveal enough curves to make my pants feel even more uncomfortable.
“I’d tell you to take a picture because it lasts longer,” I remark, “but you’ve already drawn me.”
I snatch her long two-pronged stick right out of her hand, stab a piece of bread and drop it into the cheese.
She finally recovers enough to ask, “What are you doing here?”
“Eating, hopefully. Should we order more food?”
Across from me, Ty settles in next to Vaughn’s brothers, who watch him with wide eyes and half-open mouths. He’s an impressive figure—just a couple inches below my sixtwo. But he has an air of menace around him that I assume he acquired in the military, where he served ten years before he left to join the bodyguard service. Ty uses it to scare away overzealous groupies and lure the ladies into his bed.
One glance toward Vaughn’s older sister reveals that she’s not immune. She’s pink in the cheeks and keeps sneaking peeks at him while she thinks he doesn’t notice. He notices. But he’s not going to tap anyone on Jim’s payroll because of the whole not-shitting-where-you-eat thing.
“Is this our first date?” Vaughn whispers uncertainly. “I didn’t get any instructions from Claudia.”
I barely manage to keep from rolling my eyes. “Since we’re the ones seeing each other, I think we can make these decisions.”
She nibbles on her lip. Not because she wants me to bite it—which is sorta what I’m thinking about at the moment because her mouth is definitely her best feature—but because she’s worried she’s pissed Claudia off. I don’t mean to be an egotistical ass here, but shouldn’t I be the one she’s worried about pissing off?
A waitress bumps into my side before I can point that out. “Oh, I’m sorry. I didn’t realize you were expecting more people. Do you need a different table?”
We all look around at the full restaurant.
“No.” Vaughn sighs as if she’s being asked to negotiate a peace treaty between the Koreans. “I’ll move.”
She scoots over, and I get both cheeks onto the vinyl bench. The waitress sets down new silverware and two glasses of water. I keep my head down. Beside me, Vaughn tenses up.
“I don’t like this,” she protests under her breath as soon as the waitress moves on. “What if someone recognizes you?”
“The waitress didn’t,” I point out.
“You were looking at your feet. Do you plan to eat that way the entire time?”
“Stop worrying.” Vaughn is worse than Jim, I decide. “How do I know when my food is done?”
“It was done five minutes ago,” one of the twins informs me. The other one is taking turns staring at Ty and then me. I’m not sure which one of us is more intriguing to him. I bet it’s Ty. My demographic doesn’t usually include preteen boys.
They look identical, except one’s wearing a plain white T-shirt and the other one is wearing a skate brand. I was paid about a million bucks to roll around on one of their boards a couple of years ago. I still have a half dozen in my garage.
“You like SkateBoiz?” I ask the kid.
He nods and then exchanges a look with his brother. The two have an entire conversation with their eyes before the talky twin turns back. “Yeah. It’s a cool board.”
“I’ve got a stack of them at my house. They need wheels, but you interested?”
His eyes light up. “Yeah, that’d be—” He jerks back, shooting a frown in Vaughn’s direction.
I tilt my head so I can see her better. “Did you just kick your brother?”
“Maybe. So what?” she replies huffily.
“I can’t give my shit away?”
“Don’t say shit,” Paisley interjects.
This time my eye-roll is unpreventable. “How old are they?” I look to the twins. “Twelve? Thirteen?”
“Twelve,” the one in the white shirt says. He nearly vibrates with excitement.
“So, twelve. That means they know more curse words than I can say in one sentence.”
“Maybe, but we don’t use them,” Paisley says.
The boys cover their mouths, and even Vaughn’s mouth takes on a reluctant smile.
“Paisley has a thing about cursing. She’s not a fan,” Vaughn explains. “We have a swear jar and I don’t think Paisley’s had to drop one quarter in it—ever.”
“Whereas you’re losing your shirt to the jar,” Paisley retorts.
“Vaughn has a potty mouth,” one of the twins says.
“I do not,” she protests. “I haven’t had to put anything in the jar for a couple of weeks.”
“A new record for you,” Paisley teases.
“The jar is for a good cause.” Vaughn’s cute nose tips upward. “The twins’ college fund.”
I glance at Ty, who’s stretched a long arm along the back of the booth. He’s wearing a faint grin, the gentle ribbing between the siblings probably reminding him of his own family.
“So back to the skateboard decks,” I say. “I’ve got a bunch of ’em from an old endorsement deal. They’re collecting dust and aren’t even usable because I have no wheels on them. I can give them away to some strangers or…” I spread my hands innocently, leaving the twins to fill in the blanks.
They take the bait. “Yeah, Vaughn. Why can’t he give them to us? They aren’t doing him any good.”
“Fine. What else do you have lying around the house? We could use a new TV. Maybe a car. We only have the one. How many extras do you have?” Vaughn snaps.
“Five, but I don’t think I’ll give you a car until our third or fourth date.”
“You gotta put out for that,” the white-shirt kid says.
“Spencer!” both girls admonish.
They look ready to lay into their brother, but I place a hand in the middle of the table to get everyone’s attention. A scolding from his sisters in front of me? This kid will die.
“Nah. A gift is a gift.” I lean over the table and pin the pipsqueak with a serious stare. “I’m not making you do anything for those skateboards, am I?”
Spencer shrinks back in his chair. “No, sir.”
This kid is trying to show off for me. I get this a lot. Luke does it all the time—trying to appear as bro as bro can be in an effort to make up for whatever he perceives as his own inadequacies. No different than me wearing these stupidass pants, I realize in an uncomfortable moment of clarity.
“It doesn’t matter how big the gift is,” I tell Spencer. “No one does anything to deserve presents. You just give them because you want to make the other person feel good.”
I pluck the forgotten bread out of the cheese pot and stick it into my mouth. Like the other twin said, it was done five minutes ago. I eat it, as terrible as it tastes, and then skewer another piece because I’m hungry and the food’s here and I’m not going anywhere.