by Caisey Quinn
“Too good for me, Rose. Too good for me.”
The woman guffawed and slapped him lightly on the shoulder. “Nah, you’re not so bad.”
Trace gave her his best wounded puppy expression. “Then how come you never would give me the time of day?” He winked at the woman, who was well into her fifties, maybe older. Though she dyed her hair and wore enough makeup that, from a distance, you wouldn’t guess she was a day over thirty or so.
“Now, darlin’, you know I’d be happy to use you for your body, but I’m a happily married woman.” She shrugged.
Trace laughed out loud. Rose always was good for a laugh. “My loss, sweetheart.” He jumped out of the chair, momentarily distracted by the teasing. Today he and Gretchen had their promotional photo shoot for the tour. They’d be in a bar, play-acting like they were drinking and throwing punches. Except Gretchen would probably actually be drinking and he might actually punch someone before the day was over.
He sauntered into Whiskey Jacks like it wasn’t the absolute last place he wanted to be. Even though it was. The label had rented the private room out for the day so it was empty save for himself, Pauly, a photographer, and a bunch of assistants. Most of who were probably useless.
“Okay, let’s get some lights over by the pool table. We’ll do a few shots there.” A man dressed in black with a nasally voice that was already grating on his nerves was giving orders. “And somebody line some shots up on the bar. And grab a few bottles and set them in the background.”
Trace took advantage of the rare moment of free time to text Kylie good morning and that he’d seen her video and loved the song. Before he had a chance to see if she’d texted back, Nasally Voice Dude turned to him. “Okay, Mr. Corbin, let’s get a few of you alone while we wait for Gretchen.”
Great. Day one of this shit and they were already “waiting” for Gretchen. Professionalism was not her strong suit. Not that he was necessarily one to talk.
“Sure thing.” Trace stepped over to the spot by the pool table where the photographer indicated. Someone handed him a pool stick, and for a moment he just wanted to be a regular guy. Shooting some pool on a Friday night with the guys after a long week of busting his hump wherever he worked. He could practically see Kylie sauntering over and challenging him to a game of pool. She’d probably kick his ass at that too. His girl was full of surprises.
“Mr. Corbin, can you lean down and pretend to line up a shot?”
Trace glanced down at the table. “Uh, I could, but there’s no cue ball.” He stepped around and checked each pocket, but the cue ball was nowhere to be seen.
“Okay, forget the cue ball. Just lean down and pose like you’re about to sink the orange ball.”
“Yeah, I would. But I’d look like a jackass aiming my stick at the nine ball when there’s no cue ball on the table. Isn’t the idea for it to look like Gretchen and I are out on the town actually playing pool? You can’t play pool without a cue ball.”
The photographer lowered his camera and rubbed his temples.
Trace huffed out a breath. “Dude, I’m not trying to be a dick here. I can stand with the stick and look like I’m planning my next shot or whatever, but I’m not going to pose like I’m a fucking moron who doesn’t realize he needs a cue ball to play pool.” Trace lifted the stick behind his head and rested his arms on it while he waited for someone to use their brain and realize how asinine the whole thing was.
“Can somebody please get Mr. Corbin a cue ball? Now!” an assistant called out and a few people scrambled to do as they were told. The photographer glared at him. Trace glanced at Pauly and shrugged. His manager just shook his head.
This was the part he hated. He didn’t want to “pretend” to shoot pool. He really didn’t want to be in a bar period. And he sure as hell didn’t want to be arguing with some tight-ass photographer about the importance of a cue ball. He wanted to be at home, snuggled up on the couch with his gorgeous girlfriend. Writing music, watching a movie, making love. Any and all of those options would be better than this.
“We have a cue ball,” someone called out. The cue ball in question was passed to several people before it made its way to the table. Once it was in place, Trace leaned down and pretended to shoot. He held that pose until his back ached. He’d unloaded several hundred bales of straw at the farm last week. When he couldn’t take any more, he stood. He met the photographer’s gaze and the expression he found there said he was still supposed to be bent over the table like his bitch. Oh well.
“Now what?” He turned and cracked his back.
