When It’s Real by Erin Watt

28

HIM

StarStalkerz.com

Spotted: Venice Beach. Boy bander Nicky Novak and longtime GF Elizabeth Simms hold hands during a romantic stroll on the boardwalk. Awwwwww!

Spotted: LA. Oakley Ford and entourage leave The Head for a private after-party. And we all know what happens at Oakley Ford after-parties…

As my heart beats triple time against my rib cage, I watch the girl’s dark head pull away from Luke and peer around his arm.

“Oak?” Vaughn slurs.

The sight of her swollen lips makes me want to slam my fist into the wall. Or into Luke’s jaw. Or maybe into my own jaw, for being such a stupid, pathetic tool who actually thought that…that what? That she was into me? That she would ever see me as something more than a job?

I nearly choke on the pain. “What the hell is going on?”

Luke grins drunkenly at me. “Dude, I was just coming up to piss and your girl threw herself at me.”

Vaughn’s unfocused eyes flick from me to Luke and then back at me. Something registers, although I have no clue what. Then her hand flies to her face and she whirls around, fumbling with the bathroom door. She lunges inside.

Luke and I stare at each other as the sounds of retching fill the air.

He waves a hand toward the bathroom. “She’s all yours, man.”

My anger turns to rage. Pure, white-hot rage as I grab him by the collar and shove him up against the wall.

“That’s my girlfriend!” I growl at him. “You were kissing my goddamn girlfriend!”

Panic fills his eyes, eclipsing the haze of inebriation. “I…I…”

“You what?” I snap, but then he makes a choked noise and I realize he can’t answer because my forearm is digging into his windpipe. I loosen my grip, just barely.

“I thought…”

“You thought what?”

“Thought it was a media thing,” he mumbles. “Like it was with April.”

“Well, it’s not,” I snap.

“C’mon, Oak, be real with me. No way are you into some normal. You go for supermodels, tall blondes with big tits and—” He moans when my arm presses into his throat again.

“You don’t know a damn thing about me.” I’m so pissed off I’m starting to feel dizzy, but I let the anger continue to flow. I have to, otherwise the pain will come back. And the jealousy. I refuse to think about the way her lips had been fused to his. I refuse to.

“I’m sorry, okay?” he wheezes. “She told me she felt sad and needed some cheering up. I thought—”

Every word disgusts me even more. So he thought he’d take advantage of some girl who was too drunk and too distraught to know what she was doing? Luke’s always been an asshole, but I didn’t realize he was this bad. “You thought wrong.”

“I didn’t know it was like that. But now I know and it won’t happen again, okay?”

“Damn straight it won’t! You’re not gonna get within five feet of her ever again, you hear me? If you so much as look at her, I’m gonna beat you so hard that—”

“Oak,” a stern voice booms, and then a pair of beefy arms yanks me away from Luke.

My former friend staggers to the side, clutching his throat with one hand. He looks at me as if I’ve gone insane. Maybe I have. I can’t stop thinking about how this creep’s mouth was on Vaughn’s mouth. His hands on her waist. His body pressed up against her.

“You all right, brother?” Tyrese asks in a low voice.

I manage a nod. “Get him out of my house,” I mutter.

He doesn’t need to be asked twice. Luke protests as my bodyguard drags him toward the staircase. He shouts out that he didn’t know it was real, he’s sorry, he’ll make it up to me, but I don’t even spare him a glance.

I’m done with him. First thing tomorrow I’m calling Jim and requesting a different bassist at the studio. I don’t give a crap how he makes it happen, but it is absolutely going to happen.

Vaughn’s retching has stopped, I realize. I knock softly on the door, but a part of me almost doesn’t want her to answer. Doesn’t want her to open it.

“Oak.” Her weak voice sounds from behind the door, which swings open to reveal her ashen face and bloodshot eyes. “I don’t feel so good.”

