Girl in Love

by Quinn, Caisey

  The intensity of his words came through loud and clear. She took a step back.

  “Got it. No come-fuck-me looks.”

  Steven laughed. It was dark laughter that warmed her in places only one other man had ever been able to affect in that way.

  “I didn’t say you couldn’t give them. I’m just giving you fair warning. I took the nice guy high road once. I probably won’t take it again.”

  “Duly noted.”

  She felt much lighter when they went back into the club. Writing with Steven was cathartic and she was looking forward to it. But she had a nagging feeling she was going to have to invite Mia whether she liked it or not. Even though she was driving Kylie a little crazy lately, she knew Mia was trying to be helpful in her own way.

  Mia had told her a million times that she wasn’t looking for a relationship and that nothing was going on between her and Steven, but she knew it wasn’t worth risking it. If Mia had even an inkling of a feeling for him, then hanging out with him alone was a bad move. A dangerous and probably stupid one.

  She was just about to tell Steven that all four of them could go back to her place and just hang out when he stopped so abruptly she ran smack into the back of him.

  “What the hell, Blythe?” But as soon as the words were out of her mouth, she saw what had stopped him.

  Right next to where they’d been sitting, Mia and Chris stood at the edge of the dance floor. They might have been dancing. Or having sex standing up. Kylie wasn’t sure. But she saw that they were connected at the waist, chest, and mouth regions.

  She reached up and wrapped her hands firmly around Steven’s biceps from behind, pulling him back. He was stiff as a corpse. His muscles flexed under her hands.

  “Come on. Let’s go. Now we both have something to write about.”

  But when Steven turned around to face her, his normally playful bright blue eyes were dark and blazing.

  Apparently she wasn’t the only one contemplating something dangerous and stupid.

  “WHERE ARE we going?” Kylie asked as she made her way through the sea of sweaty bodies in an attempt to keep up with him.

  “I’m going to the bar. You can go wherever you like.”

  She squeezed onto a stool beside him as he ordered half a dozen shots of tequila.

  “Really? Six shots? When you’ve already been drinking? For someone who doesn’t know how he feels about Mia, that’s a lot of alcohol.”

  Steven smirked at her. “I’m not upset about Mia. Not really. I’m pissed at Chris. We don’t do that shit to each other. Ever. And he was here to get to know you. I told him a little about what you’d been through. That you needed to have a night of fun. Just hanging out and having a good time. So either way you look at it—” he paused to jerk his head back in the direction of where they’d seen their friends—“it’s a shitty move.”

  She raised her eyebrows. Steven Blythe was pissed on her behalf. Well, that was kind of sweet.

  “Oh, and these three are for you.” He slid half of the shots closer to her. “So you can blame the tequila tomorrow if you wake up with regrets.”

  So much for sweet. She didn’t stop to think it over. Just downed the first shot as quickly as she could. She clenched her eyes shut at the pain. Grenades of burning red detonated behind her eyes.

  Holy hell. Why do people do this?

  “Here. Open up, rookie.” Steven held a lemon wedge at the edge of her lips.

  She opened her mouth and took it in. It did help a little, actually. Once she could breathe again, she looked at her drinking buddy. There was something in his gaze she recognized. She knew because she avoided noticing it in the mirror.

  No matter what he’d said, he was hurting. Seeing Mia and Chris like that had hurt him, for whatever reason.

  He gave her a small smile. She knew her eyes were still slightly watery from taking that shot. “You don’t have to drink the other two.” He reached out to pull them back, but Kylie put her hand on his.

  “I want to.”

  His eyebrows rose as he watched her take the next two shots in quick succession. He grinned when she grabbed the nearest lemon wedge and bit down on it like her life depended on it.

  “Well, look who’s a fast learner.” He finished off his own shots. When he’d set the last empty glass down, he turned to face her. “That offer to come over still stand?”

  She wasn’t sure if she could still stand. She bit her bottom lip and glanced up at him. Before she could answer his question, he reached out and used his thumb to pull her lip from her teeth.

