The Bad Boys of Summer Anthology(133)
I continue scanning the packed dance floor. There he is again—of course he is, he seems to be everywhere I look tonight. Only this time, his hands are on some girl’s ass while he grinds her into his crotch.
“Ugh,” I mumble to myself. Instantly, Regina follows my line of sight and then turns back to me.
“Did I miss something?” she asks, cocking her eyebrow and staring at me questioningly. I know she and Trace sometimes run in the same circles so I try to make a quick recovery.
“What? I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“I don’t know,” she says, looking thoughtful. “There’s something in your expression. You do know he’s pretty much a male whore, right?” Not that I need the reminder, based on what I’m seeing right now. Just the way he moves on the dance floor leaves little doubt that the tabloids are accurate when it comes to him. Well, there’s always a first time.
“Please, Gina. Give me a little credit,” I blow her off. Gina gives me a small smile but I see her bite the inside of her cheek, her tell-tale sign that she’s worried about something. “Let’s just drink this champagne and celebrate both of our successes,” I say, knowing alcohol will divert her attention.
Regina pours more champagne and begins to fill me in on what happened with the guy she recently dumped. No matter how demanding her schedule is, Gina always finds time to date, though I use the term loosely where she’s concerned. We’re not much alike in that regard, since I can count on one hand how many guys I’ve dated since I started in this business.
When my eyes betray me and glance in Trace’s direction, I’m surprised to see his glassy gaze directed my way. We lock eyes for the briefest of moments, but I swear I see him smirk at me before his mouth descends on the girl who is shamelessly hanging all over him. After they come up for air, she then begins licking his sweaty neck while those blue eyes reconnect with mine. If I didn’t know any better, I’d think he was teasing me. Completely disgusted and annoyed with him, I turn my attention back toward Regina, who is currently calling a few friends over to join us.
I attempt to remain focused on my friends and acquaintances for the rest of the night, although my eyes occasionally veer back toward the dance floor where Trace and his rowdy group have become more intoxicated and, for lack of a better term, amorous by the minute. An hour later, I say my goodbyes and find my mom to leave. God, you would think that I’m twelve, not twenty-one.
When I get home, I strip out of my borrowed and overpriced strappy sandals. After taking a quick shower, I shrug into my most comfortable pair of pajamas and nuzzle into my luxury pillow-top mattress—one of the few things I’ve splurged on. The last thing I see before I fade into exhausted oblivion is the unwelcome but not unpleasant image of cool blue eyes and creamy mocha skin.
Chapter 2
Trace
What the fuck happened last night? One minute I’m on top of the world, winning a goddamn Grammy award, and the next, I’m waking up face-down on the marble floor of my hotel bathroom. I’m not one-hundred percent sure, but I think I might have been in a jail cell somewhere in between. Since my head is pounding like someone stole a jackhammer and drove it into my brain, I guess my only option is to lie here until somebody tells me I have somewhere to be.
Right on cue, my cell phone goes off from somewhere in the vicinity of my pants. After locating it in my right rear pocket, I answer without bothering to see who it is.
“Holla,” I say hoarsely, while offering up an unworthy prayer that the person on the other end is in whisper mode.
“YOU DUMBASS MOTHERFUCKER!!!”
Shit, I think the jackhammer just drove all the way through my head and cracked the marble underneath. I hold the phone about a foot from my face, noticing for the first time that my knuckles are bleeding. What the hell?
“You done assed out, Ace,” Jay says at a thankfully lower decibel level. Jayden Gray has been my manager since day one, and as much as he seems to hate me, his job, and the whole world, I never doubt his judgment or his trustworthiness. In my business, that means something. Not that it matters…I couldn’t fire his moody ass if I tried, since years ago I signed my life away to the label.
“What’d I do?” I ask, hoping the question doesn’t set him off again. I have to ask though, because I truthfully cannot remember.
“Lemme break it down for ya. According to news reports…” he pauses and I cringe, which makes my head hurt even worse. “You and the crew apparently got shit-faced and partied your asses off, which I’d be totally down with if you hadn’t decided to get in a fucking brawl with another band of brothers at the party hosted by your record company. So yeah, the execs are going ballistic—“
“Shit.”