The pained, embarrassed note softens something inside me. She’s so drunk that she’s swaying on her feet, and I can’t help but reach out to steady her. Damn it. I want to rage at her for kissing Luke. I want to ask her what the hell she was thinking. But it’s obvious she’s in no shape to talk.

“Everything is spinning,” she whispers.

My heart stutters. “I know,” I say gruffly. “Come on. Let’s get you to bed.”

She takes a step forward and almost falls over.

Sighing, I lift her into my arms and carry her to my bedroom. She buries her face in the crook of my neck and lets out a little whimper. “Head hurts, Oak.”

“I know, baby. It’s okay. I’ll get you something for the pain.”

I gently deposit her on the bed, then pop into the master bath to grab some ibuprofen and a glass of water. I force her to swallow two pills and then chug the whole glass. She does it without protest then crawls up the bed and hugs one of my pillows.

“Spinning,” she moans.

“Just close your eyes and go to sleep.” Hard as I try, I can’t move her to urge her under the covers, so eventually I grab the other end of the blanket and pull it over her. She’s passed out before she’s even fully covered.

I stand at the edge of the bed and watch her for a minute. Curled up on her side, eyes squeezed shut. I want to lie down beside her and spoon her against me and stroke her hair and tell her it’s okay that she kissed Luke.

But it’s not okay, dammit. It’s not.

Letting out a tired breath, I turn toward the door and flick off the light. Darkness bathes the bedroom. I take one last look at the sleeping girl on my bed and then go downstairs to help my bodyguards kick all the strangers out of my house.

The last stragglers don’t leave until four. I stumble into the bedroom and find Vaughn wrapped up in the blanket like a burrito. I drag a tiny bit of the sheet across my tired ass and fall asleep before my eyes close completely. When I wake up, the blanket’s spread across me and the afternoon light is filtering in.

The other side of the bed is empty.

I bolt upright and jog downstairs. Hands on my hips, I survey the empty, spotless living room. Big D must’ve called in the cleaners. And I slept through the whole thing, including Vaughn’s sneaking away.

“Big D,” I call.

“Kitchen.”

I find him sitting at the kitchen table drinking a bottle of Perrier and doing a crossword puzzle. “Where’s Vaughn?”

“Home, I suppose.”

“When did she leave?”

He checks his watch. “About four hours ago. Had Daniel from ice cream day drive her home.” He pushes one of my business phones toward me. “You’ve got a bunch of messages starting with Jim. Call him the minute you get up.”

Four hours. That’s a while. Wonder what she’s doing now? “Any bad press I should know about?”

“Nope. It’s all quiet in Oakville.” Big D smiles to himself over that witticism.

“Good,” I grunt. As I pull out a bottle of Powerade, I pause and turn back to Big D. “Hey, good morning. Thanks for coming.”

He sets down his paper and subjects me to a long appraisal. “Ty said something about how you were changing. I wouldn’t have believed it if I hadn’t seen it with my own eyes.”

I force myself not to shuffle my feet like a five-year-old caught with his hand in the cookie jar. “Is that your way of telling me I was an asshole before today?”

“Nah. Just that you’ve had so much sun shining in your life that sometimes it blinded you.”

“So I was an asshole before today?” I nudge the refrigerator door shut with my shoulder.

Big D laughs. “We’re all assholes, Oak. Call Jim before his head explodes.”

I take the phone, my drink and a banana out to the deck and call Jim.

“How’s the recording going? When can I hear some music?” he asks.

“I thought I sent—” I pause midbite when I remember that no, I hadn’t sent Jim a thing. I sent the first recording to Vaughn. Vaughn, who made me wait ten minutes before spitting out the word good. I swear she only has one adjective in her whole damn vocabulary. I’m going to work on that.

She needs to learn things like hot and ripped and awesome. All of which she should apply to me. When I see her again, we’re going to start those lessons. Right after she explains why in the hell she kissed Luke. In the process of kicking everyone out, I came to the conclusion that she was so drunk she probably thought Luke was me. We’re about the same height. Same color hair. In her drunken state, she got us confused.

