Girl in Love

by Quinn, Caisey

  He’d made it all of two days.

  What he couldn’t figure out was why good ol’ Steve-O wasn’t busting his door down to kick his ass. He almost snorted out loud. The kid could try anyways.

  If the situation was reversed and Blythe had kissed his girl—in front of people or otherwise—there would be some serious ass-kicking happening. But he hadn’t heard a peep. The only person who’d said anything at all about it had been Kylie. And he was pretty sure she was more shocked than actually pissed.

  Lying back on his bed, he smiled at the memory of her sweet mouth moving against his. Soft, and then more firmly. Urgent, like she knew it couldn’t last.

  His dick jerked to attention in response to the thoughts about her mouth. Damn she’d looked good up on that tailgate. The view he’d had of her from below hadn’t been half bad either.

  She was lucky he’d stopped at a kiss and hadn’t carried her off like a crazed maniac to have his way with her. The things she did to him with just a look would break a lesser man. As much as he ached to do something about the tension between them, he had no idea what course of action to take.

  In addition to the tattooed complication, there was one other thing stopping him from demanding the bus pull over at the next jewelry store so he could buy the girl a ring and beg her to change her last name to his.

  He’d called his sponsor. The urge to drink had passed. But there was no denying that seeing her and being a part of her universe was a trigger. Gretchen had warned him countless times that he wasn’t strong enough for this. She’d been right, though he’d never admit that to her.

  It wasn’t fair and it wasn’t Kylie’s fault, he knew that too. But he knew that if he tried to explain that being around her was tempting him to drink, she wouldn’t see it that way. And she’d probably call the whole damn tour off.

  So he’d keep it to himself.

  For now.

  “MORNING,” HE said through a mouthful of cereal as Kylie walked out of her room. “I made you some coffee. Black with two sugars, right?”

  “Morning. And, um, yeah. Thanks.”

  He extended the black mug as a peace offering. “So we should talk.”

  “Trace…” She paused and regarded him intently.

  He used her momentary silence to appreciate how truly beautiful she was. No makeup. Long blond hair falling softly past her shoulders. Bright, clear blue eyes taking him in as well. Her plain blue T-shirt made her eyes look even brighter.

  “Before you say anything, I wanted to apologize. For last night. You were right. Kissing you in front of everyone like that was inappropriate.”

  Her eyes softened and he lost himself in the endless pools of blue. This was his girl. His Kylie Lou who haunted his house in Georgia. The one who had mud fights and made love in barns and showers. The one no one else got to see but him.

  She cleared her throat and reality hit him like a sledgehammer. Well, him and one other guy maybe. God, he hoped it had just been one other guy. He didn’t have the balls to check online to see if she’d dated anyone else while he’d been away.

  Her mouth opened slightly, but he rushed on before she could tell him it was okay, or to go to hell, or whatever she intended to say.

  “And I broke my promise not to cross any lines and that was a dick move. I hope you can forgive me.”

  She sipped her coffee. He held his breath.

  “Kylie? You forgive me?”

  She pursed her lips. “I don’t know yet. I’m still waiting for you to apologize.”

  Trace scoffed. “I just did.”

  “No,” she said slowly. “You just admitted that you needed to apologize. And rehashed some of the things you did wrong. Now you should actually apologize. And then I’ll decide if I forgive you.”

  He couldn’t believe his ears. What the hell was her problem? He smacked his head, intentionally over exaggerating the gesture. “How did I forget? You’re impossible.”

  “And you’re arrogant and hard-headed. Now that we’ve covered that, feel free to apologize.”

  “I did!” Jesus, she made him crazy.

  “Well if that was your apology, then I don’t accept.” He watched as she slammed her coffee cup down on the counter. “I swear, I see things so clearly now. Never once have you ever actually said you were sorry and meant it.”

  “That’s not true,” he said, lowering his voice.

  “When? When have you actually said the words and been truly sorry for what you’d done? Name one single time.” She folded her arms over the soft cotton T-shirt straining against her chest and glared at him.

