“Does it work?”
I grimace. “Not really. He went on this ten-day meditation retreat in India one summer and when he returned, meditation was the answer to everything. Didn’t get a good grade on your chem test? Go meditate. Having problems with a friend? Close your eyes and find your Zen place.”
I bite the inside of my cheek. After they died, I couldn’t find a Zen place. I’d close my eyes and the only thing I’d see was the accident. It took me a year before those nightmares went away. Meditation doesn’t work for me.
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.”