“Fuck that. Man up, Taylor. You wanna fight on your douchebag friend’s behalf? Fight on your douchebag friend’s behalf.”
“You’re the one in the wrong here,” Jase says, standing up slowly. “Just stop plowing his girl and we won’t have any problems.”
“You’re already my fucking problem,” I snap, letting my fist fly. I couldn’t stop it if I wanted to. The feeling of solid bone against my knuckles is exactly what I need, and as I watch him stumble backward and hear the scream of some random chick watching, I realize there’s still plenty of fight in me. “Get back up, asshole. I’m not done with you.”
“Yeah, you are, cuz.” I hadn’t even noticed Wyatt approaching, but I hear his voice right before he starts dragging me away. I don’t even look at him, my eyes fixed on Jase Taylor grabbing his stupid glass jaw, but I let Wyatt pull me, because everything’s gotten really hazy and I don’t think I could walk in a straight line if I tried.
“What the fuck, man?” My tongue feels thick now that the fight is draining out of me, and I kinda wanna hit Wyatt, too, but I don’t even have the energy.
“You can’t punch people here, Josh. What the hell is wrong with you? You’ll be lucky if he doesn’t sue you. His face is, like, half his job.”
“Yeah, well, maybe he should get some fucking singing talent, and then he doesn’t have to rely on being pretty.”
Wyatt sighs. “Just…go home and sleep it off, man. You’ve had enough to put down an elephant.”
“You’re seriously tossing your own cousin out of your house right now?”
“I’m seriously telling you to call Ronen and have him get your ass home. You need to take a breather.”
“‘Take a breather’?” I snort. “Christ, Wyatt. Who the hell are you?”
“Hey, you asked me to throw a party so you could chill, and I did. But if you beat the shit out of my guests, it’s gonna be the last one I ever get to throw, so, yeah, I’m telling you to go home.”
I yank my arm out of his grasp, pissed as all hell. “Fine. I’ll go home. Gimme your keys.”
He snorts. “Please. You’re blitzed out of your skull, and you don’t even know how to drive. Call Ronen.”
“And what? Sit out here on your stoop while I wait for him to come? No thanks.” I walk out into the street and hold out my thumb, hitchhiker style.
“Josh—”
“You’re a fucking pain in my ass, you know that, Wyatt?”
He shakes his head. “Go inside the house and wait for Ronen.”
But I don’t wanna go back in that house. I don’t wanna be near Wyatt, or Jase, or Liam. I don’t wanna be near anyone talking about their jobs, or random chicks who just wanna blow me to have a story to tell their friends.
And for some reason, I decide the brilliant thing to do is just to run.
So I do.
Chapter Twenty
Vanessa
I have no idea what time I actually fell asleep last night. I do know, however, that I did it while staring at my phone, wishing I could call Bri, or that she’d call me. Not that there was anything for either of us to say. Regardless, my cell is definitely still next to my head when it blasts in my ear the next morning, startling me awake.
Groaning, I lift my head from the pool of drool on my blanket and squint at the screen. I don’t recognize the number, which is usually an auto-ignore sign to me, but I’m so wrapped up in the hope that it might be Bri that against all my better judgment, I answer it anyway. “Hello?”
“Oh, thank fuck you answered, K-drama. I need you to come get me.”
I rub the sleep out of my eyes and pull the phone away to check the number again. What the hell is happening right now? “Josh?”
“I’m at the Burbank PD. They made me sleep in the fucking drunk tank. Can you get me?”
“The drunk tank? Are you kidding me?”
He sighs exasperatedly, like I’m the one who stuck an IV of tequila into his veins. “I don’t get a lot of time here, K-drama. One call, and Ronen’s got the day off for his sister’s wedding, so I made you it. Will you come or not?”
As if I’m not in hot enough water with everyone imaginable, I don’t even know what would happen if I showed up at a freaking police station to gather Josh. It’s only by the grace of my parents visiting my aunt this week that I’ve managed to avoid their wrath after all that publicity. “I can’t, Josh. I’m screwed enough as it is. But I’ll call Liam—”
“Do not call Liam. Trust me — he’s not up for doing me any favors right now.”
“And you think I am?”
“Hey, I think I did pretty good by you in that stupid fucking interview, didn’t I?” I hear someone yelling in the background, and then Josh says, “I gotta go. Stop making excuses and come get me.” He hangs up.
I stare at the phone for a full minute, trying to decide how much I care that Josh needs me. Of course he’d put this on me without a second thought, and of course he just assumes I’ll do whatever he wants. I’m sort of dying to teach him a lesson by ignoring him and going back to sleep. Plus, I’m just dying for more sleep, period.
But I know I won’t screw him over like that, no matter how badly I want to. If I really was his one call… It’s not like I want to call his parents — even if I knew how to reach them — and he made it pretty clear Liam wasn’t an option. I don’t know how to contact Holly on a weekend, and ugh, Ally, how could you leave me alone with this idiot?
Groaning, I pull myself out of bed and drag my butt into the shower, but even washing off the grime of last night doesn’t make me feel better about this whole thing. I can’t just roll up to a freaking police station, and definitely not to pick up the guy who’s already the center of a billion rumors about me now.
I throw on an incognito outfit of jeans, a plaid shirt, and sunglasses, but I still can’t make myself move out the door. I can’t do this alone, and I can only think of one person who might help me. Much as she might hate me right now, there’s no one else I can call. I take a deep breath and dial Bri.
The phone rings three times, and I’m sure she’s screening my call. But just as I’m about to hang up, I hear the tail end of a weary sigh and then, “Hey.”
“I need to ask you a favor,” I blurt, hating myself for even saying the words.
“Vanessa—”
“As my publicist,” I add quickly, even though what I really need is hand-holding more than anything else. I quickly fill her in on my current predicament. “You know the shit will hit the fan even worse if I go myself. Plus, I just…I can’t.”
“This is really messed up, you know that?”
“I do know that. I promise, if I had anyone else to ask, I would.”
She sighs again. “Lemme shower and get dressed, and I’ll come pick you up.”
“Thank you, Bri. Seriously. I owe you.”
But she hangs up before the words are even out of my mouth.
I spend the time while I wait for her studying my lines, but I can’t go more than a couple of minutes without glancing at my phone or out the front picture window. Finally, her Jeep pulls up, and I go out to meet her with all the anticipation I usually reserve for a full leg wax.
The ride to the police department is almost completely silent, minus the music blasting from the speakers, which her iPod identifies as Rage Against the Machine. I don’t know any of the songs, and she doesn’t so much as absently tap her fingers along to any.
By the time we pull up to the Burbank PD, I’m actually excited to walk into jail, if it means getting out of the cold prison cell that is Bri’s car.