“Sorry. Gotta go get my friend,” I tell the girl.
She stands there like a statue as I walk toward the door, apparently paralyzed by the fact I even spoke to her.
See, Vaughn, lots of chicks out there would love to be in your shoes. This girl is so starstruck she can’t even move.
“He’s with me,” I inform the bouncer, holding up my phone to show him a picture of Luke.
“Just being careful,” the no-neck tells me.
“Hey, Oak, getting the party started without me?” Luke says as he bursts through the door. Behind him about ten more people stream through, guys and girls.
The bouncer raises his eyebrows as if to ask if I meant for all these people to come. I shrug. It’s Luke. I knew what I was getting into when I called him.
“Thought this girlfriend of yours had taken your balls and put them in her backpack.” Luke pulls me in for the standard clenched fist, backslap bro hug.
Anger stirs up at the insult toward Vaughn, but then I remember what she’s doing, no, who she’s doing right now.
“Nah. Just wasn’t feeling it before.” I’m not feeling it now, either. The music, the action, the girls don’t interest me at all, and I know, even before Luke calls for the first thousand-dollar bottle of Cristal, that this is a mistake.
The waitstaff busily rearranges a seating area for my new entourage. There are other celebrities here. I recognize a television actress and a couple of guys well-known for their comic action films, but the others combined don’t have the star power that I do. Which is why the staff of Head is bowing and scraping for me.
I opt for a chair on the end and leave the middle for Luke, because even though I thought I wanted company, I now realize it’s the last thing I’m in the mood for.
A girl—I don’t know her name because I paid zero attention when Luke was introducing everyone—touches my arm for about the hundredth time in the last ten minutes.
“I’m not interested,” I respond, sharper than I should be. Across from me I see Ty frown, and I soften my tone at her stricken expression. “Sorry. Just...not a good night, okay? And I’ve got a girlfriend.”
A girlfriend who’s currently having a romantic evening with her boyfriend.
I raise a hand, calling out, “I need another round. Stat.”
Ty’s frown lines grow deeper. Fuck, he’s not in charge of me. The booze comes in a steady, unceasing stream. I can feel myself loosening up.
What do I have to be uptight about anyway? There are girls here of every variety. It’s like a candy store. I’ll take a redhead, a brunette and two blondes. Package them all up and send them over to the Marmont. One of the Garden Cottages would do nicely. Private entrance. We don’t want my image to be tarnished.
I laugh sourly.
“What’s so funny?” someone near my feet asks.
Since when did it get so crowded in here? There are people everywhere. I swear there are more people inside this VIP lounge than there are out in the main club. Having run out of chairs, the girls have settled for sitting on the dingy floor that people have likely spit on, puked on, pissed on. But they’d sit in a pit of snakes if it meant touching my leg.
“Nothing’s funny.” That’s the honest truth. One of the boys passes me a joint. I take a hit and exhale a cloud of smoke. I wait for it to lighten my mood, take the weight off my chest, but nothing happens. I take another hit and then drag on the herb until it’s a stub.
“Dude, that was some quality hash there.”
“He’s good for it,” Luke assures them.
I’m good for it? Oh, yeah, I’m good for the money, the status, the girls. What I’m not good for is actually dating a real person. Not good enough for her to pine over.
Suddenly this whole scene looks gross and if I stay here another minute, my head’s going to explode.
“I’m bailing.”
Luke protests. “I thought we were going back to your place.”
He has one arm slung around a chick with a low-cut top and even lower-cut jeans. I can see the straps of her thong poking out. And if she’s legal, I’ll eat my frickin’ hat.
“Another time.”
Luke protests until Ty pulls out a wallet and throws some cash on the table. That shuts up Luke real fast. He’ll start up the moment I’m gone. Telling everyone there about how I can’t function without him and that he’s the glue that holds the band together.
Ty hustles me out the back door of the club, but several photogs are there. I feel like he moves slower than normal, as punishment for coming here. Passive-aggressive, are ya, Ty?
The paps shout questions at me. “Where’s your girlfriend?”
“Is it over?”
“Is she tired of you?”
The questions tumble over each other, mixing up in my head, pounding at the edges, pushing words out before I can think twice.
I’m not completely sure of how I answer, but it must be satisfactory since everyone stops for a moment, a blessed sliver of silence. Then I dive into the SUV and Ty speeds away.
*
I wake up the next morning to find seven missed calls from Claudia. Shit. That’s never a good sign.
When I sit up, the pain that shoots through my temples is so strong that I collapse onto the mattress again. I groan loudly, but that just makes my head hurt worse. Man, what’s with this migraine? I didn’t drink that much at the club last night, so I’m not sure why my head is so foggy—
The hash. I forgot about the hash.
My stomach churns as I stare at Claudia’s name on my phone. I must have done something last night. Something bad.
But what? Did I whip off my clothes? Mack on some random chick? Oh, crap, did I real-cheat on my fake girlfriend?—no, that couldn’t have happened. Ty was with me. There’s no way he would’ve let me touch another girl.
Instead of calling Claudia back, I open the web browser on my phone, wondering what I’m going to find. Maybe I threw up on some fan’s shoes? That wouldn’t be too damaging to my image.
I wait for the home page to load and then click on the entertainment news tab.
My stomach drops. The headline on the page reads:
Oakley Ford disses new girlfriend’s ex!
Damn it.
I quickly scan the article, but I don’t remember saying any of that shit. I must have, though. Nope, not must have—I definitely did. There’s a video link to the TMI site. I click on it, press Play and promptly see my high, drunken self stumbling out of The Head. Flashbulbs go off, highlighting my bloodshot eyes. Paps shout out at me, but I keep walking with my head ducked down and my hand shielding my face.
Except then one of them asks, “Is she tired of you?” and I do the most boneheaded thing on the planet.
I stop, turn toward the microphone and I say: