The Kylie Ryans Series: Girl with Guitar, Girl on Tour, Girl in Love (extended edition)

by Caisey Quinn

  Tonya retrieved her phone from her pocket and pulled up a picture of a little girl with a high ponytail wearing an I heart Kylie Ryans T-shirt.

  She grinned at the picture. “Wow, she’s adorable. And she obviously has excellent taste in clothing and music.”

  “That she does. Gets it from her mom,” Tonya said with a wink. “Hey, one last thing then I’m turning off my momdar and letting you be.” She stopped walking and placed a hand on Kylie’s shoulder. “You okay, hon? I mean really, really okay? Because you seem…different. And not too-big-for-your-fancy-designer-britches different like I expected. Sad different.”

  “I’m still just a girl with a guitar, Tonya. Not much has changed except that people actually pay to hear me sing now.”

  Her friend studied her intently. “Okay, if you don’t want to talk about it with some lonely old bar manager with no life of her own to speak of, then I understand. But you could talk to me if you needed to vent. Honestly.”

  “Honestly?” Kylie glanced down the empty hall. “Honestly, no. I’m not okay. Honestly I have no idea what I’m doing and I feel like I’ve been playing the ‘fake it till you make it’ game and I can’t do that with him. Every time he looks at me, I feel like he can read my mind or something and I just can’t—”

  Her sentence was interrupted by someone clearing his throat. Loudly. She closed her eyes. Please let that be Clive. Please, pretty please.

  “They’re ready for us,” Trace said softly. “House band is warmed up and ready to go.”

  Kylie knew her eyes had widened at the sight of him. The dark blue button-up he wore tucked into his jeans fit him perfectly. His hair was fixed differently. As in, he did more than rake his hands through it. Or maybe it was just that there wasn’t a worn-out trucker hat covering it. Either way, he was the Hollywood version of himself that she wasn’t quite used to. Not that any version of Trace Corbin didn’t have the uncanny ability to knock her senseless.

  “Um, okay. Be right there.”

  “Equal footing, cuz,” Tonya whispered from beside her. “Breathe.”

  She did as she was told and forced a smile in Trace’s direction. He nodded once and walked towards the stage.

  “Oh, my poor, sweet cousin from Oklahoma,” Tonya said, shaking her head. “You, my dear, are in big trouble.”

  “I am?” Kylie asked, turning to her friend, wearing her panic all over her face.

  “You’re in love. And as I’ve said before, this shit ain’t for amateurs.”

  TRACE GREETED the crowd, trying his best to focus on them instead of who stood beside him.

  Every time he looks at me I feel like he can read my mind.

  He’d overheard her talking to the waitress-turned-manager that he knew she was friends with. What he couldn’t figure out was if she had been talking about him or the guitar-wielding asshole behind them.

  What the fuck Steven Blythe was doing in The Rum Room’s house band was beyond him. Besides screwing up Trace’s entire life that was.

  “Thank y’all so much for coming out tonight. I can’t tell you how much it means to me. And to someone else who is very special to me. Ladies and gentlemen, Miss Kylie Ryans.”

  The crowd hooped and hollered and whistled as she stepped up into the spotlight. Trace couldn’t take his eyes off of her. Jesus Christ she was beautiful.

  For a moment, he forgot she wasn’t his. Forgot he’d given up the right to touch her, kiss her sweet, smiling mouth. Reflexively, his arm reached out and wrapped around her. The shock was clear on her face and he removed it as smoothly as he could manage.

  “Hi y’all,” she greeted the audience, taking a step away from him as she did. “Thanks for having us tonight.” When the cheers and applause died down, she continued. “Trace and I are so excited about this upcoming tour and we couldn’t wait to share the news with our friends at The Rum Room.”

  She paused, and he knew it was his cue, but the words escaped him. She was wearing a red dress. It wasn’t the exact same one she’d had on the last time they’d been here together, but it was similar.

  “Trace,” she prompted. “Would you like to tell our friends our exciting news?” Her expression indicated that she’d barely been able to not call him a dumbass for gaping at her like an idiot.