  The moment his eyes met hers, he knew they were reliving a shared memory. The day he’d walked away from her, he’d kissed her on the head and told her he was sorry. Sorry for hurting her, sorry for putting her through everything he had, and sorry for having to be the one to end it.

  He knew she remembered because her narrowed eyes suddenly widened and filled with tears. He slid out of the booth and stood.

  “Don’t,” she whispered, putting her hands up between them. “Forget it. I-I forgive you. Just don’t touch me. And no more kissing me. Or flirting with me, or whatever. Respect me like you would any other artist or I’m done with this tour. I mean it, Trace.”

  He nodded once to let her know he would. Or that he would try his best.

  “Kylie—” he called out, but she disappeared into her room before he could stop her.

  He dropped back into the booth and placed his head in his hands. Why couldn’t he have just said he was sorry?

  Oh yeah. Because he wasn’t. He wasn’t one bit sorry for kissing her, for wanting her, or for wanting the opportunity to love her again more than he wanted anything. But yet again, instead of being honest and putting his heart on the line, he’d been an idiot and pissed her off.

  She was right. He was the same old Trace.

  He was beginning to wonder if he was capable of doing anything other than hurting her.

  “SHE WROTE a what?!” Kylie tried to distance herself from where she’d been chatting with Hannah and a reporter as she spoke to her publicist on the phone. She plugged the ear she didn’t have the phone to so that she could hear over Trace’s soundcheck. “And someone’s going to publish it? Why?”

  “Money, Kylie. We’ve been through this. People don’t care if she’s full of shit. They care if the book will sell.”

  “She can’t do this. There’s a nondisclosure agreement somewhere. Trace had her sign it when we toured together before. I don’t understand how this is even possible.”

  “It’s being looked into. You might be able to sue her and maybe even the publisher depending on the content of the book. But if she didn’t write about the two of you, specifically, then the NDA might not cover it.”

  Kylie pinched the bridge of her nose with her free hand.

  “Well that’s just wonderful.”

  “Listen, for now, my official advice is ‘Do not engage.’ If anyone asks you about it, just say ‘no comment.’ A public outcry will just generate more attention in her direction.” Her publicist reassured her that she would do her best to take care of the situation before they hung up.

  Jane Bradford was a tough lady who had approached Kylie immediately after her tour with Mia Montgomery and Lily Taite had ended. Seeing how the media was portraying Kylie as the cause of Trace’s rehab stay and then turning her relationship—or whatever it was—with Steven into something that made everyone hate her, Jane had contacted her with a plan. A plan to turn Kylie into Nashville’s Sweetheart—even though she wasn’t entirely sure that’s what she wanted to be. But it worked. And she had Jane to thank for a lot of her success.

  Kylie had let Cora—the publicist she’d shared with Trace—go because it was a conflict of interest for Cora to try and spin his rehab stay positively for both of them. She planned to find an agent as soon as possible so they wouldn’t be sharing one of those anymore either. It was bad enough they shared a bus.

  But Jane�
�s advice was always just keep your mouth shut, and Kylie often found herself struggling with that. And now, some dude named Josh from Rolling Stone magazine was tagging along on her every move. While she freaked the hell out about what her publicist had just said and the fact that she couldn’t stop thinking about Trace Corbin’s mouth on hers. To make matters worse, her phone had been ringing constantly all day.

  “Sorry, I know I’m being rude. It’s just a weird day,” she told Josh in hopes that he wouldn’t write that she was a self-absorbed bitch who spent every waking second on her phone. They still hadn’t made it through the interview they’d started that morning. “I know you probably have a ton of questions left. I have thirty minutes until I go on if you want to squeeze the rest of them in.”

  “No worries.” Josh smiled and she wondered if it was sincere or if he was compiling a list of reasons to slam her. This business was tough, and she’d learned the hard way not to trust anyone.

