When It's Real

  “Your heart’s beating superfast.”

  Shit, I was hoping she wouldn’t notice that. But she’s so close to me, and she smells so good, feels so soft and warm, that I can’t help but be affected. My lips go as dry as my mouth. They even start tingling.

  “Are you okay?” she asks.

  I run my fingers through her hair. “I’m great.”

  There’s a long pause. “You are. Great, that is.” Her soft breath tickles my shoulder. “Are you too tired to kiss me?”

  Her teasing voice makes me chuckle. “I was trying to be a gentleman.”

  “I don’t want you to be.”

  Her whispered response sends my heart soaring.

  I roll over so we’re both on our sides. Her eyes gleam in the darkness, and she licks her lips. It’s so hot that I shudder. My heart hammers so fast and so hard that I’m afraid she might be able to hear it. But if she does, she doesn’t say anything. She leans closer until our lips are an inch apart.

  I touch her cheek then bridge the rest of the distance and press my mouth to hers. Oh, man. It’s always like this when I kiss her—that incredible sense of belonging, a fierce jolt of pleasure as her lips melt into mine. She tastes like toothpaste and something sweeter, something uniquely Vaughn. We’re breathless by the time we break apart, but our mouths don’t stay idle for long. Before I can speak, she kisses me again, and those amazing sensations rise up all over again.

  “Oak,” she whispers.

  “Mmmm?” My hand moves up and down her slender hip before resting on her ass.

  “This feels nice.”

  I laugh hoarsely. “Yeah, it does.” We kiss again, long and deep, our tongues dancing. “I...”

  I’m falling in love with you.

  In a miraculous feat, I manage to hold back those words. They’d only scare her off, and I don’t want anything to ruin this perfect moment.

  Vaughn gasps when I cup one of her soft breasts. “Oh,” she says, and there’s wonder in her voice.

  I’m so gone for her. So. Gone. I’m not sure how I end up on top of her, or when my body starts slowly grinding against hers. I’m mindless, overcome with need for her. She loops her arms around my neck and kisses me hungrily.

  It takes all my willpower to wrench my mouth away. “Are we—” I suck in some air “—moving too fast?”

  Her beat of hesitation is all the answer I need. As painful as it is—physically painful—I roll onto my back and gulp in another burst of much-needed oxygen.

  “We definitely are,” I say, answering my own question.

  Vaughn sits up. Her hair is a tousled mess, and even in the darkness I can see that she’s biting her bottom lip, which is swollen from our kisses. “Actually, I think...” She nibbles on her lip some more. “I think...I’m ready for more.”

  I try not to grab her. “Yeah? You had a beer tonight.”

  “A sip of yours,” she corrects. “All I drank was water.” She exhales slowly. “I’m in charge, right?”

  “Of course.” I spread my arms out wide. “I’m yours. Do what you want.”

  She licks her lips and I about die. I curl my fingers into the sheets so I don’t attack her, even though I want to. Carefully, she swings one leg over my hip and settles onto my lap. This is the most exquisite torture ever.

  Her finger traces the outline of the cross tat on my shoulder—the one I got after my first gold record. “This tattoo is hot. Is it bad that I think that since your mom’s name is on it?”

  “Don’t talk about my mom right now,” I beg.

  She nods seriously. “Good idea.” Her caress moves down my shoulder and squeezes my biceps. “You really do have nice guns.”

  She acts like she wants to spend a dozen weeks exploring my body, which is great and terrible at the same time. I’m throbbing between my legs.

  “Why are you breathing so heavily? Is it painful?”

  Yes. Very. “No,” I lie. “It’s all good.” Just a small lie. I’d rather have her touching me than doing nothing, even if each light touch stokes my desire as surely as a soft breeze turns an ember into a raging fire.

  “What should I do?” she whispers.

  Her hands have moved back to my chest and I’m discovering there are areas of my body that are more sensitive than I ever imagined. Most of the time, I just want a girl’s hand on me. Or her mouth. But I’m so excited to be with Vaughn, to be near her, that every square inch of me is trembling from her featherlight caresses.

