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Chapter Three
VAUGHN never calls again. It’s been two weeks of silence after he canceled our last Twitter date. Nothing. And I’m pretty sure the spies are gone too because last night I met my co-worker for a drink thinking I could draw Asher out with jealousy.
But no. He’s gone. And what did I figure? That I’d be the girl to change him? That I’d be the girl he falls in love with? That I’d be the girl who could claim his heart, even though countless others have tried and failed?
I’m an idiot.
For years, my Dirty Heaven was Vaughn Asher. I lived and breathed for those Saturday nights and ever since I met him in person, my fantasy faded away, one disappointment at a time.
He’s a jerk.
He’s a sexual deviant—and even though I did like that date we had, a BDSM relationship was never part of my perfect fantasy. I didn’t exactly dream of wedding bells and diapers, but it was a monogamous partnership kind of dream. I would live in Denver and build my career, flying out to see him in Hollywood every weekend for parties and fun. Then he’d fly back with me on Sunday nights to f**k me in ways that did not involve kneeling at his feet or having bite-sized morsels placed on my tongue. He’d kiss me goodnight on my doorstep like the perfect Prince Charming and fly home for a week of hard work and I’d do the same here in my own little corner of the world.
And although I think he might be on board with the distance that I prefer in a relationship, his unique sexual requests are not part of my long-term plan. That is vacation sex. That is one-night-stand sex. That is not partnership sex.
So it’s better this way. I’m perfectly happy like this. I’m going to find myself a new fantasy prince and give him all my Dirty Heaven attention. Maybe a younger one this time. Someone more my age. Someone who doesn’t need to prove his sexual prowess with games.
"Earth to Grace?"
I’m going to forget all about Vaughn Asher, wipe him right out of my life.
"Hello?"
Which is easier said than done when those stupid f**king Invisible Man 2 posters are all over this f**king airport.
"See something you like up there? Because that’s my soon-to-be husband."
"What?" I look over at Kristi who is handing me a cup of coffee from the Starbucks while stuffing her face with a blueberry muffin. "No!" I laugh. "No, I was looking at the IM2 poster next to Johnny Blazen’s Broncos."
"Oh, yeah, that Vaughn Asher is a dream. I’d do him." She chuckles as we drag our luggage onto the moving sidewalk that will take us down to the end of the concourse to the gate. The Blazens have hired a jet to shuttle Denver friends and family over to Vegas and they keep all the small airlines on the very edge of the concourse, making the walk a long one.
Hmmm. "He’s OK, I guess. Not quite my idea of a dream though. So speaking of the soon-to-be hubs—why isn’t he flying with you instead of me?"
She paints on her life-is-perfect smile like she’s been doing for the past two weeks and swallows hard. "He’s got football stuff tonight, so he’s going to fly in tomorrow."
"Right. Football season." I don’t get it. Their relationship is not what I expected. He’s never around. Always something about football. And she always makes excuses for him. They don’t even live together. And maybe some couples like that before they get married, but she’s pregnant. If I was pregnant—and I won’t be, so this is a total hypothetical—I’d throw a fit if my husband wasn’t there. I’d never put up with this.
Add in the fact that she practically let me make all her wedding choices for her, and I see a pattern emerging.
Kristi soon-to-be-Mrs.-Blazen has no mind of her own.
"You know, Kristi, it’s your wedding, so it would be expected for you to throw a little fit to get him here the night before. I mean, what about the bachelor party? Isn’t he dying to sneak into your room and ravish you inappropriately?"
Holy shit, why did I use that word?
"It’s different when you’re dating a famous person, Grace." Her voice is pleasant and her smile is still fake as we get to the end of the slidewalk and heft our luggage back onto the tiled floor. We have to walk the rest of the way because we are out of moving sidewalks.
"Oh!" Kristi exclaims, pointing to a bathroom. "I wanna pee again, just in case."
"You just peed after we came through security."
"I know, but I hate to pee on the plane. One last time before we board. Here, take my luggage."
I start to sigh but cut it short. She’s a client, Grace. Be graceful, like your name implies. I lean up against a wall to wait her out, but the buzz of my phone snaps me out of my irritated funk. I pull it out of my purse and stare at the screen.
Unknown number.
My heart rate speeds up immediately, but at the same time, I get a very sick feeling in the pit of my stomach. Vaughn. It has to be Vaughn.
I press the accept tab with a nervous smile. "Hello?"
"Miss Kinsella?" an unfamiliar voice asks me from the other end of the line. "Are you Grace Kinsella?"
"Who’s this?"
"Miss Kinsella, my name is Jasinda Gonzales, I’m Vaughn Asher’s girlfriend, and I’ve noted a pattern of calls to this phone and I’d—I’d just like to know if he’s cheating on me?"
My head spins so bad I almost fall down. "Excuse me?"
"Are you near a TV, Miss Kinsella?"
"What?"
"A TV, or the internet. Because Buzz Hollywood is running a story on us right now, and I think you should see it."
"Who the hell are you?"
"I told you—"
"I know what you said, but I’m sorry, you have the wrong number. I have no idea what you’re talking about."
My shaky finger presses end and I just stare at the phone in my hand.
"Everything OK?" Kristi asks, taking possession of her luggage.
I look up at her, stunned. And I lie. Because I’m a good liar. I’ve been telling lies since I was a kid and my world fell apart. I’m good at faking OK. "Fine," I say cheerfully. And suddenly I become Kristi soon-to-be-Mrs.-Blazen. I’m the one with the fake smile and feigned happiness. "Come on, we’re gonna be late if we don’t rush it. Can’t be late for your wedding!"