  “So how has touring with your current boyfriend and your ex affected your performance?”

  Kylie took a deep breath. “Um, that’s a difficult question to answer.”

  “Give it a shot,” Josh prompted.

  She forced a smile. “Oh-kay. Well, for starters, I don’t actually have a boyfriend exactly. Despite what everyone seems to think, technically I’m single.”

  “That so? Well, that’s interesting, considering.”

  “Considering what?” Kylie asked.

  “Oh, you know. The reports that your guitar player leaves your apartment at all hours.”

  “We write together,” she told him through gritted teeth. “And we’re friends. Like, actually friends. Not pretend friends for the sake of the media.”

  “Is that a dig at someone specifically?”

  Josh was starting to irritate her.

  “No,” she said evenly. “It’s just, sometimes you read that people are in a relationship or just friends or enemies, or whatever, and really it’s just media hype for their next album, or a tour or something.”

  “I see. Care to give an example?” Josh arched an eyebrow under his over-styled-to-look-intentionally-messy brown hair.

  Suddenly she felt extremely stupid. As if stringing words together into sentences was suddenly outside the realm of her particular skill set. She’d never liked talking things out very much. She preferred to write songs about her feelings.

  “I don’t have one.” She sighed. “I just meant that I’m not playing anything up or down with Steven Blythe. We’re friends. We hang. We have a good time. My regular guitar player’s wife just had twins. He needed some time off and Steven’s band was taking a breather. It was perfect timing and it’s nice to be on tour with a friend.”

  “Would you call Trace Corbin a friend?”

  Geez. This guy. Kylie glanced over to where Trace stood up on the stage. A few VIP fans had won tickets to some promotional thing he was doing before the concert. They were all female and squealing and jumping up and down. She was pretty sure one of them started crying when he hugged her and signed her shirt.

  “No, I probably wouldn’t.” She bit the inside of her cheek harder than she meant to and tried to think. It was important not to say anything that could be twisted into something negative later. Or that the label would give her hell for. “But not because I have bad feelings toward him or anything. Just because at one point we were sort of involved and now we’re not. It’s like dating someone you work with and then breaking up. But you still have to work in the same office. You don’t hate each other, but the dynamic of your relationship has changed. So it’s not something I can label for you. It’s not friendship and we’re not a couple. We’re just on tour together.”

  “And why is that?”

  Kylie pulled her eyes from Trace. “Why is what?”

  “Why are you on tour tog—”

  Before he could finish, her phone rang again. She offered him an apologetic smile. “Sorry. One sec.”

  Glancing down at her phone, she didn’t recognize the number. But the way this day was going, it could have been anyone.

  “Hello?”

  “Kylie? Kylie Ryans?” The voice was female and super high-pitched.

  “Um, yes? Who is this?”

  She heard squealing in the background. “Oh my gosh! It’s really you! Can I ask you a question?”

  “I’m sorry, who is this?”

  “Are you and Trace Corbin really getting back together? Because you should know, he hooked up with my friend Kelly and she—”

  Kylie hit the disconnect button and did her best to smile at Josh. “I’m so sorry but I need a minute. I need to make a phone call.”

  As she was pulling up Chaz’s number, Hannah appeared in her line of vision. She hung up before Chaz answered and waved the girl over.

  “What’s wrong?” Hannah asked as soon as she was in hearing distance.

  “I need a new phone number,” Kylie informed her. “Now.”

  “On it,” Hannah promised, retrieving her own phone from her pocket.

  “I’m sorry, you were saying?” She turned back to Josh, who was busy jotting something down in a little notebook. “Damn. Now you’re going to write that I’m a huge diva who orders my assistant around, aren’t you?” She smiled her sweetest smile and winked at him.

  “Nah,” Josh scoffed. “Not in those words anyway.” He winked back, and she sincerely hoped he was kidding.

  Her phone rang again and she glared at Hannah’s back. Again, it was a number she didn’t recognize.

  “Hello?”