Once she realized she’d had her mouth pressed against the dickface, she’d thrown up. The only correct response after recognizing that you’ve kissed a loser.

“You sent me nothing. Or if you did, it didn’t come through. Resend it.”

“No.”

“No, what?”

“No, I’m not sending you anything. Not until King and I are done with the album. Or at least half of it.” I don’t want anyone listening to the songs right now. Criticism might derail me at this point. There are only two people I care about hearing my music and it’s King and Vaughn. In fact, she should come to the studio today and listen to me live. I’d like to see her tell me that song is good to my face.

“You always send me your music,” Jim reminds me. “I’m your manager. You send me your music. I tell you if it works and then both of us make enough money that the Saudis are calling us for loans.”

“All of that is going to happen,” I assure him, mostly because I want to hang up and call Vaughn. “But it’ll happen in my own time. Gotta run, Jim. Text me if you need anything.”

Meaning, don’t call because I’m not answering.

I dial Claudia next because I don’t want any distractions when I go into the studio. I’m going to lay down some righteous tracks between now and whenever King is tired of me, and the last thing I want to do is deal with Claudia and her little plots. Besides, Vaughn and I have this figured out.

“Claud, hey, it’s Oak.”

“I’m so glad you called! I’ve got interview opportunities for you from GQ, People, USA TODAY and ET. The rumors about you working with King, along with your new relationship, are generating real, positive interest. Which one do you want? I think you should bring Vaughn, not to have her answer any questions, mind you, but her presence should be noted. Maybe we’ll even have a picture of you with her. She can sit on the piano bench. You’ll be on the floor with your arm raised around her bottom. That’s tender, yet not too provocative.”

I eat the rest of my banana as she chirps in my ear. While Claudia talks about the clothes we’ll wear in this fantasy photo shoot she’s cooked up, I return inside to hunt down my personal phone so I can call Vaughn. I locate it on my nightstand.

I need to shower before meeting King in the studio. Wait, do I even know what time we’re meeting? I check my messages and see that he texted this morning that he’d be available around two. I text back the thumbs-up emoji and then pull up Vaughn’s contact.

“I can’t do any of those, Claud. I’m recording. Maybe after.”

“But what about Vaughn?”

“I got that covered.”

And I hang up before she can tell me all the ways that I’m screwing up. I’ve heard that stars like me are supposed to have a bunch of yes-people. Where did I go wrong?

I throw my business phone on the bed and call Vaughn.

“Hey,” she says, her voice all tentative and wary. No doubt she’s feeling embarrassed about last night, mistaking Luke for me and all.

“How’re you feeling?”

“Like death.”

I muffle a laugh. “You should’ve stuck around. Big D knows all the best hangover cures.”

“He mentioned something about a hairy dog, but that made me want to barf again.”

“You still in bed?”

“No. I’ve managed to haul myself downstairs to the living room sofa so I can pretend like I actually got up like a normal person.”

“Normalcy is overrated, baby. If I send a car around will you come to the studio today?”

I hear a deep sigh. “Is that what Claudia wants?” she asks.

The banana in my stomach curdles. Haven’t we gotten beyond that? It ticks me off that she’s still making decisions based on what she thinks Claudia wants or what’s good for my image.

I open my mouth to tell her that, no, that’s what I want, when a wave of insecurity swamps me. If I say no and she turns me down, that’ll feel like shit. And I want to see her today. I want her to hear me play. I want her to kiss me, Oakley Ford, without the cameras, without the booze, without anything. Just her and me.

“Yeah. Claudia.”

It isn’t a full-on lie. Just a small one. Infinitesimal, really.

“Is an hour okay? I haven’t showered and I smell like someone spilled a case of beer over my head.”

“No problem. I’m sending a car over now since it’s going to be an hour in this traffic.”

“Okay, see you then, Oak.”

At least she’s calling me Oak. I’ll take it.

