His tongue sweeps in and rubs along mine. One hand tangles in my hair, while the other glides up under my loose T-shirt.
Between my legs, he feels muscular and hard. I move against him, and his hands grip me harder in response. Against my lips, he groans, and the deep, manly sound takes my breath away.
I, Vaughn Bennett, turn Oakley Ford on. He’s pressing against me. He’s groaning when I move. I try it again and his lips curve against mine.
“You’re so hot, Vaughn. So fucking hot.”
The coarse words send shivers down my spine. Oak’s fingers dance lower, down the back of my jeans. Suddenly, I want to know more. What can he do? How will it feel?
Carrie and Kiki have talked about this. They both enjoy sex, and now here’s Oakley, willing, more than willing, to show me what I’m missing. Without any expectation of anything in return.
I reach between us, the back of my hand bumping against his hard-on. He gasps but doesn’t move an inch. I’m in charge. I push away from him, just enough to flip open the button on my jeans. His hand reaches for the zipper.
“May I?” His voice sounds hoarse.
“Yeah.” Mine isn’t much better.
He drags the zipper down and then his long, talented fingers cup me, over my underwear, under my jeans. He moves his hand slowly in a wide circle and there’s so much sensation it’s as if I have a thousand nerve endings between my legs.
I brace a shaky hand by his head. His mouth finds my neck, his lips brushing against the outer edge of my ear.
My toes curl and my breath comes in shorter and shorter pants.
“I’ve got you, baby,” Oak whispers against the base of my throat. “I’ve got you.”
He rubs and rubs and rubs for what seems like hours and only a few seconds at the same time, until sparks fly in front of my eyes and my whole body becomes tense as a wire as an electrical charge spirals through me. I gasp and moan and then collapse against him, my heart beating wildly. His heart is galloping, too.
“Oh, Jesus, that was so beautiful.” His palm is still cupping me, and I can feel my body vibrating against his as the aftershocks cause me to tremble like a newly formed leaf.
I try to formulate words, but I have none. Luckily, Oak doesn’t need them. He just holds me until I drift off into slumber.
And either I imagined it, or that was actually his raspy voice singing me to sleep.
30
HIM
1doodlebug1 @OakleyFord_stanNo1 I think they’re a real couple
OakleyFord_stanNo1 @1doodlebug1 yeah he’s into her
1doodlebug1 @OakleyFord_stanNo1
SIX WEEKS LATER
I’m having the time of my life. And that’s saying a lot, because I’ve done some pretty awesome things in my life. Lazing around on private islands. Playing sold-out shows in some of the most gorgeous cities in the world. Not to mention spending time with gorgeous women, from models to actresses to fellow singers.
But none of them were half as gorgeous as Vaughn, and none of those concerts or vacays come close to all the fun Vaughn and I are having. This last week alone, we’ve made enough memories to last me a lifetime.
On Monday we wasted the whole day away on El Segundo beach. It was completely deserted because everyone was at school or work, so we had some actual privacy as we horsed around in the water and then stretched out on an oversize towel, talking about random shit as we shared a huge plate of nachos from one of the boardwalk food trucks.
And on Monday night we fooled around on her bed.
On Tuesday she came to the studio again.
And on Tuesday night we fooled around by my pool.
On Wednesday I kept my promise to her brothers and we took them to my buddy’s house to make use of his halfpipe.
And on Wednesday night we fooled around on my bed.
On Thursday we went to King’s club, where I did an impromptu performance that Vaughn actually called “amazing.” Her vocab is getting better.
And on Thursday night we fooled around in my kitchen. Ty wasn’t thrilled about walking in on us, but we were fully clothed so I don’t know what all his bitching was about.
I ain’t gonna lie—we still keep our clothes on every time we hook up. Is it frustrating as all get-out? Hell, yes. Am I pressuring Vaughn to show me the goods? Nope. Because I promised her I’d be patient with her, and that’s a promise I intend to keep...no matter how much my body hates me for it.
Now it’s Friday and I’m in Vaughn’s backyard for a barbecue on this gorgeous late-March afternoon. The twins are trying to build a house of cards on the patio table, but their flimsy structure keeps toppling over every other second. Paisley’s cooking steaks on the grill, while Ty stands beside her telling her everything she’s doing wrong. Big D is a few feet away, chuckling as Vaughn’s sister and my bodyguard bicker like an old married couple.