  “Is this Nashville’s Sweetheart?” a deep, male voice asked. “Because if it is, I just wanted to tell you that if I was Trace Corbin I’d come into your room at night and lick—”

  “I’m not Nashville’s fucking sweetheart, you sicko,” she yelled into the phone. She wanted to throw the damn thing into the nearest river.

  “Hannah!”

  The girl turned and came running back in her direction. “Kylie, I’m so sorry. It looks like Lily Taite lost her cell phone in a club and someone leaked all of the numbers in it online. I’m doing everything I can to get yours changed right now.”

  “Great. Thanks, Hannah.” She silently vowed to kick Lily’s ass both for being in a club and losing her phone the next time she saw her.

  “Kylie,” Pauly Garrett called out to her. “Trace is all done. You’re up, darlin’.”

  Turning to Josh, she apologized for what felt like the twentieth time. “I know today didn’t go so well, and I appreciate your time. If you want to continue this by phone later, I can have Hannah get you my new number as soon as I have it.”

  “I think I got everything I needed. Have a great show.”

  She tried to ignore the lump in her throat as she thanked him again. The entire day had been a disaster. She was damn near positive she was not about to have a great show. And she was canceling her subscription to Rolling Stone magazine immediately.

  FOUR HOURS later, Kylie slid into the back seat of an SUV with windows tinted so dark she couldn’t see out of them.

  “Just the nearest place with greasy fast food where no one will see us.” She’d wanted to drive her daddy’s truck, but in this part of town she would’ve stuck out like a sore thumb in an ’88 Chevy pickup.

  “I’m sure it wasn’t that bad,” Lulu reassured her. “I mean, he has to know you can’t help that your number was leaked and you were getting prank calls all day.”

  “And,” Steven chimed in, “the interview was supposed to be about your music. Not your love life. He shouldn’t have even been asking those questions.”

  She sighed and leaned her head against the blackened window. “He’s a reporter. He can ask whatever he wants. And he can write whatever he wants. And I was a bitch to Hannah.”

  “You’re a celebrity. You can be bitchy. Totally acceptable,” Lulu said, shoulder bumping her.

  “Yeah right,” Kylie mumbled. It didn’t matter how many albums she sold. She would never think o
f herself as a “celebrity.” They were an alien race she had no plans to join.

  “For the record, I wouldn’t be mad if you went around telling people I was your boyfriend. I’ve been called worse.” Steven slung an arm around her shoulders.

  “I was trying to be honest. Fat lot of good that probably did me.”

  “Let’s just say you’re portrayed in a negative light in his article. You really think it’s the end of the world?” Her best friend got out her cellphone. “Watch this.” With a few quick touches, she pulled up a screen with search results for Kylie’s name.

  Kylie let her eyes roam over her friend’s findings. A few YouTube music videos, her official website, social media sites, a few fansites, some mentions on TMZ, and celebrity gossip sites.

  “Your point?” she asked, glancing back up at Lulu.

  “My point is, this is just the part of you that you let people see. It’s the public version. The private version of you is yours. And it belongs to you and whomever you decide to share it with. I mean, hello. You’re on a tour named after a song you wrote about the fact that you don’t let everyone see that side of you. The real side. So to hell with what one reporter or one magazine prints. You know who you really are, and at the end of the day, that’s what matters.”

  The lyrics she and Trace had written floated through her head. At one point, he’d been the one she shared that side of herself with. And that hadn’t turned out so well.

  It still hurt. Hurt bad. Deep down in that private part of herself she kept hidden away, there was nothing but pain. There was a reason she kept it hidden.

  She’d opened her heart and soul to someone who’d chosen to walk away from everything she’d had to give.

  One of many memories she’d shoved out of her head with all her might forced its way back to the surface. I love you, she’d told him in the cab of her daddy’s truck.

  That look on his face, the shock and the panic, was one she’d never forget. And it wasn’t what he’d said afterwards that still stung. It was what he hadn’t said.