  The residual tingles from the alcohol and him touching her mouth made her brave, so she nodded. He was different. Nearly the exact opposite of what she thought she’d wanted for so long.

  Sometimes different was a good thing.

  THE WALK to her place was relatively short. But they were both pretty heavily buzzed so it was taking longer than usual.

  “I should’ve probably taken the hint in Chicago,” Steven said as they reached the door to her building. “She went straight for him when I called her up on stage.”

  Kylie resisted her normal habit of suppressing memories.

  Chicago. They’d hung out. Danced. The pictures and the video from that night were what had sent Trace over the edge. Straight into rehab. And from the looks of it, straight to Gretchen Gibson.

  She tried to pull herself from the past and focus on the present. “I think she did that to make you jealous. Who knows? Maybe tonight was to make you jealous, too.”

  He shook his head and huffed out a breath. “Thanks for trying, Ryans. But I don’t think either of them gives a damn if we saw or not. Notice how no one has called or texted to see where the hell we went?”

  There was no denying that he was right about that much at least.

  She avoided the elevator when they entered her building. Steven was radiating frustrated tension so hard she could feel it. A small, enclosed space was not safe right now.

  They climbed the stairs to her apartment in silence. It wasn’t until she turned the key and opened the door to the darkness that the full weight of the situation came down on her.

  “Steven, I don’t know if—”

  Whatever she was going to say was silenced by his mouth as he pressed it against hers before she’d even turned the lights on. He tasted of tequila and lemons. It wasn’t a gentle kiss. Wasn’t tentative, coming from smiling lips like their other messing around make-out sessions had been. It was rough and desperate. Angry and hot.

  She fought back against his tongue with her own, pulling at his bottom lip hard with her teeth. Her chest burned as if she were setting fire to her own heart.

  Good. A heart isn’t good for anything but aching anyways.

  Steven kicked the door shut behind them. She let him press her against the wall.

  Change me. Make the pain go away. Kiss his memory right out of my damn head. A rumble of angry chords played when they knocked a guitar over.

  “If you want to stop, now’s your chance,” he mumbled against her lips.

  Kylie took the opportunity to let her head fall back and catch her breath. Or try to catch her breath anyway. Steven slid his hands up underneath her shirt, raking his warmth over her sides and up to the edges of her bra.

  Do I want to stop? Her head said yes. That this wasn’t the man she wanted this with. But her body said no. That she needed this. Needed to let someone in so she could push someone else out. Someone who’d already left long ago. Her heart was staying out of it. Or maybe she’d burned it to ash already.

  “Um.”

  Steven’s strong hands began to drop lower. His right hand snaked up under the hem of her skirt.

  “I mean it, Ryans. I warned you. And yet, you followed me to the bar. You gave me come-fuck-me eyes while we did shots. True or false?”

  He lowered his head and licked her neck. She shivered when his hand rose higher on her thigh.

  “True,” she whispered.

  His teeth r
aked the sensitive flesh on her throat, and she whimpered involuntarily.

  “See, noises like that will get you fucked. Is that what you want? I need to know for sure.”

  She couldn’t think straight. Every answer that rose to her lips seemed like the wrong one. Yes. No. Maybe. I don’t know.

  When a thick finger slid under her panties and grazed her gently, she cried out. Pleasure, pain, and deep, messy hurt stirred within her.

  “I need…oh God.”

  Steven sucked the skin just above her collarbone as he pressed a finger inside of her. “Fucking hell, you’re wet,” he moaned into her ear. “Dammit. I have to stop, Ryans. I have to.” He withdrew his finger and leaned into her, dropping his head onto her shoulder.

  Her knees threatened to give out. “No. No. Don’t stop.” She clutched his shirt in her hands. Her eyes were starting to adjust to the lack of light. The outline of his frame was broad and muscular. His mussed hair sticking up in every direction from where she’d been tearing her hands through it was a major turn-on. “I need…I need…”

  Why can’t I just ask for what I need?

