Turning around, a gust of wind whips a rebellious strand of my hair across my lips, where it’s instantly attracted to my pale pink lip gloss. Gently pulling it away, my eyes focus on the five black men climbing out of a super-stretch limo. When the last one steps out and his blue eyes connect with mine, it takes everything in me not to run to Trace. He looks as if he’s going to save me the trip when his cousin, Dre, whispers something in his ear, causing him to look away and wave to the fans, who are literally screaming his name.
“Let’s go, Juliet,” Gina says, hooking her arm in mine. We leave Trace behind with his fans and enter the dimly-lit club, which has obviously been taken over by Backlash for the night. Gina immediately leads us toward the bar, where we both eagerly order our drinks—a glass of Chardonnay for me and Gina’s usual, ‘Envy.’
“You’re still ordering that drink?” I point to the blue liquid served in a martini glass. “Would have thought you’d be onto something new,” I say with a wink and she sticks out her tongue out at me. Regina changes drinks as often as she goes through guys.
We walk over to a table and, as we sit down, I spot Trace entering the room. “Where’s the Wicked Witch?” she asks. Hearing her refer to my mom the same way Ryder did makes me think of him. It hadn’t even occurred to me that we haven’t spoken since we arrived in LA.
“Oh, she’s here,” I say, scanning the room and my eyes briefly pause when I see Trace before they continue looking for my mother. “There she is.” I point over to a table filled with execs from the record label, watching as my mom shamelessly flirts with one of them.
“We need to ditch her tonight,” Gina says, pulling my attention back to her. “Especially if…you know.” She raises her eyebrows and I feel the blush rising in my cheeks.
“Gina,” I warn.
“Tar-yn,” she echoes playfully. “Come on, girlfriend, give me the 411. I see the way your eyes wander his way every other minute.” Her hand reaches over and gives my forearm a soft squeeze. “You know you can trust me.”
I’m about to give in when another singer, Damon Knight, comes over. I vaguely recall her telling me that they dated once—briefly—so I excuse myself and make my way to the bathroom.
Suddenly, two hands press against my back, shuffling me forward and into a back room. The familiar scent of sandlewood cologne floods my nostrils, and without turning on a light or saying a word, Trace pushes me against the wall and kisses me as if he’s thought about this kiss every moment for the past two days.
“Peaches,” he sighs and my body weakens against the solid wall, “this dress…” His right hand lightly grazes up my leg until it reaches the hem. Moving along the outside of the purple fabric, he grips my hip, tugging me toward him and I go willingly, having no desire to fight him.
His lips move to my neck and continue up to my ear, where he sucks my lobe into his warm mouth. Before I can stop myself, I wrap my right leg around his waist and instantly feel his fingers trail toward my satin panties. Our mouths meld together with the force of our desire and for a few blissful minutes, everything and everyone is forgotten. We then slowly part and he gives me a few quick kisses, my leg dropping back to the floor.
“So, I guess we should get back out there,” I say, using my thumb to rub off the lipstick that now stains his gorgeous pouty lips.
“I don’t want to, but you’re right. I just had to taste you, especially after you made me walk in this club with a damn hard on,” he chuckles.
“Sorry,” I say, but secretly thrilled I have that affect on him.
“Somehow I doubt that.” His boisterous laugh echoes throughout the small storage room. “You go first,” he says, releasing his grip, and as I turn toward the door, he yanks me back to him. “Shit, one more taste.” My two hands press against the hard muscles of his chest and he kisses me once again. This time it’s gentle and loving, and when his tongue finds mine, they mingle together as though they’ve done this for years. Just as I think we may never leave this room, he releases me, opens the door, and gives me slight nudge toward it. “Just so you know, my eyes will be on you all night,” he says huskily. I don’t turn around because I fear I’ll never get out of this room if I do.
I stop by the restroom to make sure I don’t resemble an adolescent girl who just came out of the closet after seven minutes in heaven. The inability to stop smiling makes the job of reapplying my lipstick much more difficult, but eventually I get it right before venturing back out.
