by Caisey Quinn
“Oh hell. Lily just got sick again. How about I call you later or tomorrow and you can tell me how you ended up on tour with the female version of yourself?”
“Ouch, Kylie Lou. Words can hurt, you know.”
She laughed and he couldn’t have kept the smile off his face if he’d wanted to. Her laugh was almost as beautiful as she was.
After they hung up, he returned to the conference room. Or his own personal hell. Whichever.
AFTER ANOTHER long, stressful hour of nailing down the exact tour schedule, Trace went back to his place, a penthouse apartment downtown. Every part of him ached to go grab a drink. Or six. These past few weeks had been hell and he was desperate for some type of distraction. He held off, but just barely.
Finishing off the last of the pizza he’d had delivered the night before, he half-watched SportsCenter while keeping an eye on his phone. He’d never expected to miss that girl so much. He’d never been the kind of guy to miss anyone.
He hated not having her close enough to touch. To talk to. He needed that sweet, sassy mouth to kiss. The three bottles of Shiner Bock in his fridge called out to him. It’s just a few beers. It wasn’t enough to get drunk. Hopefully it’d ease the sting of missing his girl. The bottles clinked together as he pulled one from the fridge, making a comforting sound he was familiar with.
As he scrolled through the previous messages Kylie had sent, phone in one hand, cold bottle in the other, he nearly laughed at himself. He was pretty sure reading old text messages just to feel close to her was a pretty sad-ass move. But damn, what he wouldn’t give to have her here. To be able to take her to bed every night and wake up to that beautiful face every morning. Slow your roll, Corbin. She was nineteen years old for fuck’s sake. At nineteen he didn’t know whether he was coming or going most days, much less how he was going to spend the rest of his life. Yeah, he had plans for a future with Kylie, but he was going to make certain she got to experience whatever she wanted before she hitched her wagon to his sorry ass for life. If she even wanted to, that was.
The beer was cold, soothing like he knew it would be. He finished off the third and tossed the bottles in the trash. There. He was straight. He wasn’t itching to run to the liquor store.
When she hadn’t texted or called by midnight, he started getting ready for bed— figuring she was busy with her drunk friend. He’d been there. Well, he’d usually been the drunk friend. But he understood.
Just before he crashed out in his bed, he was hit with the desperate need to see her face. Grabbing his MacBook off his nightstand, he logged in and pulled up the blog site the promoter of her tour made the girls keep. He expected to see the same goofy pictures she’d had up for a week. But there were new ones.
There was a close-up of her face next to the face of her friend from home—at least that was who he thought it was. Last time he’d seen the girl her hair was white and pink, and now it was black, but he was pretty sure it was the same one. Next there was a picture of Kylie and that young girl on her tour—he couldn’t remember her name but her dad was Donovan Taite, a badass producer with serious pull in Nashville, LA, and probably a bunch of other places. Below that photo was a comment from someone named Brett911. He said that it was great to meet all of them tonight, and he’d linked a video he’d posted on YouTube. His profile picture was a bright yellow Porsche and Trace had the sudden urge to punch something. Hard. And to make that trip to the liquor store after all. Don’t be ridiculous, jackass. Calm the hell down.
Clicking on the link was dangerous. Who the hell knew what it could be? But when he did, he was rewarded with Kylie’s beautiful face. It was kind of dark since it was obviously recorded at night, but it was definitely her. She was laughing and grinning at someone next to her. Fuck him if she was looking at some other dude like that. His temples throbbed as he reminded himself of why he’d emptied his place of all hard liquor.
Whoever was filming must’ve backed up, or zoomed out, and thank God they did. It allowed him to see that it was the black-haired friend from home she was grinning at. They were standing on the tailgate of a jacked up Chevy Silverado. The Taite girl was with them and they were dancing and singing along to one of his songs. His newest. Rock It on My Tailgate blared through his speakers, and he couldn’t help but shake his head. At least he knew she had to be thinking about him.