  “Of course I would.” He turned and flashed his panty-dropping grin at the audience. “Our exciting news is that Kylie and I are expecting.”

  The response was almost deafening.

  A hand smacked him hard in the chest. “We’re expecting y’all to come see us on the road. Because tonight we’re kicking off our The Other Side of Me tour,” she clarified, practically shouting into the mic over the bedlam.

  He winked when she glared at him.

  “Ah yes. That news,” he agreed.

  At the confirmation that he was just kidding, the audience both cheered and booed them good-naturedly.

  Kylie nodded over at Steven, which forced Trace to muster all of his self-control. But even all of his self-control couldn’t keep the smile on his face. He prayed he wasn’t glaring at least.

  The opening chords of the song they’d written together started up, and before he knew it, he and Kylie were well into it.

  The world wants fun and shiny and new. But I save the best of me for when I’m alone with you.

  Tumultuous past or not, they sang in perfect harmony.

  I’ll keep all in, hide it under a grin, but you’re the only one who sees. Yeah you’re the only one who sees, the other side of me.

  Once they were done, the crowd begged for an encore. Trace began singing Waitin’ for You to Call and Kylie chimed in along with the band. But just like everything between them had always gone, it was over too soon for his liking.

  He knew he shouldn’t look at her, shouldn’t let himself fall into those pools of blue he’d nearly drowned in once before. But he’d always had issues with addiction. So he looked. Stared, really.

  She didn’t say a word. But her voice filled his head. “I was broken. Dead inside,” it whispered. “You made me feel alive.”

  It was a funny thing about addiction. During his stint in rehab he’d learned that addicts couldn’t really ever be cured. They just learned ways to abstain. Resist temptation. And even years after abstaining, the smallest taste would put them right back where they started.

  He hadn’t fully believed it until that very moment. Until he’d gotten a taste of making music with Kylie Ryans and realized that since that day he’d walked out on her in this very same bar, he’d been dead inside. Going through the motions.

  But being here, with her, again…had brought him back to life.

  “WHAT THE hell was the meaning of that?”

  “Of what?” Trace looked at her like she’d lost her mind. But she saw it. That spark in his eyes, that mischievous, triumphant gleam.

  “You know what. It was supposed to be one song, Trace. One. And that whole ‘we’re expecting’ thing. Do you have any idea what kind of rumors you probably just started?”

  He smirked, and she felt her blood pressure rising.

  “Relax, Kylie Lou. It was a joke. And about the encore—so what? It’s just a song.”

  Her fists clenched at her sides as she stormed out the back exit of the bar. “You are such an ass. What happened to being professional and not crossing lines?”

  “Ky—”

  “No, forget it. I don’t know what I was expecting. Same old selfish Trace. Just do whatever the hell you want and don’t bother considering how it affects anyone else.”

  It had been nearly a year since she’d gotten this upset over anything. She was practically shaking with rage. He was so damn arrogant. She was almost overcome with the urge to slap him. Hard.

  “This really about the song? Or you all worked up about something else?”

  She narrowed her eyes at him. “Well, I don’t love that you told everyone in there that I was pregnant either.” She folded her arms and glanced around in hopes that her ride w
ould be there. She just wanted to escape to the safety of her apartment. But the back lot was empty.

  “It was a joke, for God’s sakes. You know, something people say sometimes to break the tension?”

  “Oh, you’re a comedian now? Guess everyone needs a fallback plan.” She tried not to watch as he unbuttoned his sleeves and rolled them up his muscular forearms, but it took serious effort to keep her eyes elsewhere.

  “When did you get so damn uptight? Am I imagining things or did you used to be more fun?”

  She’d been so carefully holding it together with everything she had. But all of his comments in the bar and his whole ‘let’s just make jokes and have fun’ attitude was more than she could handle at the moment.

  “Fun? You want to talk about fun? Yeah, Trace, it was real fun falling for someone who didn’t actually give a damn about me. And it was even more fun watching him run to someone else, someone he’d sworn meant nothing to him, via every tabloid and gossip website known to man.”