Regina is sitting with Marcus when I return, while the rest of Trace’s crew is a table away. I don’t see Trace anywhere and I briefly wonder if he’s made it back from the storage room. Marcus gives me a quick ‘hello’ and kiss on my cheek, telling me that the video turned out great and he’s never been able to pull one together so fast. I joke with him that Trace and I are just that good when I hear a chuckle behind me belonging to the one and only.
“There you are,” Trace says so everyone can hear. He kisses me on the cheek, not unlike the way Marcus just did, but the difference in my body’s reaction to those innocent kisses are night and day. “You ready for this?” He moves two steps away, drink in hand, and I already miss his close contact. As he brings the glass to the same lips that just consumed mine moments ago, I see him smirk through the clear liquid as he gives me a knowing look.
“Taryn!” Regina says, snapping her fingers. Trace chuckles again before placing his drink on the table.
“Say what?” I ask her dazedly and her smile grows wide.
“Marcus tells me things got a little hot on set,” she teases, nudging her shoulder with mine. She has no idea how hot they were…or are.
“You’ll see, G. They’re getting ready to show it now,” Trace says, pointing to the large screen that is slowly descending from the ceiling. The desire I just felt quickly becomes apprehension and I begin to fidget in my seat. I jump slightly when I unexpectedly feel a warm hand on my knee and glance over to find that Trace has taken the seat next to me. When I look into the soothing calm of his blue eyes, my body stills almost immediately.
I’m thankful no one can see his hand on my leg under the large wooden high-top table, but I’m even more thankful that he has it there. Especially since his thumb is now rubbing slow circles on my knee, while somehow managing to carry on a conversation with Marcus and Regina. The only thing I can focus on is the way those soft fingertips graze against my skin.
Earl, the head of the record label, steps up to the microphone right as I’m contemplating a return trip to the storage room. After introducing Marcus, he calls Trace and I up to the stage. Trace holds his hand out for me and I accept it, allowing him to help me up. He then drops my hand and follows me up to the stage, and I’m grateful once again for his presence. Earl’s cigarette and scotch-scented breath invades my nostrils when he hugs me and kisses each cheek. After a firm handshake between him and Trace, we join him and the other Backlash executives at a table on a raised platform in the front of the room.
The lights dim even further and the video begins to play. Images taken of Trace and I separately are spliced together, and I’m impressed by his ability to lip-sync the words, considering his verses are much faster than mine. Then again, it’s not like he hasn’t done this many times before. When his deep voice booms out of the speakers with the next verse, he turns his head my way and winks.
It’s always been about me and where I’m goin’
But I can’t ignore the way the winds are blowin’
I can feel the power
It’s like a hurricane
The forces too strong
Gonna drive me insane
That’s it, he has completely unglued me. And if I wasn’t before, the images of us in bed together put me over the edge. I feel my panties get wet—again—as I watch us essentially simulate having sex. It ends at the moment where Marcus first yelled “Action!” when Trace encircled my head with his strong arms, giving me a look that said that everything was going to be okay. I feel that sam
e sense of peace now as the lights come back on and everyone in the club begins applauding loudly. Earl resumes his position on the stage and makes a toast to the “next #1 hit on the billboard charts.”
Trace places his hand on the lower part of my back and we make our way back to the table. Before we get there, however, I feel a tug on my arm and feel myself being pulled out of the room by Regina. As soon as we reach the hallway near the restroom, she spins around to face me. “What the hell was that? Seriously, Taryn, that was fucking hot. What is going on with you guys?” Her voice is almost pleading with me so I pull her arm and we head into the ladies’ room. After ensuring that there is no one else is in here except us, I tell her about everything...the texts, phone calls, video shoot, our date, and even the brief storage-room rendezvous. I also tell her that I honestly have no idea what I’m doing but I love it anyway.