  “Whatever you want,” I say hoarsely.

  “But I don’t know exactly what I want.” She bites her lip again. “Can I put you in charge?”

  No person in the history of Earth has moved faster. I bolt up, flip her over and cover her with my body in less time than an ant breathes. “What do you want?”

  Her eyes gleam in the darkened room. “Everything.”

  “You sure?”

  “A hundred percent.”

  “Because we can wait.” Now that I have her under me, I’m reminded of my promise to be patient. I do want to wait for her.

  “I’m tired of waiting.”

  Oh, thank God. I bend down and kiss her, taking the time to learn her responses. How she likes to be kissed. How a light nip at the side of her throat makes her breath catch. How a hot breath at her ear sends shivers down her spine.

  I kiss her everywhere. Along her collarbone, the delicate slope above her breasts, the shallow of her flat belly. And down farther.

  “I thought we were having sex,” she chokes out. Her fingers tangle in my hair as if she’s not sure if she wants to press me against her or pull me away.

  “We will. But I need this first.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “I’m dying for this.”

  She lets me go and I take her, kissing her softly and then more roughly until she’s squirming and trembling and gasping. This time it’s her hands curling into the sheets.

  When I can’t wait a second longer, I reach for my discarded jeans and pull out a condom, slipping it on. “It might hurt,” I whisper.

  She gives me a nod to let me know that she’s with me. I press forward slowly, and a startled cry flies from her throat. I wait for her body to adjust to mine and when her legs fall open and her fingers dig into my shoulders, I move.

  We both move, slowly, carefully, until sensation blurs my vision. We hold each other as the storm of emotion crashes over us. I cradle her body in my arms afterward. Her face is buried in my neck. Our hearts thunder against each other, her beats answered by mine, and on and on in a perfect, synchronized rhythm. I love this girl. So much.

  “Vaughn?” I murmur before I drift off.

  “Mmm?” she says drowsily.

  “Today was the best day of my life.” The moment I say those words, I feel a pang of embarrassment. Did that sound pathetic? I hold my breath as I await her response.

  “Good. I’m glad.” Her lips brush my chest in a tender kiss, and then we fall asleep tangled up together.

  34

  HER

  @OakleyFord hi

  @OakleyFord We love you. We love you. We love you.

  @OakleyFord follow me

  @OakleyFord I drew this for you

  @OakleyFord Just bought tix for the 1st tour stop! Can we please meet?

  @OakleyFord When r u coming back to Dallas?

  @OakleyFord It’s my birthday! Can you message me back. Pls! it’s all I want.

  @OakleyFord I love you

  @OakleyFord Can’t wait for the tour!

  @OakleyFord how do I get VIP passes 4 ur tour?

  @OakleyFord xxxxoooo

  @OakleyFord dump that girl she’s not good enuf f u

  @OakleyFord @mrsoakleyford such a gold digger
r />   @OakleyFord @weirdmagicalone she dumped her boyfriend to get with oak #slutacular #gohomethot

  I close Twitter and wonder if I’d be allowed to delete the account altogether. Nothing positive is on there these days. I’d gotten into the habit of not reading it, but for some reason, after checking my texts, I opened the app and checked not just my feed, but Oakley’s, too. Big mistake.

  “You’re up to something,” Oak says.

  I shove all thoughts of Twitter aside and smile at him. “Something awesome.” Oak has been bugging me for weeks, wanting to know what all my text messages with his mom have been about. I’ve only managed to hold him off by telling him that he’ll know...soon.

  Sometimes Oak’s spoiled upbringing shines through. He doesn’t like to share and he doesn’t have much patience. He’s used to getting whatever he wants, whenever he wants it.

  Other than my V-card. He waited for me, but I was happy to give that up. It was indescribable. No matter how many adjectives Oak teaches me, there aren’t any that I can use that would articulate how he made me feel.