  “Kylie, you know how the media is. And I never said she meant nothing—”

  She took a step closer to him, despite how much being in his space scared the crap out of her. But she knew her limits and if he finished that sentence she would break apart in a pile of messy pieces.

  “You know what’s really fun though? The most fun I’ve ever had in my life fun? This sick, twisted joke that fate is playing on me where my dream—everything I’ve worked so hard for, sacrificed for, and damn near lost my mind over—is totally one-hundred percent dependent on some self-absorbed ass who thinks this is all one big joke and that I was put on this Earth solely for his sheer amusement.”

  She squeezed her eyes shut and tried to focus on her breathing. She would not—could not—let him get to her like this. She was a professional. She could do this. No matter what kind of spectacle he tried to turn this tour into, she would keep her head up and get through it. Hopefully maintaining her career and her self-respect.

  “Hey,” he said softly.

  She opened her eyes and saw him reaching out in her direction.

  No. Hell no.

  She put a hand up to stop him. “I’m fine. I don’t know why I’m surprised that you aren’t taking this seriously. But I’m over it now.”

  His mouth dropped openly slightly as if he were going to say something, but the back door opening behind him cut him off.

  “Ryans, you okay?”

  Kylie smiled at Steven, thankful for the interruption. Now that her nerves had calmed, she was completely humiliated that Trace Corbin had gotten the best of her.

  “Yeah, I’m good,” she answered, forcing the biggest smile her face could manage. “Great, actually. You guys taking five?”

  “Yeah, we are. I was going to see if I could buy you a drink.”

  Trace huffed out an annoyed-sounding breath from beside her. “She’s underage, so all you can buy her is a soda.”

  She refused to so much as glance at Trace Corbin or acknowledge his snide comment. She was done letting him get to her. If any one man had used up all of her emotions, it was him.

  “Don’t worry. I know the owner,” she told Steven as she breezed past Trace and back into the bar.

  AN HOUR later, she stood with Steven outside the bar. The SUV taking her home had arrived and she was slightly tipsy.

  “Thank you,” she said, holding on to the lapels of his jacket for support. “For being here tonight. For keeping me company. I had a good time.”

  “I can see that.” He chuckled softly and regarded her warily. “You okay, Ryans?”

  She sucked in a deep breath of outside air and took a wobbly step backwards. “Why do you keep asking me that?” Shaking her head, she waved off Steven’s attempts to help steady her. “You know, it was a year ago. We weren’t even really together. It was a stupid fling and I was a stupid kid with stars in my eyes. Feels like a whole different life. I am so over it. Over him.”

  Clearing his throat, Steven took a step into her personal space. “Yeah,” he said quietly, “I meant, are you okay getting home? Because you were tossing them back pretty hard in there.”

  She felt her face flush in embarrassment. “Oh god.” Suddenly it was hilarious. She dissolved into a fit of laughter. Burying her face into Steven’s shoulder, she had a sobering thought. “Blythe, can I ask you a question? A serious one?”

  “Sure. Shoot, crazy girl.”

  Kylie pulled back just enough so she could look into his eyes. Their faces were so close, their noses almost touching. And yet, he was still a little out of focus. “Am I fun? You can tell me if I’m not. I can take it.”

  A slow grin curved Steven’s lips. “Yeah, Ryans, you’re fun. Tons of fun. But I think you’ve had enough fun for tonight.”

  “Boo,” she heckled at him as he put her into the SUV. “Come by later tonight when you’re done?”

  He sighed and shook his head after buckling her in. “You really think that’s a good idea?”

  Kylie bit her lip and held her breath. Rejection—even rejection from a mere hookup buddy—hurt like hell. And on the night when she’d had to face the man who’d broken her heart into more pieces than she could currently count, it hurt worse than she expected hell might.

  “I’m all out of good ideas, Blythe. But I think it would be fun. And I want tonight to be about fun.”

  “I’ll call you when I get off work.” He kissed her gently on the forehead before tapping the top of the SUV to let the driver know she was in safe.