Before the photographer could answer him, there was a commotion up near the bar. “Actually, Ms. Gibson, those are just for looks,” an assistant told Gretchen as she waltzed in and snatched a shot off the bar. Her sunglasses were still on and Trace had a feeling he knew why.
“Where the hell is the fun in that?” she asked as she downed the shot and set the empty glass back down on the bar. The assistant grabbed it and refilled it.
“Nice of you to show,” Trace called out to her.
“You’re welcome.” She finally took off her glasses as Rose converged on her with a handful of brushes. The woman wore a tool belt full of makeup for God’s sakes. The world was a weird place.
But one look at Gretchen and he was grateful for the woman’s emergency makeup skills. Gretchen was hungover as hell. Normally she was kind of pretty, but today her face looked like road kill. Her eyes were bloodshot and puffy, the skin beneath managing to be swollen and saggy at the same time. He knew she was a few years older than him but that was still too young to have deep-set lines around her mouth. Without makeup she looked like she was pushing fifty. She made Rose look like Miss America.
“Rough night, Gretch?” he asked quietly as he approached.
“Wouldn’t you like to know?” She sneered at him from under Rose’s meticulous hands.
Okay then. Operation Make Peace with Gretchen was a no-go. Abort. “Well, is it okay with you if we go ahead and get this shit over with then?”
“Yep, I’m ready.” She hopped down off the stool even though Rose was still attempting to swipe brushes all over her face. “Cut it out. That’s what Photoshop is for, dammit,” Gretchen snapped, leaning away from the makeup woman’s efforts.
“Easy, cowgirl. Don’t be a bitch to Rose. She’s trying to help you. God love her, I’m not even sure that’s possible.”
“Fuck off, Corbin. Really not in the mood for your shit today.”
He laughed harshly. “My shit? I’m not the one who was—”
“Okay, everybody smile,” the photographer interrupted. On cue, Trace and Gretchen turned and smiled wildly. I am a fucking puppet of epic proportions, he thought to himself. Just what I always wanted to be when I grew up.
He kicked his pride along as he posed with Gretchen at the bar and at the pool table. The photographer had him blatantly check out Gretchen’s ass while she bent over and pretended to take a shot. Then he had one of the assistants step in and stare at her ass as well. They did a little scene where Trace caught the guy staring and he got to throw a few pretend punches at the dude. Sadly, that was the highlight of his day.
The photographer got pissy when Trace demanded his shot glasses be filled with water instead of alcohol during the part of the session where he and Gretchen were ordered to pose like they were taking body shots off each other. This is not going to go over well. Sorry, Kylie Lou. He’d have to be sure and tell her Gretchen was hungover, had breath from hell, and smelled like a homeless guy.
If he ever got time to talk to her that was.
“KYYLIIEEE RYANS, is that you?” a female voice shouted over the noise on the street. The girls had just finished their sound check in Oklahoma City. She looked up and saw Lulu crossing the street and heading towards the bus. Kylie squealed, actually squealed, and ran to her friend like they were a couple in a Hollywood movie.
“Lulu! Damn, I didn’t realize how much I was missin’ you, girl!” Actually,
she did. It felt so good to see a smiling face she could have cried.
The girls hugged and then her friend pulled back. “Yeah? Those wenches giving you hell? Need me to cunt punch one of them? Or both of them?”
She laughed, even though the tension on the bus had gotten so bad she was probably one more dirty look or rude comment away from a nervous breakdown. “I can handle it. But it’s really good to see your face! Speaking of faces, where’s Carmen?”
Lulu grimaced. “She’s with her new fella.” She shrugged and shifted the enormous knock-off designer bag she carried to her other shoulder. “Remember Harley Hudson? Worked at the gas station in town?”
Kylie racked her brain but came up with nothing. “Um, no.”
“Yeah, no reason why you should. Anyways, him and his dad opened a body repair shop and hired Carmen as a receptionist. Pretty soon Carmen was doing more than answering phones and filing receipts. If you know what I mean.” Lulu waggled her eyebrows.
“Ah.”
“Yeah, well. They’re a thing now. He’s all right, I guess.” Suddenly her friend’s eyes lit up and she smiled. “Oh! Actually he has a house between here and Pride. Supposed to be having some big party tonight to celebrate the success of the new business. You wanna go?”