Once that song ended, the opening chords of Bryce Parker’s Baby Don’t Wait came on. The girls slowed to match the rhythm of the song. He was struck dumb for a second as Kylie’s hips swayed back and forth in a way that nearly undid him. He tried hard to swallow as blood rushed in his ears. Probably because his heart was pounding at the sight of her moving like that. He didn’t know if it was the glow of the bonfire in the background lighting her up or if his feelings for her made her shine the way she did, but good night alive. He had a feeling it wasn’t just him. Whoever was filming—probably Porsche boy—zoomed straight in on her. The other girls and the truck disappeared from the frame and the only person visible was Kylie. His Kylie, dammit. Brett911 was going to get his fucking face knocked in if Trace ever came across him. Even over the blare of the music he could hear her clear voice singing the lyrics.
So baby don’t wait. Don’t wait to call me, don’t hesitate to show up at my door. Whatever I’m doin’, wherever I’m goin’, I’d rather be with you more. So baby don’t wait.
For once, Bryce Parker got something right. Trace put his computer aside and grabbed his phone off the charger. He pulled up his recent calls and touched her name. This wasn’t a text message situation he was dealing with.
“Hullo?” Kylie’s sleepy voice answered.
“Hey, pretty girl. Did I wake you?” Yes you did, dumbass.
“Mmm, I don’t mind. Everything okay?”
No, everything was sure as hell not okay. He could picture her—that messy blond hair spread out on her pillows and her soft, warm, body tangled in the covers. Covers he could hear rustling over the phone. “Just missin’ you.”
Never in his life had he come straight out and said what he was feeling. Never. Until her.
“Miss you too, Trace.”
Oh good Lord, she was trying to kill him. His name on her lips was quite possibly the hottest thing he’d ever heard. Got him every time. “Have a good time tonight?” He clicked off his lamp and settled down into his own covers.
He could hear her smiling as she spoke. “Yeah, it got kinda crazy. But for the most part it was fun. It was good to see Lu.”
Who the fuck was Lu? Oh right, her friend from back home. The girl. But what the hell did she mean by kinda crazy? His grip on the phone tightened. “Yeah, I’m pretty jealous of Lu right now. And every other asshole who got to watch you up on that tailgate tonight.” Yes, I am stalking you.
Kylie groaned. “You saw the video then.”
He chuckled softly. “Yeah, it was, uh, doing things to me. Hence the phone call in the middle of the night.”
Suddenly her voice sounded much more alert. “Hmm, what kind of things, Mr. Corbin?”
Oh, the memories hearing her call him that brought back. Memories of when she hated him and refused to call him by his first name, making him desperate to fuck her hard and rough on every surface of the bus they shared for six torturous and glorious weeks. Not that he’d have been able to fuck the fight out of her. Or the stubbornness. There was always heat between them, at least as far as he was concerned. “Bad things, Kylie Lou. Things not appropriate for your pretty little ears.”
“I think my ears, as well as other parts of my body, might be capable of handling a lot more than you think.” Her words sent a jolt of electricity shooting straight down his spine to his dick. Her voice had lost its sleepy tenor and was just a sexy whisper, probably meant to keep the other girls on the bus from hearing her. But it was making him so hard it hurt.
“We’ll see about that.” He didn’t have to worry about anyone hearing him, but his laughter was dark and quiet all the same. There was an intim
acy about this that he didn’t want to mess up. “What are you wearing right now?”
For a second she was quiet, and he hoped he hadn’t pissed her off. But when she spoke, her voice was low and thick—rekindling his belief that she needed this as much as he did. “My Hank shirt and panties. Black ones.”
“Any chance I can get you to take off the shirt for me?” Sorry, Hank.
“Well, now, that depends,” she drawled in the sweet Oklahoma accent he loved so much. “What are you going to do for me?”
Oh yeah, this was happening. “What do you want me to do?”
His girl didn’t miss a beat. “I want you to touch me, Trace. I need you to touch me.”
His dick jerked and twitched beneath the covers. He closed his eyes and pictured her there with him. Sliding his hand down, he gripped the thick length of his erection. “Baby, I need to touch you so bad. I came damn close to driving to Oklahoma tonight.”