“I knew something was going on, but I definitely didn’t know that.” Placing her hand in mine, she squeezes it tight. “I’m happy for you, T, you deserve it. And Trace is a good guy… just be careful, alright?”
I pull away to stare into the mirror. With both my hands on the edge of the sink, I let my eyes stare at my reflection. I’ve fallen and, although I’m not quite sure how far, I have to be honest with myself. I like him…a lot. But I’m not sure exactly where he wants this to go, if anywhere, so I know I need to heed her advice and be cautious. “I will. Thanks, Gina. And it’s not like anything’s really happened, not yet anyway.”
“Well, we’re gonna have to change that, and there’s no time like the present,” she says, her chocolate-colored staring at me in the mirror with amusement.
“Yeah, I’m sure the ‘Wicked Witch’ will love that,” I say, turning to face her.
“Girl, you just let me handle your mom and you concentrate on lover boy,” she says, giving me a hug.
When we retreat from our sanctuary a few minutes later, however, it’s obvious that her priorities have shifted. I am instantly surrounded by a number of people, all congratulating me on the collaboration. After I finally come up for air, I look across the room just in time to see Gina poke Trace in the chest before getting in his face. It doesn’t take a genius to figure out the content of that conversation.
After a few more pokes and some narrowed eyes, they both begin to laugh and I take a deep breath. Trace wraps his arms around her shoulders and winks my way, all while whispering in her ear. She releases him, giving me a small wave before heading off in another direction.
I give Trace a smile and venture back to the bar, where I order myself a San Pellegrino with lime—I’ve had enough alcohol. If something does happen with Trace tonight, I want to remember every second of it.
A few of the execs and some I recognize from the video shoot join me and we make small talk while we drink. After a bit, I hear my phone buzz in my purse and I’m curious who it might be since just about everyone I know is here. Except Ryder, who is noticeably absent from the party. I check to see if it might be him but I’m surprised to find it’s my dad, telling me he needs to talk. I’m about to hit ‘reply’ when my thumb accidently presses the wrong button and my message log appears. Damn, I’d forgotten about the text that Weston sent the other night when Trace and I were on our date. Not that I would have answered him anyway—just seeing the bastard’s name makes me want to throw up. Or cry.
I sincerely hope that these two texts aren’t related to one another, but something in my gut tells me they are. Before I can find out, I feel a strong hand on my shoulder. A smile creeps across my face and I quickly toss my phone in my purse before whirling around, surprised to find Dre standing there, looking at me curiously. “Make your way to the parking garage—second floor. There’ll be a black Benz waiting,” he says quietly, leaning in close. “Oh, and don’t fuck around with my boy.” He winks before turning around and walking back to the others.
I stand up and straighten out my dress, toss a few bills on the bar, and scan the room. Gina waves to get my attention and I walk toward where she’s talking with my mom, who is slouching a little and seems like she’s enjoying Gina’s company for the first time ever.
“Oh Taryn, you’re mom says she’s going to head home. She’s suddenly not feeling well,” Regina says when I approach, sounding unnaturally concerned and giving me a thumbs-up behind my mom’s head.
“Yesss…Taarryyn. I…” she stops mid-sentence as though she forgot what she was saying.
I quirk my eye to Regina and she giggles. “I’m going to make sure she gets home okay.”
“Great job on the video, sweetie. It looked so….real.” The fact that my mother is complimenting me confirms that she is indeed drunk. “Aren’t you glad we fixed that little prob—“
“Mom!” I interrupt her. Regina looks at me curiously so I quickly quiet my voice. “Just go with Regina, okay?”
Regina holds my mom out on one side of her before leaning over to me. “I believe your black knight is waiting for you,” she whispers. When I give her a quizzical look, she says, “She’ll be fine. Who knew your mom liked all the different-flavored vodkas.” She shrugs her shoulders and grins before escorting my mom through the side door.
