Kicking Reality

I nod quietly, grabbing the tissue that she hands to me.

“How serious are things with Logan?”

Letting out a long-winded sigh, I tell her my feelings not holding anything back. “I think I love him. I mean, I’ve always loved him as family but not like this.”

“Do you think he loves you?”

“I can’t answer that.” I fall into a digestive silence, closing my eyes and remembering his words in London. “He’s really complicated and to be honest I just don’t know.”

“It’s hard for me to even think of Logan in any way besides a brother figure. Him and Ash are douches, you know. This side of him that you see, I can’t even imagine it.”

I can’t hide my smile. “When we’re alone, there’s this spark. Like we’re battling but a good battle. Does that make sense?”

Tayla frowns, pulling her hair out of the bun that sits on top of her head, only to place it in a bun again. “Ah, not really. Like a sex battle?”

“Sometimes.” I chuckle softly.

“La, la, la, la,” she sings, pressing against her ears. “Are you done with the sex talk?”

I roll my eyes at her, blowing my nose at the same time. “There was no sex talk.”

“Listen.” She shuffles to her side, grabbing my hand and squeezing it tight. “We’ve got a ton of new dresses and shoes. Let’s go out tonight and pretend Logan or Wesley don’t exist. Just a girls’ night out with dancing and no drinks, at least for me. You can get wasted.” She laughs.

“You know what?” I smile through my tears. “It sounds like the perfect plan.”

Scarlett hooked us up with a party but it was all the way in Orange County. We arrived late to find that the party was in full swing—hosted by a popular DJ that frequented celebrity hot spots.

The house is a mansion. All white with glass windows everywhere you looked. It sat on the beach, surrounded by a massive garden with an Olympic-sized pool.

I had never seen Tayla so excited—her cell in hand Snapchatting the whole night. She tried to explain to me how it works, but I was only half-listening, eager to unwind and get my hands on the blue cocktails that the waiters were handing out.

With a cocktail finally in hand, I quickly remind her to stick by me and no drinking whatsoever. It was somewhere into my second cocktail that a familiar voice calls my name.

Farrah.

“Oh my God . . . look who it is. Without Wesley, of course.”

She kisses my cheek—a kiss of death. She reeked of perfume and plastic, dressed in a skimpy strapless red dress that made her tits look like watermelons. Her body is drowning in jewels; well over a million dollars draped around her neck.

“Wesley is in Cabo.”

“I think he may have mentioned it.” Her normally confident manner is slightly off; her fingers nervously fidgeting with her necklace. “So, you’re here . . . alone? No man to keep you warm?”

“My sister, Tayla.” I briefly introduce them and could see that Tayla already had her resting bitch face. I knew she didn’t like Farrah, not that many people did.

“Right. Nice to meet you. You’ll have to excuse me, I have people to mingle with.”

I’m glad she leaves us alone, walking away to another crowd desperate for her presence—making her the center of attention.

We hang out near the front lawn where the marquee is set up and beats blasting through the large spe

akers. Losing ourselves to the music, we dance for a long time, letting loose and being free. My purse is hung across my body and begins to vibrate against my hip. I pull out my cell while trying to sway my body, to see missed calls from Logan.

Ignore. Ignore. Ignore.

There’s a group of guys and girls beside us that look about Tayla’s age. One guy in particular takes to Tayla and begins dancing with her. To prove I wasn’t at all like Mom, I let her move away and dance with him while I continue to dance with a very handsome older man that happens to be near me. He’s kinda sexy and reminds me of McDreamy from Grey’s Anatomy—a silver fox with ripped muscles and a cocky grin.

My purse continues to vibrate.