VAUGHN never calls again. It’s been two weeks of silence after he canceled our last Twitter date. Nothing. And I’m pretty sure the spies are gone too because last night I met my co-worker for a drink thinking I could draw Asher out with jealousy.
But no. He’s gone. And what did I figure? That I’d be the girl to change him? That I’d be the girl he falls in love with? That I’d be the girl who could claim his heart, even though countless others have tried and failed?
I’m an idiot.
For years, my Dirty Heaven was Vaughn Asher. I lived and breathed for those Saturday nights and ever since I met him in person, my fantasy faded away, one disappointment at a time.
He’s a jerk.
He’s a sexual deviant—and even though I did like that date we had, a BDSM relationship was never part of my perfect fantasy. I didn’t exactly dream of wedding bells and diapers, but it was a monogamous partnership kind of dream. I would live in Denver and build my career, flying out to see him in Hollywood every weekend for parties and fun. Then he’d fly back with me on Sunday nights to f**k me in ways that did not involve kneeling at his feet or having bite-sized morsels placed on my tongue. He’d kiss me goodnight on my doorstep like the perfect Prince Charming and fly home for a week of hard work and I’d do the same here in my own little corner of the world.
And although I think he might be on board with the distance that I prefer in a relationship, his unique sexual requests are not part of my long-term plan. That is vacation sex. That is one-night-stand sex. That is not partnership sex.
So it’s better this way. I’m perfectly happy like this. I’m going to find myself a new fantasy prince and give him all my Dirty Heaven attention. Maybe a younger one this time. Someone more my age. Someone who doesn’t need to prove his sexual prowess with games.
"Earth to Grace?"
I’m going to forget all about Vaughn Asher, wipe him right out of my life.
"Hello?"
Which is easier said than done when those stupid f**king Invisible Man 2 posters are all over this f**king airport.
"See something you like up there? Because that’s my soon-to-be husband."
"What?" I look over at Kristi who is handing me a cup of coffee from the Starbucks while stuffing her face with a blueberry muffin. "No!" I laugh. "No, I was looking at the IM2 poster next to Johnny Blazen’s Broncos."
"Oh, yeah, that Vaughn Asher is a dream. I’d do him." She chuckles as we drag our luggage onto the moving sidewalk that will take us down to the end of the concourse to the gate. The Blazens have hired a jet to shuttle Denver friends and family over to Vegas and they keep all the small airlines on the very edge of the concourse, making the walk a long one.
Hmmm. "He’s OK, I guess. Not quite my idea of a dream though. So speaking of the soon-to-be hubs—why isn’t he flying with you instead of me?"
She paints on her life-is-perfect smile like she’s been doing for the past two weeks and swallows hard. "He’s got football stuff tonight, so he’s going to fly in tomorrow."
"Right. Football season." I don’t get it. Their relationship is not what I expected. He’s never around. Always something about football. And she always makes excuses for him. They don’t even live together. And maybe some couples like that before they get married, but she’s pregnant. If I was pregnant—and I won’t be, so this is a total hypothetical—I’d throw a fit if my husband wasn’t there. I’d never put up with this.
Add in the fact that she practically let me make all her wedding choices for her, and I see a pattern emerging.
Kristi soon-to-be-Mrs.-Blazen has no mind of her own.
"You know, Kristi, it’s your wedding, so it would be expected for you to throw a little fit to get him here the night before. I mean, what about the bachelor party? Isn’t he dying to sneak into your room and ravish you inappropriately?"
Holy shit, why did I use that word?
"It’s different when you’re dating a famous person, Grace." Her voice is pleasant and her smile is still fake as we get to the end of the slidewalk and heft our luggage back onto the tiled floor. We have to walk the rest of the way because we are out of moving sidewalks.
"Oh!" Kristi exclaims, pointing to a bathroom. "I wanna pee again, just in case."
"You just peed after we came through security."
"I know, but I hate to pee on the plane. One last time before we board. Here, take my luggage."
I start to sigh but cut it short. She’s a client, Grace. Be graceful, like your name implies. I lean up against a wall to wait her out, but the buzz of my phone snaps me out of my irritated funk. I pull it out of my purse and stare at the screen.
Unknown number.
My heart rate speeds up immediately, but at the same time, I get a very sick feeling in the pit of my stomach. Vaughn. It has to be Vaughn.
I press the accept tab with a nervous smile. "Hello?"
"Miss Kinsella?" an unfamiliar voice asks me from the other end of the line. "Are you Grace Kinsella?"
"Who’s this?"
"Miss Kinsella, my name is Jasinda Gonzales, I’m Vaughn Asher’s girlfriend, and I’ve noted a pattern of calls to this phone and I’d—I’d just like to know if he’s cheating on me?"
My head spins so bad I almost fall down. "Excuse me?"
"Are you near a TV, Miss Kinsella?"
"What?"
"A TV, or the internet. Because Buzz Hollywood is running a story on us right now, and I think you should see it."
"Who the hell are you?"
"I told you—"
"I know what you said, but I’m sorry, you have the wrong number. I have no idea what you’re talking about."
My shaky finger presses end and I just stare at the phone in my hand.
"Everything OK?" Kristi asks, taking possession of her luggage.
I look up at her, stunned. And I lie. Because I’m a good liar. I’ve been telling lies since I was a kid and my world fell apart. I’m good at faking OK. "Fine," I say cheerfully. And suddenly I become Kristi soon-to-be-Mrs.-Blazen. I’m the one with the fake smile and feigned happiness. "Come on, we’re gonna be late if we don’t rush it. Can’t be late for your wedding!"