  It hurt at first, but he waited, again, taking his time, whispering to me about how wonderful I felt and how it was like heaven for him. For me, too. I shiver thinking about it. I’m falling so hard for him. I know that I didn’t love W, because what I felt for him is like the teeny flame of a candle compared to the inferno Oak evokes in me.

  But while he’s patient as it relates to those things, everything else in his life he wants immediately.

  Oh, there’s a pair of sneakers that had a limited run of, like, ten? No problem, Oak, we’ll send a pair out for you. Do you want someone to come and have a custom insole made, as well?

  I’ve had to be careful about showing any interest in anything. I was cruising Instagram and stumbled onto a travel photographer’s account. I probably spent two hours flipping through her pictures. The next day someone arrived at my doorstep with a camera and a note that said, “Vaughn, your friend Oakley asked what camera I used. I told him that as a starter, you might like this one instead. You have a real gem there.”

  When I complained to Oak about it, he replied, “You’ll need something to do when you’re on tour with me.”

  And there’s no point arguing with him. There are times when he simply refuses to listen and the camera is one of those times. As are the pristine set of white Vans, a cross-body bag I mentioned casually one time and a pair of gold sandals I admired in a store window.

  I’m not the only one who’s gotten goodies. Shane and Spencer both got new sneakers and passes to an exclusive skate park, along with one-on-one lessons with some guy I didn’t recognize, but the twins did because for once in his life, it was Spencer who couldn’t speak when they met. Paisley got a beautiful Prada bag in scarlet-red.

  I protested, but she said that he could easily afford all this stuff with the money that fell into his sofa cushions. I guess that’s true. Still, I watch myself around him. I don’t need more surprise gifts. Hopefully once the tour starts, he’ll be too busy with sound checks and rehearsals to remember to buy me things.

  I still can’t believe he wants me to go with him. I made a huge fuss about it at first, but like I said, it’s pointless to argue with Oakley Ford. He’s leaving tomorrow morning for New York City, the first stop of the international tour. I’m flying out to meet him a few days later, because Paisley is away for work and I need to be at home for the twins.

  Truthfully, I’m a bit nervous. I’ve never traveled without my family before, and I’m not sure what I’m even going to do on this tour. I’m not a groupie or a roadie or anyone connected with the music industry. For now the only item on my agenda is to take pictures of Oak with my new camera. After that, who knows?

  Since Oak will turn twenty during the first week of his tour, we’re throwing him an early birthday party tonight, which is what his mom and I have been so hush-hush about the past few weeks.

  “I don’t like surprises.” He tugs on the black eye mask I borrowed from Paisley.

  “You don’t like the ones you’ve had in the past. You’ll like this one.”

  “How do you know?”

  I lean over and kiss him on his cheek. “Because it’s from me.”

  “Ty, help a brother out. What’s going on?”

  Ty snorts from the driver’s seat. “You’ve got to be kidding. I’m not crossing the Bennett sisters.”

  He slides to a stop in front of the restaurant we booked for this event. Katrina’s funding most of it, but Paisley and I did all the decorations. Even the twins helped assemble the gift bags full of mix tapes and cassette players that Paisley and I found at garage sales and thrift stores. I’m following through on my threat to throw him a kid’s party—a normal one since most of his past parties involved lavish things like ice sculptures and famous singers.

  Ty and I lead Oak to the back door.

  “Five steps,” Ty instructs.

  “I have a bad feeling about this,” Oak says. “My gut says to run away.”

  “Are you sure it’s not saying your girlfriend is going to punch you in the gut if you don’t stop complaining?” I warn.

  “No, but I’m hungry so I could be getting mixed messages.” He reaches out and grabs my hand to pull me beside him. “I’m going to buy you something outrageously expensive to punish you.”

  I flick his ear. “Maybe that’s my whole goal. To get you to shower me with gifts and goodies.”

  “Nah, you’re after my body. Which is very superficial of you, by the way, but I’m learning to deal.”

  “Deal with this first,” I announce and then pull off his eye mask. “Surprise!”