Ty’s technically not even on duty tonight. It’s Big D’s shift, but when Ty texted to check up on me and found out I was at the Bennett house for a barbecue, he invited himself along and then showed up before I could even check if it was okay.
He’s crushing on Paisley. Hard.
“He totally likes her,” Vaughn whispers to me. She’s watching Ty and Paisley, as well, a faint smile on her lips.
“And he thinks he’s being stealthy about it,” I whisper back. “Men are idiots.”
That makes her laugh, and the sweet, melodic sound gets the usual reaction out of me—my heart flips and my palms get sweaty. Ty’s not the only one who has it bad.
I’m so into this girl it’s not even funny. And I know she’s into me, too. I see it in the way she giggles at my jokes, and how she laces her fingers through mine every time I take her hand. How she stares at me when she thinks I’m not looking. And bites her lip whenever our eyes meet.
“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 card-house 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 rom-coms 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.
I force away my inappropriate thoughts as I greet Oak’s mother. “Hi, Katrina. Thanks for coming.”
“Oh, no, thank you for allowing me to come.” Katrina leans down to give me a hug. She’s four inches taller than me without shoes. In heels, she’s nearly as tall as Oak. “I brought something for our meal.” She waves her hand toward her assistant, who offers me the white box. “When I was in Small Wonders, my character always brought food and flowers whenever she was invited to a person’s house. Flowers were her signature item. It’s why, at the end of the movie, it’s so meaningful when Sassy—that’s the stepdaughter—gives her flowers from Sassy’s mother’s garden. It’s such a beautiful scene. Did you see it?”
I shake my head and then regret it immediately when her face falls.
“Vaughn’s more of an action girl,” Oak interjects. “Let me take that. Vaughn, this is Amanda, Mom’s assistant. And the guys behind her are Gary and Tobias.”
He lets go of my hand to take the box and carry it over to the table that is already full of food. Paisley went kind of crazy at the grocery store, wanting to make sure that Oak wouldn’t be unhappy with the food at our house. I shouldn’t judge, though, because I made three desserts last night.
I shake hands with everyone, even Gary and Tobias, who look at my hand like it’s a snake’s head. “Come and meet my family.” I lead Katrina over to my sister. “This is my sister, Paisley. She keeps us all together.”
“God, I can’t believe I look like a sweaty line cook in front of Katrina Ford,” Paisley laments. She wipes her hand o
n her apron before holding it out.
Katrina bats the hand away and hauls Paisley into her arms, meat-stained apron and all. “Goodness, aren’t you beautiful. Why are you working behind the scenes instead of in front of a camera?” Kat exclaims as she draws away.
Paisley blushes. “I like working at Diamond,” she mumbles.
Katrina’s attention is a little intimidating, but fortunately, I’m able to distract her from my sister by directing her toward the twins, who are now tossing the ball with Big D.
“These are my brothers, Spencer and Shane.”
“Oh, oh, my heart.” Kat pats her chest. “Your family is so adorable. I want to gather you all up and take you to Malibu with me to live full-time.”
“Do you live on the beach?” Spencer asks. “Because we’d be down with that.”
Shane nods his head eagerly.
“Of course! It’s a public access beach, but you can certainly walk right from my deck to the sand.”
“Radical.” He and Shane exchange fist bumps. “When’re we moving in?”
“You two aren’t moving anywhere,” I inform them. “Go inside and wash up. Paisley’s almost done cooking.”
The twins grumble a bit but know from past experience that they won’t get to eat if they don’t wash their hands. As they take off, Katrina’s smile turns to me. “And your parents?”
I shoot an awkward look at Oak, who grimaces in return. He doesn’t talk to his parents, so why would Katrina know about my past?
“They passed away a couple of years ago. Car accident,” I explain.
Her face falls. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t realize.”
“It’s okay.” I mean, it’s not okay. It’ll never be okay, but it’s getting easier to tell that story, easier to pass it off as one of those incidental facts about my life. Seventeen, went to Thomas Jefferson High and my parents died when I was fifteen.
“Mom, is that cashmere?” Oak interjects.
I sag with relief that we’re moving on from the sad and uncomfortable topic of my parents’ deaths.
“Isn’t it wonderfully obnoxious? Carlo sent it over from Gucci today.”