I ask a waitress for the best way to get out of here without being seen, handing her a fifty for her help. When I reach the parking garage without a hitch, I think I should have given the girl more money. But that thought is quickly forgotten when a black Mercedes SL550 pulls up and a heavily tinted window rolls down.
“Hey beautiful, lookin’ for a ride?” Trace is leaned back with one hand on the steering wheel and a wide smile across his face. I don’t hesitate before slipping into his car, which has a new leather smell, softened by his cologne.
“Wait, didn’t you arrive in a limo?” I ask him as he makes his way down the ramp.
“Dre and I dropped it off earlier,” he says with that heart-thumping wink. ”So…your place or mine?”
Chapter 12
Trace
“Really, Trace? You’re gonna give me the biggest line of them all?” she teases.
Shit, she’s right. It doesn’t get any more cliché than that. “I’m sorry, Peaches,” I say, reaching over and patting above her knee with my free hand. She doesn’t take a hold of my hand so I return it to the wheel.
“Mine, I guess,” she replies, sounding unsure. I don’t know if that hesitation is because she’s not certain about going with me or about me having me at her house. Either way, I’m not going to give her a chance to change her mind.
“Alright, Studio Hills it is,” I say, pausing at the garage exit. I glance over in time to see her cross her arms, cocking her head to the side.
“What, you’ve never taken the celebrity homes tour?” I ask.
She laughs and then gives me the address so I can input it into the car’s GPS. While I’m doing it, she groans, “God, I hate those tours. Even though my house is set back from the road and there’s a gate in between us, it’s still creepy to see busloads of people pull up out front, waiting around for a picture. I never go out when they’re around—obviously—but sometimes I feel like I’m disappointing them by not going out,” she explains.
“That does suck,” I say, peeling out of the garage. “Makes me glad I don’t have a house they can include on their tour schedule.”
“What do you mean? Where do you live?” she asks curiously.
“I’m at the Chateau Marmont.”
“The Chateau?” she asks incredulously. “You live there?”
“Yup,” I respond, hoping she’ll drop it.
“Trace, you gotta give me more than that. You’ve been in LA for years and you haven’t bought a place to live yet? Are you not planning on sticking around?” she asks. Yeah, didn’t think my one-word answer was going to fly.
“Dre and I used to rent a place together and hell, he practically lives with me now, but I needed some space from him, the guys…all of that.”
“Okay, I understand that. I felt the same way about living wi
th my mom, but—“ she pauses, obviously waiting for me to continue.
“But when it came time to buy, I just couldn’t do it. LA isn’t home to me—it never will be. So I don’t really have any desire to buy a place because that would make it seem like it is my home…which it’s not,” I add and then sigh deeply. “Look, I know that’s a convoluted answer to your question so I guess the short answer to both of your questions would be ‘no.’”
I glance over and see the thoughtful expression on her face. “Last question, I promise,” she says. “Where would you live if you weren’t here then? Chicago?”
“Fuck no,” I respond, then quickly say, “Sorry. But no, I wouldn’t be in Chicago. To be completely honest, I have no idea where I’d be.”
I don’t even realize I’m white-knuckling the steering wheel until Taryn’s soft hands begin to peel the fingers of my right hand from their tight grip. She gently places my hand between hers and then sets our entwined hands on her lap. It’s such a sweet, and for lack of a better term, loving gesture that I don’t know what to say. So I just continue driving, while thinking about the questions Taryn asked.
It’s not like it it’s the first time I’ve thought about where I would go if I weren’t in LA. Hell, sometimes I think it’s all I do think about. There’s only one place where I’ve ever truly felt at home, and it sure as fuck isn’t La-La Land. Or that hellhole in Chicago. Nothing sucks worse than not feeling like you belong anywhere. It’s probably why I’m happy to tour so much—keeps me from dwelling on the fact that I don’t really have a place to call home. But I know that eventually “Trace” isn’t going to be on top and whoever’s left behind when that day comes will need to settle down somewhere.
Collaboration (Backlash) Page 13
