Girl in Love (13 page)

K
YLIE 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 idiot. 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.

But every single time she and Steven had come to crossing that particular threshold, one of them always held back. Or passed out. Their encounters rarely occurred when sober.

“Sorry to disappoint,” she told her friend. “See you soon, Lu.”

“M
OVE YOUR
ass, Country Queen,” Lulu said as she banged on the bathroom door the next morning. “We have to leave in an hour and I need to shower.”

“Nice rhyme. Maybe you can write my songs from now on,” Kylie teased as she exited the bathroom.

The two of them kept up the constant witty banter all morning in an attempt to avoid discussing the situation at hand. The one that was about to become their reality for the next few months.

Stepping out of her apartment building and into the unforgiving glare of the sun, Kylie squinted and slid on her aviators. Beside the black SUV picking her up stood her manager and a slender exotic-looking girl with a chin-length haircut that looked as expensive as her designer suit.

“Kylie, this is Hannah, the day-to-day manager we discussed accompanying you on this tour. Hannah Reagan, Kylie Ryans,” Chaz said gesturing to each of them.

Kylie shook Hannah’s hand briefly. “Nice to meet you, Hannah. Not sure what you did to get stuck babysitting, but I’ll try not to get gum stuck in my hair. Not too often anyways.” She smirked but then forced her lips into the most genuine smile she could manage. Wasn’t this poor girl’s fault her management company thought touring with Trace was more than she could handle on her own.

“I’m Olivia,” Lulu said. “Stylist, best friend, life coach, and owner of Kylie’s embarrassing middle school pictures should you need them.”

Kylie snorted at her friend’s ‘life coach’ comment and watched as Hannah took them both in. Lulu, with her short, bleached-out boy haircut with pink and black streaks, and then her.

She wondered what she looked like to someone who didn’t know her. The jeans she wore were ripped, but they’d come that way and she didn’t even want to know how much they’d cost. She’d stopped asking long ago. The vintage T-shirt she had on wasn’t one from her dad’s collection, it was designer too and probably worth more than what the band featured on the front had made in their entire career.

“Hannah’s from the New York office and is really excited to be learning the ropes of artist management.” Chaz continued discussing Hannah’s qualifications until Kylie was tired of nodding and smiling.

“We’ll be fine, Chaz. Someone is making sure my truck makes it to each show, correct?”

Kylie prided herself on not being a diva. She didn’t make people fill her trailers or green rooms with roses or champagne or bowls full of M&Ms with all the brown ones removed.

She just had one relatively simple request. Wherever she went, her daddy’s truck went. It had its own special trailer that blended right in with the ones carrying tour equipment and luggage.

“Yes. Jackson Ashford is in charge of it. He has the spare key and will handle anything you need. I’ll text you his contact info.”

“Sounds good. Thanks, Chaz. I’ll keep in touch.” With that, she nodded at the driver who’d opened her door and slid into the vehicle.

“Hey, Kylie,” Chaz called out just before the door closed between them.

“Yeah?” She leaned forward so she could still see him.

“Make good choices, okay? This is bigger than you now. You get that, right?”

She rolled her eyes behind her sunglasses. “Yes, sir. No getting caught with hookers or blow. I got this. Peace out, Chaz.”

She didn’t have to see him to know he was shaking his head in that exasperated way he had.

“So you were kind of a major bitch to Hannah Banana back there,” Lulu said as she hopped into the SUV from the other side.

Thankfully the new chick was riding in a different car. Kylie wasn’t really in the mood to keep up the forced small talk and fake smiles. She pulled a prescription bottle from her purse and dropped two oval-shaped tablets into her hand. She could feel her friend’s steady gaze on her as she retrieved a bottle of water from the mini-fridge and took her migraine medicine.

“I wasn’t trying to be,” she mumbled over the pills she was trying to swallow. “Guess my
life coach
should’ve taught me better manners.”

“You don’t pay me enough for that.” Lulu nudged her elbow off the armrest they shared. “Anyways, she seems nice enough. Little out of her element, but nice. Maybe take it easy on her. Remember how out of place you felt when you first came to Nashville?”

Leaning back in her seat, Kylie closed her eyes and took a deep breath. “Yeah, I remember. And you know damn well I spend the majority of my time trying
not to
remember. Thanks for bringing it up.”

“You’re welcome,” Lulu responded, as if Kylie’s appreciation had been genuine and not laced with sarcasm.

The drive to the lot where the tour bus and the rest of the convoy waited was quiet. Until they pulled in and Lulu broke the silence. “Hey, speaking of reminders, did you forget to mention something? Maybe something kind of important?”

Kylie stretched her neck and rubbed her temples. Obviously the meds hadn’t kicked in yet. “Not that I know of, why?”

“Because that guy waiting by the bus looks a hell of a lot like Steven Blythe. Unless you know another tattooed guy with black hair and a habit of carrying a guitar case around.”

Kylie lowered her sunglasses and looked out her window. Dear God. That damn sure was Steven Blythe.

What the hell is he doing here?

The question had no sooner entered her brain than the blurred memory of why he was here came back to her. He was here because she’d drunkenly decided he could fill in for her guitarist on this tour. Because Trace Corbin apparently wasn’t enough drama to deal with.

