Like, with his texts. The ones that come directly to my phone and not by way of Twitter or an Instagram message. Ones that sound suspiciously like his flirty Tweets.
I’m too chicken to ask if it was him on the other end of our public exchanges, but surely he doesn’t have Claudia’s team text me things like: I woke up at nine this morning. I didn’t realize the sun was up this early.
And:
I’m at the music store, fondling guitars. I need another one like I need another tat. This is why I shouldn’t get up early. Come and entertain me.
That was the first of his offhanded requests to spend time with him. And I wanted to. Boy, did I ever. But the idea of spending nonwork time with Oakley freaks me out a little. My breakup with W isn’t even a month old. I’m scared Oak’s magnetism might suck me in, lure me into some kind of rebound thing I’m not sure I’m ready for. So I’ve been making up excuses.
Can’t. Cooking dinner right now.
Can’t. Trying to find a good recipe for tiramisu.
Can’t. Picking up twins from lessons.
With the new influx of cash, Paisley was able to pay for the twins to attend a basketball camp—something they’ve always wanted but we’ve never been able to afford before.
The day after my last excuse, I got a video from Oak.
Whaddaya think?
He was playing music again, toying with the arrangements of his old songs. Nothing new lyrically, but the sound was definitely different. It had an older, more rock sound than his previous three albums.
It’s good.
Good is a devil’s word. It’s lukewarm, like day-old coffee. No one wants that.
I’m not a singer. I can’t play an instrument. I can only tell u if I like it or don’t like it. I like it.
Am I giving u shivers?
Every time I read a text, I wanted to type back. Every time I hear my phone buzz.
But he was asking about my response to his music, not to him, so I said Not yet.
Making me work for it?
Being honest? I like it.
I want u to love it.
I didn’t love it, though. It sounded good. It sounded different. But there were no shivers and I wasn’t going to lie to him.
Then, yeah, making u work for it.
He didn’t text me until several hours later and I wondered if I’d offended him.
Thanks for being straight with me. Someday I’ll rock your world.
I hoped not. I don’t know if there are defenses strong enough to resist an Oakley Ford determined to rock a girl’s world. I wanted to text back, Please don’t. I can’t handle that.
Instead, I texted
We’ll see.
Which, in hindsight, might’ve been worse. It sounded superflirty, especially when Oak’s reply was Challenge accepted.
And it was worse the following day when the only text I received was an ice cream cone pic along with the message Went back. Ice cream didn’t taste as good this time. Just FYI.
I wanted to Tweet out to the world of fangirls who message me on Twitter daily that FYI, Oakley Ford is too charming for his own good and I need someone to save me from myself.
Keeping an emotional distance from a guy you have to pretend to be dating is the realest struggle ever. And it’s not helped by the fact that I’m currently lying next to his muscled frame on a cozy sofa, his arm cushioning my head and his famous green eyes sweeping my face.
“You don’t like having our first Valentine’s Day as a couple being recorded by—” he squints at the group hovering at the end of his giant sectional “—five individuals?”
“I think that’s five too many.”
The muscle under my head bunches. “I agree.”
I gulp, and a knowing smile tips up the corners of his lips. His head dips lower and his body shifts so that he’s all but shielding me from the others in the room. I know what’s coming and I remind myself it’s all for show, but the gleam in his eyes tells a different story, “Don’t touch her!”
Oak closes his eyes in frustration and then slumps against the cushion. Suddenly, I’m in love with Belinda. She saved me from what I know would’ve been a toe-curling, butterfly-rousing kiss that I would be thinking about for far too long.
When Claudia called me this morning to inform me we would be taking a romantic Valentine’s Day photo for social media, I had no idea it was going to be one so...personal. She declared it was time for Oakley to make a public declaration. It wasn’t enough that I’d been photographed eating lunch with his mom or that there were numerous grainy photos of Oakley at the beach with my family.
Oakley needs to make a statement. And that statement requires us to be together, legs tangled up, faces close.
“The lighting is too bright,” Claudia complains. “We want this picture to say ‘late night watching a movie together’ and not ‘just woke up in bed.’”
“You can get all that with lighting?”
Oakley props his head up on his hand and peers down. “You’d be amazed at what people read into one photograph. I remember when I was on a break from the Ford tour. I went to a club in Germany with my friend, Trevor David, you know, the drummer from Twenty Four Seven?”
I nod. Twenty Four Seven is an older rock band that’s been around for probably a decade. I’ve never loved their stuff.
“Anyway, he was dating this Vic’s Secret model from London. She had some weird name. Biblical name. Ezrah? Hezbollah—”
“Bathsheba?”
“Yeah, that’s it. So we were all at this club and someone bumps into her. I put my arm around her to make sure she doesn’t fall. In the process, a schmuck takes about five shots and sells them to a German tabloid. Those five shots made it seem like I’d been hugging her all night, and the next morning the headlines were that she was cheating on her man with one of his best friends. Trevor’s standing right next to her. In one of the photos, you can even see the edge of his arm.” He shakes his head. “They cropped him out.”
“That really sucks.”
“It does.”
“What about...” I trail off.
“What about what?” he prompts.
Oh, heck, I might as well ask. “What about the Brazilian supermodel?”
He grins. “Which one?”
I reach up and pinch his side.
He yelps and catches my hand. And doesn’t let it go. And for once, I don’t pull away. He pulls me closer.
“You mean Izabella Duarte? You do stalk me.”
I look down at our clasped hands, more than a little embarrassed. “I may, at one time, have been tremendously interested in all celebrity things,” I hedge. The Izzy/April scandal was what put me off Oakley, and then my parents died. I think my emotions were frozen at that point.
“This is why publicists drum up fake relationships. You wouldn’t have been half as interested in me if I was single. Relationships make the world go ’round.”
“Maybe, but I’m no April Showers.”
“No, you’re Vaughn Bennett. I like Vaughn Bennett.”