* * *

When you’re inspired, stuff happens in a nanosecond. While I’m waiting for Vaughn to show up, I jot down a bunch of lyrics. After nixing about a dozen of them, I shuffle the rest into something resembling a song and hand it off to King. I drum a few different beats on the desk while he considers the words.

“Yeah, I like this.” He hums a few chords. “Maybe faster over the bridge. Like—” He drops the notepad on the console and demonstrates.

I sing the first verse to his beat and it’s perfect. We grin at each other. Something is cooking here and it’s delicious. Working with King is everything I thought it would be. He makes me feel comfortable, even when he’s asking probing questions like when was the last time I was moved by a song, any song? He shares personal stories, ones about his own failures, and that courage prompts my own. King’s like a producer and therapist wrapped up in one genius mind.

My phone beeps and I lift a finger for King to hold on for a minute.

I’m here.

A jumble of words fight for dominance: yes, finally and thank God.

“Vaughn’s here,” I tell King. “Mind if we take five?”

“Nope. I’ll go out back and pretend I’m trying to stop smoking.”

We slap each other’s hands and I go to let Vaughn into the studio.

“You came,” I say.

Her face is a bit pale, but she still looks beautiful. I’m starting to love the fact that she doesn’t wear makeup. Everything about her is natural and honest and so frickin’ awesome. As I pull her inside, I’m fighting the urge to kiss her.

Inside the studio, a water bottle is waiting for her on a side table, and I bribed a blanket off one of the studio assistants upstairs. It’s kept cool in the studio because of the instruments and the equipment. She might get cold since she lives in tank tops.

“I didn’t see any cameras outside,” she says as we reach the studio door.

I push it open for her and then lead her over to the chair I set up for her. “Yeah, about that. I might have lied.” I gesture for her to sit, and she collapses into the chair. “Claudia didn’t say you needed to come.”

A furrow creases her forehead. “Then why am I here?”

I pull up a stool and pick up my Les Paul guitar, settling the body across my thighs. “I thought you might want to hear the music I’m doing with King.”

“Huh.”

There it is again. The big sigh.

I set down the guitar and stand up, irritation crawling across my neck. This is a big deal and not only doesn’t she appreciate the gesture, I don’t think she has a clue what it means. I rub a finger across my forehead. How do I explain this to her without coming across like a giant douche?

“So generally when artists are making music, it’s just them and other musicians and the producers.”

She winces. “So this is a big thing?”

Pride makes me shrug carelessly. “Not so big.”

“I’m screwing up everything, aren’t I?” Her gaze darts toward the door, as if she’d like to be anywhere but here.

“Am I keeping you from something?” I can’t keep the chilliness out of my tone.

“No. I’m just…hungover. I drank too much last night.” She gives me a wan, unhappy smile.

Her lack of enthusiasm, her obvious desire to flee, is like a punch to the gut. “That all you regret from last night?” I say harshly.

“I guess. I mean, I’m sorry I drank so much and passed out in your bed.” She’s studiously avoiding my eyes.

“You’re sorry for passing out in my bed,” I repeat. “That’s what you regret? Drinking too much and passing out in my bed? What about fucking Luke?”

“I slept with Luke?” She leaps to her feet, horrified. “How—”

“No, I meant Luke. You kissed Luke.”

Guilt flashes across her face. “Oh. That. I was hoping you wouldn’t mention that.” She visibly swallows. “It wasn’t the best idea I’ve ever had.”

Not the best idea? I nearly shout. Talk about an understatement.

“Then why’d you do it?” I ask tersely.

“Because I was drunk. And because I felt crappy and awful after all that stuff W said to me. And because Luke was there.”

Pain arrows through me. I’d convinced myself that she’d mistaken Luke for me, but apparently that’s not what happened at all. She’d known she was kissing someone who wasn’t me…and that realization is crushing in a way I hadn’t expected.

I stare at her in disbelief. “So you would’ve made out with anyone? Is that what you’re saying? Didn’t matter who it was as long as they had lips and a tongue?”