“Um, did I forget to mention he was filling in for Aiden on this one?”

“Um, yeah. Apparently you did.” Lulu gaped at her in disbelief. “Do you really think this is a good idea?”

No.
“Sure. Why not? He’s a friend. He needed a job.”

Lulu snorted out an obnoxious laugh. “I bet. Didn’t realize you were giving out
jobs.
”

“It’s not that big of a deal.” She wondered if she said it out loud enough times if it actually wouldn’t be. Or if Lulu would believe she believed herself.

“Sure it’s not. Who better to bring along on a tour with your famous ex than your current fuck buddy? It’s genius really. This should go swimmingly.”

“He’s not my—” Kylie began but didn’t get to finish because Lulu was already out of the SUV and had slammed the door. “Fuck buddy,” she said, completing her sentence for her own benefit as she got out of the vehicle. She ignored the puzzled look of her driver as he held her door open. She lugged her carry-on bag onto her shoulder and made her way to where Lulu was waiting.

“I might’ve been slightly intoxicated when I made this particular executive decision,” she whispered to her friend as discreetly as she could.

Lulu checked Steven out blatantly and nodded her approval. “Well…at least he’s pretty to look at.”

Y
OU HAVE
got to be kidding me.

The thought repeated itself half a dozen times in Trace’s mind as he watched Kylie greet Steven Blythe. By
their
tour bus.

He’d told himself that he was probably just there to say goodbye. It wrenched a knife into his gut, but he’d prefer that option to what was really happening. The motherfucker had his guitar with him. And was currently being introduced to Kylie’s band. A band conspicuously missing one member.

He knew it was possible that he was imagining it—wishful thinking and all that—but Kylie’s smile appeared tight from where he stood. The creases in her forehead could’ve been from the sunlight in her eyes, but the giant shades she had on were probably providing sufficient protection.

No, he was almost positive she was uncomfortable. Well, that made two of them. He turned to his manager and jerked his head toward Kylie and Steven.

Pauly Garrett scratched his chin and shrugged. “Aiden Rogers and his wife just had twins. Guess she decided to give him some time off,” he said only loud enough for Trace to hear.

Or she just wanted to give her boyfriend some time on.

The thought provoked a painful tightening in his chest.

“Think he actually gives a shit about her or he’s using her to get ahead in the business?” He felt his jaw flexing as his manager cleared his throat.

“I think it’s none of our business either way.”

He nodded once. “Right.”

After Pauly had left to board the bus he’d be riding on, Trace spent the next few minutes helping the crew load equipment into the trailers.

Despite the magnetic pull he felt toward where Kylie still stood with the friend from home he’d met a few times before, an attractive dark-haired girl he didn’t recognize, and Steven, he did his best not to glance over his shoulder in their direction.

He hadn’t even looked up until his bass player came over to lend a hand.

“Who’s the blonde?”

“Friend of Kylie’s from back home, Mike,” he answered without removing his eyes from the equipment he was loading. “Do me a favor and don’t bother, okay?”

The other man held his hands up. “Now wait just a damn minute. Since when does your shitty love life have to interfere with everyone else’s?”

“Since now.”

Mike frowned at him from under a mess of blond hair. “You know, if it were me in your position, I’d be thinking that this tour could be the perfect opportunity to—”

“Thin ice, Brennen,” Trace practically growled at him. “Drop it.”

“You don’t even know what I was going to say.”

Trace slammed the door to the last trailer shut with a bang. “And I don’t want to know.”

Without another word on the subject of Kylie Ryans, her friend, or what might or might not happen on this tour, Trace turned away and stalked over to his bus. Granted, it was only half his. But it was half
his
. Not half Steven Blythe’s. Dammit.

“Hey,” Kylie said softly as he approached. “Um, I haven’t gotten on yet so I didn’t know if you’d already picked which room you—”

“Take whichever room you like,” he said shortly as he moved past her little entourage without slowing.

Take the room, take my heart, take my life.
He would’ve written it down and used it for lyrics later but he didn’t have the ability to think straight at that particular moment. Seeing Kylie and Steven together was his kryptonite. It hurt. It sucked out his soul and made him feel weak and vulnerable and pissed the hell off about it.

Dropping the one bag he carried in the booth in the middle of the bus, he plopped down into the seat and lowered his head in his hands.

For a few moments, he sat in silence, alone with his thoughts. Thoughts of calling his sponsor because he wanted a drink so bad he could taste it. But that wasn’t the want that was overpowering him.

He wished they’d had rehab for Kylie Ryans addiction. He never would’ve left.

The sweet sound of her laughter chimed through the bus as she boarded and greeted the driver. He hadn’t even noticed the man before. He only caught a few words of their conversation, but the ones he did were, “Oklahoma, my daddy, this guitar, and of course I’d love to sign that for your daughter.”

Yeah, she was different in a lot of ways. But she was still the same girl who had stepped tentatively onto his bus two years ago.

His mind’s eye conjured the memory of her greeting him on the bus during his
Back to My Roots
tour. He’d known even then that there was
something
about her. But he’d had no idea how drastically she was going to change his life. And he’d been completely clueless about how much she was going to change him.