She moaned and he almost came right then. “Don’t tease me,” she pouted.
“Oh I’m not teasing. I have full intentions of pleasing you. In a variety of ways. Until then, how you comin’ with that shirt?”
“It’s off. Just in panties now.” Thank you Lord for giving me a good imagination.
“No bra?”
“Nope.”
He growled. “Run your hands over those pretty pink nipples for me. Tell me how they feel.”
She let a light moan escape. “Hard,” she whispered.
“Good. They’d be in my mouth if I was there. Now, run your hand down your stomach, slow. Real slow,” he commanded. He gripped his dick harder, willing himself to hold out until he got her off.
“Trace,” she whispered. “I don’t know if I can do this.”
“You can, baby. I’m here. You can, I promise,” he reassured her. “Now, rub yourself over those sexy black panties. Tell me how it feels.”
“Good. Wet.” She whimpered again.
“Mmm, I wish I could be there to taste you. Is it throbbing for me?”
Her voice came out so strained it almost sounded like she was in serious pain. “Y-yes.”
“Slide your panties off, Kylie Lou. Kick ‘ onto the floor.”
He could hear her shuffling movements. Good girl was following orders. Lord knew it wasn’t something she did normally. He grinned to himself, feeling pretty damn special.
“They’re off,” she breathed into the phone.
“Spread your legs for me. As far as they can go.”
“Can I touch myself?”
Oh sweet Jesus. He loved that she asked permission. He felt himself falling headfirst down towards the point of no return so he removed his hand and tried to pull himself together. He had to take care of his girl first.
“Yeah, you can. Just use one finger at first. Slide it inside for me. Once you’re good and wet you can touch your clit, if you’re a good girl.”
Her heavy breathing was full-on panting when she spoke again. “I’m a good girl. Promise.”
He growled into the phone. “Baby, I know you’re not alone on that bus, but when I let you come I need to hear you moan my name. Like that night on the bus. Can you do that for me?”
“Yes.” She let out a broken whimper and he stroked his cock from tip to bottom and back up again.
“Add another finger, baby. Once they’re both nice and wet, rub them over your swollen clit for me.” Her breathy moans and whimpers were about to send him over the edge. Dammit.
“Oh God, Trace.”
“Fuck. Come for me, sweet girl.”
“N-now?” she stammered.
He knew he couldn’t hold back much longer. “Yeah, Kylie Lou. I need you to do it now.”
“Okay,” she whispered urgently. Son of a motherfucker, he wasn’t going to make it. The pressure was building too hard behind the head of his cock as he pictured her touching herself. He was so close. Too close.
She all but screamed out his name and his orgasm burst from the head of his dick.
“OhgodohgodohTrace,” she moaned in a steady, breathless stream.
He let loose a guttural sound from deep in his chest. “Baby, I’m going to give you a minute to recover while I clean up. Wait for me, okay?”
“Mmhm.”
He grinned into the darkness. He knew she couldn’t form sentences, or hell, even words after she came.
After he’d done a quick cleanup, he grabbed his phone out of the covers and slid back into his bed. “Now that that’s out of the way, how are things?”
She giggled. “Okay, I guess. Be better if you and I were sharing a bus again.”
“And yet, we shared a bus for six weeks and you never slept in my bed once.”
She scoffed. “That’s because you kicked me out of your room.”
“Because you were drunk.”
“Technicality.”
Even in the middle of the night after phone sex she was quick. He was spent, literally, and could barely keep up. He yawned. “I almost forgot. Noel Davies asked about you the other day, about signing you to the label.”
“Seriously?”
“Yeah. I think he was fishing for inside info.”
“Hmm, did you give him any?”
“I warned him that you were a piece of work and that he wasn’t man enough to handle you.”
“Trace!” she whisper-yelled at him.
“Naw, I didn’t say that. Well, not in so many words. But he did ask if I thought you’d be willing to tour with me for real one day, as in, long term.” He wondered if she had any idea how important her response was.