Vaughn cringes. “No, that’s not it. I was…drunk,” she says again, sounding defeated. “I was drunk and upset and I wanted you and couldn’t find you, and Luke was suddenly there and he was flirting with me and…” She trails off.

One of her jumbled sentences sticks out to me. “You wanted me?”

She bites her lip.

“You were looking for me?” I study her embarrassed face. “Because you…wanted me. What does that mean?”

“Nothing,” she mumbles. “It means nothing, okay?”

“Dammit, we both know that’s not true.” I jam my hand through my hair in frustration. “It does mean something. You were upset and you went looking for me. Because you want me, Vaughn. Just admit it.”

“You want me to admit it? Fine! I admit it! I like you, Oak. I like you and I’m tired of pretending and I can’t stop thinking about kissing you and—”

I don’t give her time to finish that thought. I grab her, instinct overriding rational thought. I grab her and kiss her like I wanted to last night. Like I’ve wanted to since…since she stared at me with stars in her eyes at the beach. No, before then. When ice cream dripped on her fingers and I had my first taste of her sweetness. Maybe even earlier, when she was tart and sassy.

I’ve wanted this kiss for so long that I drink from her lips as if she’s the only pool of water in the biggest desert on earth. And under my mouth, she melts. Her own lips part and she kisses me back.

And it’s everything I’d imagined. Better than fifty thousand people shouting your name. Better than a sold-out Madison Square Garden crowd singing your lyrics back at you. Better than the greatest song ever sung. Her arms twine around my neck and I lift her up, face level so I can kiss her longer, harder, deeper.

Her tongue slides into my mouth and someone moans. I think it might be me. But then it’s both of us, because my lower body starts grinding against her, and I know it feels as good to her as it does to me.

I want to kiss her forever. We should stay like this forever. Generations from now, they’ll find us in the rubble, two lovers who died kissing.

All too soon she pulls away and stares at me. Confusion mars her pretty face.

“Just wanted to remind you that I’m still here.” King’s voice filters through the million-dollar sound system.

“Oh, my God.” Vaughn turns redder than my mom’s famous lipstick. Confusion switches to mortification. She slaps her hand over her mouth and runs out of the room.

I stand there like a stupid dumbass because I’m too stunned by my response to move. Is that what kissing is supposed to feel like? Holy hell. And if so, why did she run off?

I jerk myself into action and follow her, but she’s already darted into a bathroom and locked the door.

“Vaughn, baby. Come out.” I hear the faucet turn on. I jiggle the knob a little. “Are you sick?”

“Go away. Go away and make your music. That’s what this is all about anyway.”

I turn to see if there’s anyone around who can help me interpret what just happened, but I’m alone and my girl has locked herself in the bathroom. Probably for the best. I’d rather no one else witness this humiliating exchange.

I make my way back to the control room, shaking my head the whole way.

King doesn’t say a word as I collapse into a chair.

“What?” I ask after a prolonged silence.

“Nothing, man.” King grins. “I should’ve come here sooner. Had no idea I’d be getting a show and an album in one deal.”

I scowl. “Maybe I’ll find a different producer.”

If possible, his smile grows bigger. “Nope. I’m not leaving now. There’s fire and magic in the air. Perfect music-making conditions.”

I merely grunt as I pull out my Bic to scratch out the first line of how my head’s so messed up that I’m starting to think the sky is green.

King peers over my shoulder. “She’s changing you.” I don’t acknowledge him and write the next line about how I’m feeling like my heart’s a junkyard, filled with spare, discarded parts. “The best ones do.”

He slides over to fiddle with a panel, but I feel the heat of his eyes.

“Got something to add?” I mutter.

Over his outstretched arm, he says, “The good ones put your character to the flame and burn away all the rest of the shit until you come out a better you. She’s one of the good ones.”

“How do you know?” I challenge, chin out, glower on my face.

King gives me a mysterious smile. “You just do.”