  Kylie frowned at him as she pulled away. She had a feeling she wasn’t going to be having much more fun tonight. Because she was going to lie in bed and watch the Earth spin while replaying every second of tonight’s interaction with Trace Corbin.

  God, he’d been so…infuriating. But ever since Steven interrupted her and Trace earlier, he’d kept his distance. That was something.

  Settling back into her seat, she remembered something Trace had said before.

  You’re with someone else now. I can respect that.

  She almost laughed out loud at the thought of a light bulb switching on above her head. Trace thought she and Steven were a couple. Like a couple couple. Instead of just a couple of people who messed around on occasion.

  And Steven filling in for Andy, the normal Rum Room guitarist, had obviously put Trace off his game.

  On an impulse, Kylie dug her phone out of her purse. Her manager picked up on the first ring.

  “It’s nearly one in the morning, Kylie.”

  “Chaz, I need you to take care of something for me. Like now.”

  “I told you, I’m not making your hair appointments. You need to do an online search and look up what a manager actually—”

  “Didn’t Aiden and his wife just have a baby?”

  Her manager paused for a moment before answering. “Yes. They had twins. Why is that important at this hour? You already sent a gift.”

  “Because, with two new babies at home, he probably doesn’t want to go back out on the road, right?” The briefest sensation of panic at what she was about to propose struck her, but she ignored it.

  “Well, his wife isn’t exactly thrilled. But it’s his job. Besides, who could we get to replace him on this short of notice?”

  “I have a guy,” she replied. “And I know he’s up for it.”

  “Kylie, if it’s who I think it is—”

  “He’s a friend, Chaz. A good friend. He needs a job, and I could use a friend on this tour.”

  “A tattooed friend with a reputation of leaving your apartment in the middle of the night?”

  She snorted. “A talented guitar-playing friend who will have my back so I don’t lose my composure while on tour with someone who pushes all my buttons.”

  “And you’re sure about this?”

  Was she? It felt like she was. Her liquor-fogged brain couldn’t conjure up a pro- con list at that particular moment, but for the most part, she was sure.

  “I’m sure.”

&nb
sp; “I’ll let Aiden know he can sit this tour out. But, Kylie?”

  “Yeah?”

  “I just want to go on record as saying I think this is a bad idea. One of your worst actually.”

  “Noted.” Yawning, she hung up with Chaz.

  Less than thirty minutes later, she was in the process of passing out on her couch. The night was kind of a blur, but she was pretty sure it had been a success. Mostly.

  The nagging feeling that she was supposed to stay awake for some reason kept her from succumbing immediately to exhaustion. But just as her phone began to ring, she fell into a peaceful sleep.

  The last one she would have for a long time.

  KYLIE WOKE up with a start that landed her ass on the floor next to her couch. Her head pounded steadily in rhythm with her ringing phone.

  She crawled over to where her purse was dumped out next to the coffee table.

  “Hullo,” she answered sleepily once she’d located the source of the incessant ringing.

  “I’m guessing you forgot about picking me up and I should grab a cab,” her best friend snapped.

  “Oh shit.”

  “Nice. I feel the love.”

  “Lulu, I’m an ass. Forgive me?” Kylie rolled on her back and waited for the floor to stop tilting.

  “Yeah, yeah. I’ll see you in a few. Wait. There aren’t going to be any pantsless men in your apartment are there?”

  Her friend’s question sent her reeling even harder than the hangover. Had Steven come over last night? She glanced around the apartment. No sign of any pantsless men.

  “Nope. Just me.”

  “Lame. I guess I might forgive you, though hearing you’d spent the night having great sex would’ve made your forgetfulness slightly more redeemable.”

  Kylie sighed. It always came back to that. Sex.

  The tabloids had it wrong. Her manager had it wrong. Even her best friend in the whole world had it wrong.

  The truth—the cold, hard, painful truth—was that Trace Corbin was still the last person she’d had sex with. And that sucked. It sucked even harder when a picture of him and Gretchen Gibson having lunch somewhere made the front page of the Nashville Star. Made her want to run out and grab the first guy who was willing and beg him to make love to her.