“Good God, yes. I need to go. If I don’t get off that bus I might go in-fucking-sane. Three girls were never meant to live like that. It was so much easier with Trace.”
Lulu snorted. “Yeah, I bet it was.” She let out a dramatic sigh. “Guess all my bitches got dudes now.”
Kylie slapped her friend lightly on the arm. “Hey, I’m no one’s bitch.”
Lulu giggled. “Uh, I think you might be Trace Corbin’s bitch. Maybe a little?”
She bit her lip to contain the grin his name brought to her face. “Nah. He’s my bitch.”
“Hey, speaking of bitches, want to take a drive to Pride and go roll Darla’s new house?”
She struggled to make sense of what her friend had just said. “What do you mean, her new house?”
Lulu’s panic-stricken expression made her stomach tighten. “Um, I’m sorry, Ky. I thought you knew. She sold your old house and bought one on the nicer side of town.”
So that was what she’d done with the money Trace had paid her to keep quiet then. Rage flooded her and she struggled to breathe normally as not to alarm her friend. “I can’t believe she sold my daddy’s house. No, wait, I can believe it. She never gave a shit about him.” She fought off a sob as tears threatened to fill her eyes. Her daddy had deserved better than what he’d gotten. He’d deserved to be loved.
“Don’t worry. I’ll pay the high school football team to roll her house every weekend if you want. Not like there’s anything better to do in Pride.”
Kylie contemplated that offer as they walked to the bus. “If you run out of money, let me know. I’ll donate to the cause.”
“Eh, I can always flash ‘ a boob or two if the funding runs out.”
Kylie laughed. “So who bought my house?”
Lulu tilted her head to the side and was quiet for a brief moment. “You know, I’m not sure actually. One day it was for sale and the next it was sold. But no one’s moved in yet. Maybe when you’re rich and famous you can buy it back from them. If you want.”
“Right, ‘cause fame and fortune are just around the corner.” Kylie rolled her eyes and began giving Lulu a tour of the bus. Well, the best tour she could give as they tripped and stumbled over all of Lily’s crap. The most upsetting thing about the hellacious mess was that she was actually starting to get used to it.
AFTER THE show, Kylie introduced Mia and Lily to Lulu, who kept insisting she was going by Olivia now. Not that Kylie ever intended to actually call her that.
“So that song y’all sang at the end was pretty awesome,” her best friend said.
Mia and Lily mumbled, “Thanks,” almost in unison. And then the four girls sat in awkward silence. Until Kylie couldn’t take it anymore.
“So, um, Lu and I are going to a party but I’ll be back later.”
“Ohh, I wanna go,” Lily squealed.
Damn. The most exciting thing about going out was getting the hell away from them. Actually, she was kind of used to Lily. But five more minutes in close quarters with Mia was going to result in bloodshed. Or some serious bitch-slapping. Kylie could take it if she had to, but Lulu wasn’t one to keep her hands to herself.
“Oh-kay,” Kylie said slowly. “Um, Mia? You comin’?”
Mia smirked and made a big show of rolling her eyes. “Much as I love a good old-fashioned hillbilly hoedown, I’m going to have to pass.”
Thank you, Jesus.
“I’ll be sure and French kiss my cousin for you,” Lulu piped up. Oh hell.
Mia’s eyebrows rose nearly to her hairline.
“We should get going.” Kylie linked her arm with Lulu’s and all but dragged her off the bus as Lily bounded out behind them. “Later,” she called out to Mia, knowing she wouldn’t get an answer.
Lulu still had lots to say though. “What the fuck is her problem? Batteries go dead in her vibrator?”
Kylie snorted. “Not in front of the kids,” she said, jerking her head back towards Lily.
“Hey!” Lily whined.
Her friend stopped walking and turned to face her. “Kylie, I’m serious. That’s bullshit. You shouldn’t have to put up with that.” She watched as the girl she loved like a sister shook her head. “You need to confront that uptight fucktwat like yesterday. Find out what the hell her deal is.”
