“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.
“I can’t believe my boy is twenty!” Dustin crows as Oak approaches him. He pulls Oak in for a warm hug and then gives him a manly backslap. “Where does the time go?”
“Hey, Dad.” Even from five feet away, I can hear the suspicion in Oak’s tone. “Nice of you to make it.”
“Where else would I be?” Dustin flashes a million-dollar smile, but I notice it’s aimed toward the crowd and not at his son. “This is a nice turnout. Small, but intimate. Where’s your mother?”
“In the kitchen,” Oak answers. “She’s talking to the chef.”
I cautiously join them. “Hi,” I say awkwardly.
“Dad, this is Vaughn.” Oak grabs my hand and drags me forward.
Dustin nods. “Ah, the girlfriend everyone is talking about.” He gives his son a pointed look. “I was wondering when you would get around to introducing us.”
One of Mr. Ford’s assistants walks over and whispers something in his ear. I make out the words cameras and outside and photo op.
Clearly, Oak picks up on the same words I do. “There’s paps outside?” he demands.
I swallow a frustrated groan. Crap. Katrina and I purposely arranged everything under pseudonyms so the press wouldn’t catch wind of this. We figured it would leak at some point during the night, but not right from the get-go.
Dustin heaves a big, what-can-you-do sigh. “I’m afraid so. We tried to lose them on the way here, but they tailed us from the mansion.” He turns to me. “Did Oakley tell you about the Brentwood mansion? I’d love to show it to you sometime. We’ve got three tennis courts, an indoor and outdoor pool, a bowling alley in the basement.”
“Oh.” I stare at him, dumbfounded. A bowling alley? In his house? Why? “That sounds...cool.”
Luckily, we’re interrupted before he can try to hammer down an exact time for me to visit his bowling alley mansion.
“Mr. Ford,” a tentative voice murmurs.
I’m startled to discover that it belongs to my friend Tracy. Since when does she murmur? The girl is all about ear-piercing squeeees! and omigods!
“Do you... Could you... Could I get a picture with you?” she finally manages to get out, thrusting her phone at him.
His straight white teeth gleam under the overhead lighting as he once again flashes his famous smile. “Of course, sweetheart.” He chuckles, and Tracy looks ready to faint. “Should we take a selfie?”
Tracy’s courage spurs a few of my other friends into action, and soon Oak’s dad is swarmed by admirers who are eager to tell him how much they love his movies and how he’s the best actor ever and will he please, please take a selfie with them, too?
Oak slinks away without a word, but before I can go after him, Jim Tolson sidles up to me.
“I’m guessing it was your idea to invite Dustin?” he mutters.
I nod.
“Well, I hope you have a good plan on how to reel Oak back from the edge of the cliff. He hates his father. His father hates him. There’s no way this ends well.”
And then he departs, leaving me to stand there alone like a fool.
*
The evening doesn’t get much better. Although it’s supposed to be Oak’s big night, Dustin Ford sucks up all the attention in the room. He regales the partygoers with anecdotes about his experiences on different film sets. He talks about what it felt like when he won the Oscar. He even plugs his upcoming movie by showing everyone a sneak peek of the trailer on his phone.
Not once does he talk about Oakley’s accomplishments or congratulate his son for finishing another album. To an onlooker, it would seem like this was Dustin Ford’s party. Oakley is all but invisible, and it breaks my heart every time I look at him. He tries to shutter his expression, but flashes of pain peek through. It kills me.
We don’t do any of the silly childhood games I had planned. They all seem ridiculous in the face of Dustin’s elegance and overpowering presence. Oak barely says more than a handful of words to anyone, and when the party breaks up three hours later, I’m grateful.
“Go home or to Oakley’s,” Paisley urges. “I’ll take care of the cleanup.”
“I don’t think he wants to talk to me.” He’s been staring at the back door ever since his dad got here.
“His father’s an attention hog,” my sister says with a sigh. “He’s probably embarrassed, and you need to be there for him. Tell him it’s okay and that you love him regardless.”
I swallow hard but force myself to Oak’s table. “Want to take off?”
“Sure,” he answers dully.
I signal Ty, who nods briskly and ducks out to get the car. Taking Oak’s hand, I lead him to the back door, where I pause for a beat.
“I’m sorry,” I say quietly.
“Yeah” is his sullen response.
It’s obvious he doesn’t feel like talking—or listening—so I just hold his hand tighter and push the door open.
The second we step into the back alley, there’s an explosion of light and noise. The incessant strobe of flashbulbs and the eager voices of the vultures that are always circling Oakley.