“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.”
YOU 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.