Kylie said nothing as the three of them climbed into Lulu’s car. She had a feeling she knew exactly what Mia’s problem was. What she didn’t know was whether or not she actually wanted to hear about it.
TRACE PACED back and forth along the glass wall of the conference room. It was day three of negotiations with Gretchen, her “people,” and the label. So far most of the tour was scheduled, but due to her past transgressions, Gretchen was currently banned from a few of the establishments that had originally been on the itinerary.
Kylie had texted him twice asking if he had a minute to talk. He texted her back that he was in a meeting and would call her soon. That was two hours ago. She said she was going to a party with some friends near her hometown so he figured she was fine. He just wished he’d been able to call and make sure everything was okay. Screw it.
“Look, I don’t see what the hell I’m doing here. I’m not banned from anywhere so just schedule whatever places will let Gretchen in.” He smirked. “If you can find enough of them.”
“Go to hell, Corbin,” she snapped at him.
“Pretty sure I’m already there, sweetheart.” He pulled his phone out and caught Pauly’s eye. He jerked his head towards the door but his manager shook his head no. Christ. He was a grown man for fuck’s sakes. A grown man with a beautiful girl waiting for his phone call. Not to mention the fact that he felt like if he didn’t hear her sweet, soothing voice soon he was going to knock someone’s teeth out. He hadn’t had sex or a drink in weeks and the throbbing in his head was constant.
“Noel, pardon me, but I’m dealing with a family situation. You mind if I step out to make a call?”
Noel Davies glared at him but didn’t say anything. That was good enough for him. Trace stepped out into the waiting area outside the conference room. He hadn’t even meant to say a “family situation.” He’d planned to say he was dealing with a situation. No description necessary. But in a way, Kylie was a part of his family. She was the first person who stood up to him. The first one who cared enough to risk everything and face him down.
He pulled up her number on his phone, grinning at the picture of her he’d taken just after they’d made love for the last time before she left to go on tour. It was a close-up of her face, and her clear blue eyes had that sexy sleepy look he loved so much. It rang several times and then a burst of noise came through the line.
“Kylie Lou, you there?”
“Trace,
” she said, sounding relieved to hear from him. Her voice was so sweet it warmed him from the inside out, but it was edged with a bit of panic too.
“Hey, baby. Sorry I couldn’t call sooner. Everything okay?”
The noise in the background that sounded like music began to fade. But other voices took its place. “Yeah….sorry…party in the middle…where.”
“I’m losin’ you, darlin’. Can you hear me?” He hated not knowing if she was okay. Maybe he’d take a drive to Oklahoma tonight. Tomorrow’s seven a.m. rehearsal be damned.
“Yeah. I’m here. Can you hear me okay?”
“I can now. You havin’ a good time? Behavin’ yourself?” He was thankful she was the kind of girl who always behaved herself. Except when she was around him.
“Yeah, um, Lily had too much to drink and she’s sick…me and Lulu…her in the house.”
“I’m losin’ you again. Sounds like you’re dealing with a situation of your own though. Guess I need to get back in this meeting with Gretchen’s people.” Oh shit. He hadn’t even told her about Gretchen yet. Panic swept over him as he realized this was probably not the ideal time to discuss it.
“Gretchen who?” Kylie asked evenly, suddenly sounding eerily calm. Great. Now he had her full attention and perfect reception.
“Uh, yeah. Did I forget to mention that Gretchen Gibson is co-headlining with me on the tour?”
“I don’t know. Did you forget to mention that? Or…just…not…to tell me?” The connection began to break up again. She didn’t sound mad exactly. Just a little hurt maybe. Which was worse. He’d hurt her enough when they were on tour together. He’d sincerely hoped he’d never hurt her again. Looked like that was probably out of the question.
He didn’t want to have to explain this with their connection like it was. “No, I mean, no I didn’t not want to tell you. Shit. That didn’t make sense.” He ran a hand through his hair and glanced around. A receptionist and a few people sat in the waiting area. He would much rather have this particular conversation somewhere more private. Preferably in person. “Listen, it wasn’t my choice. The label forced her on me and I was trying to do what you said. Suck it up and work like everyone else has to, you know?”