  “Surprise!” yell the forty-some people gathered in the private room. It’s a mix of my friends, his people and a few of his friends—or at least the ones that he’s indicated he’s somewhat close with.

  Oak arrows straight for Kinney Banks, a solo artist he once opened for. “Dude, when did you get in?”

  The two give each other hefty backslaps.

  “Last night. Your girl reached out to me and I figured I couldn’t miss Oak’s twentieth birthday party.” Kinney lifts up a tack with a donkey’s tail on the end. “Because where else am I going to get to play pin the tail on the donkey?”

  Oak turns to me with a huge smile. “My gut was wrong.” He lifts me up and spins me around. “You’re the best, baby.”

  “I know.”

  He sets me down but doesn’t let go. Together we make the rounds. King and his gorgeous wife came. The band members—sans Luke, who disappeared after the drunken kiss and hasn’t come back. Oak said that any guy who would take advantage of a drunk girl wasn’t one he wanted in the band. I’d protested, but he was adamant. Ty spoke up and said it was a liability because Oak had so many young fans around.

  When we get to Katrina, she clutches her son for a long, emotional moment. Before he breaks away, she holds him briefly by the shoulders. “Look at you. Twenty. I can’t believe it.”

  “You look great, Mom.”

  She flushes with joy at his compliment.

  “Carrie, Kiki, thanks for coming.” He gives them each a kiss on the cheek.

  “We wouldn’t have missed it for the world,” Carrie says. She shoves a small wrapped box into his hand. “We didn’t know what to get and Vaughn isn’t much help.” She casts a dirty glance in my direction.

  I merely shrug. It’s not easy to shop for someone like Oak.

  “I’m sure it’s awesome.” He tears into it and pulls out a key. “What’s this?”

  “We’re having an after-prom party. The same group as before and we’d like you to come,” Kiki explains. “We have entry rules. No cameras. No slobbering over the guests. Just a good time for all of us.”

  Oak tucks the key in the back of his pocket. “I’m there. Time and plac
e and I’m there.”

  “Vaughn will let you know.”

  I squeeze his hand as we move to the food table. “Still thinking it’s a bad surprise?”

  “No, you did good.” He dips his head to kiss me. “Real good.”

  “Where’s the birthday boy?” a hearty voice booms from the door.

  Oak’s head jerks up and the pleasure and warmth drains away. “Did you invite my dad?”

  “Yeah, all of your family.” I’m a bit uneasy by his expression. When I brought up the idea of inviting Oak’s father to the party, Katrina had been hesitant, but eventually she came around and reached out to Dustin personally. And her reservations had been wiped away when he responded nearly immediately that he would come.

  I figured, stupidly, that Oak’s strain with his parents had to do with a big misunderstanding, but now I think it’s something else.

  “Oh, babe. I knew I should’ve trusted my gut.” He drops my hand and stalks toward the door.

  I hesitate and then scamper after him. Crap. Dustin Ford has brought an entourage with a capital E. There must be fifteen people that stream in behind him.

  I detour to Paisley. “Um, can we order more food?”

  She eyes the new group with dismay. “No. The restaurant said they couldn’t provide more food than what I ordered. I said the party was fifty, and I honestly didn’t believe everyone would show up. When has that ever happened before?”

  But we’ve never hosted a thing for famous people before. Everyone came. King. Paxton Hayes. Even Kinney Banks, who flew a private plane from Chicago to LA to make this event.

  Mr. Ford has stopped by the food table and is now surveying the crowd. Near the wall, I can see Carrie and Kiki and the rest of my friends staring at him with stars in their eyes. I guess I don’t blame them for being starstruck. Dustin Ford is megafamous. He was named People’s Sexiest Man Alive three years in a row. He has an Oscar. And two private jets.

  Oh, and he’s ridiculously attractive. It feels weird noticing that, considering he’s my boyfriend’s dad, but it’s true. Everything about him is chiseled and expensive and magazine-cover worthy.