  “You need to come. I can feel that. How tight and tense you are. Christ, I nearly pulled you into an alley tonight.”

  “Maybe you should have. You’re right. I need it. Make me come, Steven. Please.”

  He groaned loudly from above her. Thick arms braced against the wall on either side of her head. He leaned down and let his forehead press against hers.

  “We’re messing up, Ryans. We’re friends. We’re damn good at writing music together. The occasional messing around is one thing. This is point of no return shit we’re dealing with here. This will complicate things. It will make things weird.”

  “I don’t… I don’t know if I care right now, Blythe.” She felt like a trembling mass of raw nerves. All riled up with no relief in sight.

  “Trace will kill me if he ever finds out.”

  Something in her snapped at the sound of his name. She shoved hard against his chest in the darkness but he barely flinched.

  “Don’t. Don’t fucking use him as an excuse. He threw me away. He walked away. Hell, he practically ran. He’s with someone else. If you don’t want to do this, then go. But don’t you dare make this about him. I’m moving on, dammit.” Scorching tears began to roll down her face.

  Something else wet touched her cheek. Steven’s mouth. He was literally kissing her tears away. Well that was something no one had ever done before. And it was also extremely hot.

  “Shh. Okay. Okay, Ryans. I’m sorry.” He licked her last remaining tear. “Tell me what you want. I’ll do whatever you want. You want to mess around and then pretend it never happened? Okay. I can try. Want to have meaningless sex until the sun comes up? I can do that too. There are so many ways I can get you off, it’d take all night to list them. But I need to make a few things clear first.”

  She nodded. Her blood was on fire from his words. She was burning up. Desire spread like lava through her so quickly she was losing the ability to concentrate on anything else.

  Steven gripped her wrists tightly and pinned them above her head. She squirmed, rubbing her thighs together to relieve the pressure.

  “There’s a difference between wanting to have sex with someone and needing to come. I can make you come. We can go to sleep after and blame it all on the drinking. If I make you come and you still want to have sex with me, well, let’s just say I won’t turn you down. But if you so much as think of another man while I’m inside you, I will know. And let’s get something straight right the hell now. You want a mess-around buddy to get you off every now and then? I’m cool with that. But I am no one’s fucking rebound guy. Got it?”

  “Y-yes.” She twitched from the overwhelming effort of trying to stifle her need. “Now I need to know something.”

  “Okay. Shoot.”

  “Why did you want me? Back then? When we first met?”

  Steven pulled back for a second but didn’t release the death grip he had on her wrists. “Same reason I want you now.” She could feel him grinning in the darkness. “You need me.”

  The old Kylie would’ve told him to fuck right off. That she didn’t need anyone. But he was right. She’d needed him then and she needed him now.

  “Oh,” she whispered into the darkness.

  “I’m screwing with you, Ryans. I want you because you’re beautiful. And strong. And amazing. There’s not a guy out there in his right mind that doesn’t want you.”

  “There’s one,” she said quietly.

  “And he’s the only one you can think about, isn’t he?” Steven let go of her wrists and they fell to her sides.

  “I’m sorry.” Her lower lip began to tremble.

  “Hey, come on. I didn’t come here just to get laid. I was coming over anyways. As a friend, remember?”

  Before she could answer, Steven pulled her into his arms and guided her to the couch. He eased her down with him and she let herself relax on his chest. The silence surrounded them until she whispered her secrets into it.

  “I just want to move forward, you know? I want to be able to feel things, do things, without connecting everything to him. Think that will ever happen?”

  He shrugged beneath her. “No idea. But until you really do get completely over him, Ryans, I’ll be here for you in any way that I can. But I told you. I’m no one’s rebound guy. Not even yours.”

  She tucked her face against his side so he couldn’t see how much she was hurting. The small sobs gave her away.