“Long as they keep the bus stocked with enough food so I don’t starve. You eat enough for five people.”
He laughed out loud, finally breaking the sound barrier between them. “You’re the one who kept eating all the bananas.”
“Only because you made such a big deal about it.”
“Hey, Kylie Lou?”
Now it was her turn to yawn. “Yeah?”
“I really am missing the hell out of you right now. And I hope the tour’s going well and no one’s giving you a hard time.”
“Miss you, too,” she said, returning to the soft whisper. Her voice was laced with a sadness he hated. “It’s going okay. I can handle it.”
“Say the word and I’ll come, wherever you are. They can do all this shit without me for a while.”
“Are we gonna talk about Gretchen Gibson?” she asked. It was the first time ever—well, no, it was the first time since the first day she’d joined him on his Back to My Roots tour—that he’d heard her be timid. Nervous.
“Do we have to?”
“No.”
He could practically see her biting her lip. “We will, babe. Promise I’ll explain about her and the tour and everything when I’ve had more sleep.”
“Okay,” she said quietly.
Subject change needed. Immediately. “Your friend okay, the one who got sick?”
At that, she let out a little laugh, and he felt slightly better about the direction of the conversation. “She fell off that tailgate we were dancing on. Busted her ass.”
He laughed. “No shit? Is it on the video?”
“Nah, the guy recording lost interest in us before it happened.”
Trace knew better. He’d seen the video. The guy filming had lost interest in everyone else but her. She spoke before he could tell her this.
“So, um, have you? Fallen off I mean.”
“What? You mean have I been drinking?” He would’ve been offended, but after what he’d seen of Gretchen and what he knew Kylie had seen of him, it was a pretty fair question. But three beers hardly seemed worth mentioning. No need to stress her out. Especially since he had everything under control and she had enough to deal with. “Naw, babe. I’m good. You shouldn’t be worrying about that anyways.” This was why he didn’t know if what they were doing was a good idea. He was bound to screw up and she was already worrying about him instead of enjoying her own success.
&nb
sp; “If you did, you could tell me. I can’t say I understand, but I know it can’t be easy.”
“Get some rest, darlin’. Stop worryin’ your pretty little self about me. Night, babe.”
“Goodnight, Trace.”
KYLIE WOKE up to the sound of Lily’s voice singing one of her obnoxiously perky chart toppers. She’d been deep in a dream involving being very naked with Trace in the pond on his property. She struggled to hold on to the image of them entangled in the water but Lily’s voice wouldn’t allow it.
“Argh,” she grumbled, ambling out of bed.
Betcha wish you woulda called, betcha wish it wasn’t too late. Oooh ooh oh now I’m the one walkin’ out. Oooh ooh oh, now’s who’s the one havin’ doubts?
The weird part was, it wasn’t actually Lily singing. It was her voice coming through the speakers in the back of the bus. From Mia’s room.
Kylie sidestepped the piles of boots, clothes, and heels strewn in her path and leaned in Mia’s doorway. She had to bite her lip to keep from laughing. Mia was straightening her hair in her mirror and singing along with Lily’s song blaring from her iPod dock.
Something must have alerted her to Kylie’s presence because she jumped, nearly scorching herself with the flat iron. “Christ!”
“Nope, just me.” Kylie shrugged. “Didn’t realize you were a fan,” she said, nodding to where the music was coming from.
“I’m not,” Mia said, reaching over to silence the iPod. “She put that on my iPod this morning. Some of her shit’s kind of catchy.”
“Did I miss an early morning jam session?”
Mia eyed her up and down. “What? Afraid you’re being left out? Can’t have that now, can we? God forbid the great Kylie Ryans isn’t the center of attention for five seconds.”
Kylie’s cheeks heated at the unexpected burst of hostility. She knew she should probably be used to it by now but for some reason she wasn’t. “Pardon me. I was trying to make conversation, trying to act like a professional, or hell, just a decent human being. I can see that you have no idea how to be either of those things so I’m going to give it a rest already.”