“Oh no, that wasn’t even the serious shit that hit the motherfuckin’ fan. From what I hear, y’all didn’t do enough damage so you decided to go clubbin’, where you got into yet another fight. And this time, they weren’t toy cops and busted all your drunk asses.”
Ah, that explains the fucked-up knuckles. Damn, what was I thinking?
“You know the ledge, Trace. You walkin’ a fine line. Gotta appeal to the brothas but not be one of them, ya know? You need to recognize that the label don’t like that shit.”
“Jay, you know I hate those nosy-ass mother—“
“You know what I hate? Do you, Trace? I hate being woken up in the middle of the fuckin’ night to bail your drunk ass outta jail, and then having to spend the next ten hours working to clean up your mess while you sleep your sorry ass off. That’s what I hate.” I’ve never heard Jay so fired up—the execs must have given him more than an earful this morning. That sucks, especially since he didn’t do shit to deserve it. The guy may be an ass, but he’s as straight-laced as they come.
“Sorry ‘bout that, Jay…”
“Sorry? You gonna be sorry…you use a jimmy hat?”
What? Oh, hell no. “Not that’s it’s any of your damn business, but I woke up alone. You should know that since you apparently brought me here.”
“Yeah, but I don’t know what happened before I got to you or who might’ve shown up after I left. But I gotta say, that’s the best news I’ve heard all day. Don’t need no babymamas crawling outta the woodwork, do we?”
That’s the damn truth. “So what do we need to do?”
“What you are gonna do is lay low. I’ve got some more cleaning up to do and I don’t want you stumbling around in front of the cameras makin’ things worse. Plus, you better get yourself ready to meet with the suits first thing tomorrow morning. And no, in case you’re wondering, it’s not optional.”
“Say what?”
“The powers that be, and believe me, they do have the power, have scheduled a meeting to discuss your next project. And you might wanna prepare yourself that you may not like it, that’s all I’m gonna say.”
Shit.
My head hurts too badly to really care, so I ask the only question I need answered right now, “What time?”
“Be there at nine and not a minute later. I’ll send a driver; just make sure you’re ready.”
“Yes, Mom,” I say sarcastically and then end the call before any more directives come flying my way. Then my brain catches up with my mouth. I can’t believe I just said that. What I wouldn’t give to have my mom telling me what to do right now. And man, I’d sure as hell be getting a lecture after last night.
Last night…one minute I was missing them both, wishing they were here to see what I had accomplished, and the next, I find myself doing everything that they never would have wanted to see me do. That is so fucked up, it’s not even funny.
Whatever. It’s not like I can do anything about it now, except maybe get up off this damn floor. Might be a good place to start.
“Lordy, Lordy, would ya look at what the cat dragged in?”
“Hey, Stella,” I say, not quite able to look her in the eye. The early morning get-together with the execs did not go well, and even though I could give a fuck about pissing off my label, disappointing Stella is a whole other matter.
“Sugar pie, honey bunch…what in God’s green-and-brown earth have you been up to?”
I know she wants an explanation, but I don’t have one. Not a good one anyway. “Oh you know, a lil’ this, a lil’ that.”
“Boy, don’t you be jive talkin’ me,” she scolds.
I can’t help but laugh. It feels like the first time I’ve genuinely laughed in forever. “Jive talking? Stella, ain’t nobody been jivin’ since the 70s…”
“And look at the mess that happened in that decade!” she exclaims and then surprises me by grabbing my face in her pudgy hands, forcing me to look at her. “Here I was, proud as a peacock, you winnin’ that award and all. Then you go and mention my name in front of the whole ever-lovin’ world, and I didn’t think I could get any prouder. But, I gotta say—“
“Please don’t say it,” I whisper. I don’t want to hear how disappointed she is in me. It can’t be any worse than the way I already feel. After spending all day yesterday moping around the hotel as bits and pieces of the previous night came into focus, all I could think about was what my parents’ reactions would have been. Stella is about the closest thing I have to one around here, so the thought of letting her down is even worse than the hangover I had.