  “Hey, don’t do that.” Steven tightened his arms around her. “It’s been a long day. Let’s see how you feel about it tomorrow. If you still want to talk about this in the morning, then I’ll be here. Get some rest, Ryans.” She felt the gentle pressure of him kissing her on the top of her head. It was a soothing and yet excruciatingly familiar gesture.

  She was weak and empty. Exposed and disoriented. Rest actually sounded really good.

  “THE VENUE pulled out, Trace. I’m sorry.”

  Trace could picture his manager’s apologetic expression just by the tone of his voice. He was getting really good at receiving bad news.

  “Great.” He raked a hand into his hair and stared at the pile of paperwork in front of him.

  While the label was putting on a supportive front about his rehab stay, not everyone else was willing to do the same. Sponsors of his A Hand Up program for single parents were dropping like fucking flies.

  “They said they’d made a mistake and double-booked. They’re refunding the deposit,” Pauly Garrett informed him. “We have to find somewhere else to do this. Soon.”

  “Right.” Trace huffed out a breath. The benefit concert he’d scheduled nearly a year ago was a week away and he had jack shit. Well, no. He had five hundred people who’d RSVP’d, concert tickets and VIP passes to raffle off from people he actually considered friends, and a truck the local dealership had donated for him to give to one of the AHU families. But nowhere to have the damn thing.

  “Look, I hate to say this. But at this point, we might just need to accept that it’s time to cancel and—”

  “No. No, we’re not canceling. We’ll have it at the farm before I cancel.”

  The program had become even more important to him than he’d realized. He cared about these people, knew them by name. Knew they needed more than he could currently give. But by raffling off signed guitars, tickets, and all the other stuff that had been donated, he could raise the kind of money that could make a difference. Money he could use to do a lot for those families.

  Pauly cleared his throat. “Okay. Well, the label suggested asking Kylie to perform, a way of showing you two are on good terms and maybe even—”

  “No. Not an option.” Trace took a deep breath. “Look, between you and me, seeing her at the CMAs nearly killed me. I’m not going to play their game and use her to generate publicity. I’m just not. I’ve put her through enough. I’m done.”

  “She’s made q
uite a name for herself since you’ve been gone. Her involvement might help us secure a venue.” Pauly’s voice was even, matter of fact. Trace knew his own was in danger of shaking.

  “No. She’s doing well and I’m happy for her. But I can’t go anywhere fucking near her, Pauly. You know I can’t.” Jesus Christ. Just thinking about her was painful. A sharp, stabbing ache tore at his chest and his temples throbbed. She was bourbon and intoxication and freedom from everything that had ever held him captive all rolled into one dangerously enticing package.

  He clenched the oak table where the ever-expanding pile of his problems sat.

  “Okay, I hear you. Loud and clear. I’ll make some calls, okay? We’ll figure it out.”

  Trace huffed out a loud breath and eased his hands off the table. “Thank you. I’ll make some too.”

  After they said goodbye, he stared at the papers in front of him. Some were bills. Some were letters from single parents thanking him for the help they’d received from A Hand Up.

  Some were old, some were new. The past and the present, overlapping in a chaotic mess. Just like his fucked-up life.

  A year ago, just the sight of the responsibility, the pressure, with no clear answers in sight, would’ve sent him over the edge. Straight to the bottle.

  The irony of it all was so bitter he could practically taste it.

  He’d wanted to be better for her. Gone to rehab so he could be the kind of man she deserved. And he’d lost her in the process.

  TWO DAYS and two dozen phone calls later, he still had nothing. Nowhere to have his benefit concert and auction. He and Gretchen were the only confirmed artists, and everything was going straight to shit.

  “We can do it, Trace. It’ll be good. I’ll call some friends and get some help getting things done around the property.” His sister’s soothing voice reassured him—to an extent.

  “Claire Ann, honestly, I don’t know if I can handle this. A Hand Up was supposed to be a good thing, but it’s turning into nothing but a nightmare.”

  Somehow, his sister had convinced him to go ahead and have the benefit at his house. His farm in Macon—the one sanctuary he had left. Not that it was much of an escape anymore.