The way I think about your body
your face, your hair
Every time you laugh
I wanna break down and cry
I know I’ll never be the one
To be by your side
The whole time he’s looking right at me, as though the words were written for me. I gulp around a large, golf ball-sized lump in my throat, unable to hide the connection I feel between us. By the time I notice him raise his eyebrows, it’s too late. I missed my part.
Flustered, I try to find where I’m supposed to be in the song and Xavier laughs through the mic. “Man, it’s gettin’ all kinds of hot in there,” he says and I can feel the flush on my face. “Alright, let’s start again. T, start with that verse. You ready, girl?” All I can do is nod my head, willing myself to get through this without embarrassing myself. After today, I probably won’t see him again anyway, except maybe at the next awards show.
A few hours later and a zillion butterfly flutters, we finally make it through to the end. After the closing instrumentals, Trace says softly, “But I still ain’t never seen a horse in the ghetto.” I have no idea if that was part of the song or not since it’s not on my sheet, but I forget about it entirely when he gives me a breathtaking smile, revealing a perfect set of pearly whites.
Xavier bursts into the room. “You guys killed it!” He embraces me in a tight hug, completely taking me by surprise. I stiffen slightly before eventually relaxing in his arms.
“Yeah,” Trace murmurs, and when I peek over Xavier’s shoulder, I see Trace looking at me strangely before he quickly diverts his attention toward the door.
“Shall we?” Trace gestures and waits for me to walk in front of him. I briefly wonder if he’s being chivalrous or he just wants to check out my ass. The fact that it could be the latter causes a surprising tingling sensation down low.
We walk through the control room where Dre is hard at work and then head to the waiting area. The rest of Trace’s team are all hanging out, some on their phones while others are sleeping. My mom sits with her laptop and phone out, and I’m automatically annoyed that she’s still here. Since I drove myself, I was hoping she would be gone but then again, what else does she have to do except run my life?
I turn around to say goodbye to Trace and see Xavier kick the feet of one of the guys who is resting. The guy rubs his eyes, groaning, “X, fucking stop it. I wouldn’t be asleep if it weren’t for your little private recording rules.”
Now that I think about it, it is odd that the control room cleared out. I’m used to singing in front of everyone and their mother watching from behind the glass. I’m astonished they would let Xavier make that decision.
“Not my rules, man,” Xavier tells him, glancing at Trace, who cuts a clear ‘shut the fuck up’ look his way.
“I don’t like to record with a lot of people watching,” he informs me.
“What? Since wh—“ the bleary-eyed guy starts before receiving another kick—this one much harder—from Xavier. “Yeah, no distractions.” His failed attempt to cover up the fact that Trace purposely wanted our recording session private makes me both curious and happy.
I see my mom check her watch and I know our time is up. “Well, I guess this is it for a while. I heard you’re going on tour too. Good luck with that.”
“Yeah, flying out tonight. Starting in DC tomorrow,” he says. All the other guys start making their way out of earshot but, always the eavesdropper, my mother stays put.
“Oh, I guess I lucked out since mine starts in LA.” The comfortable connection we had in the studio has now been replaced with awkwardness.
“Yup,” he mumbles. Just when I’m about to give him a hug goodbye, Trace’s lips turn down and I suddenly find myself being picked up in a great big bear hug.
Once I’m back on my feet, I turn around to see who it is, although I have my suspicions. “Ryder,” I say, playfully swatting at his arm. “Trace, this is Ryder—my guitarist. Ryder, this is Trace.”
Chapter 5
Trace
My guitarist, huh? I can’t help but wonder what else he is to her. Considering his close proximity and the way he’s looking at her, it doesn’t take a genius to figure out what he wants to be. Question is—what does she want? Or rather, who? And an even better question is why the hell do I care anyway?
“Trace?” Snapping out of my ridiculous thoughts, I realize that both Taryn and guitar guy are staring at me. I also don’t miss the curious look her mom is shooting my way, arched eyebrow included.
“Nice to meet you,” I say, using my most polite voice. It’s a good thing my boys aren’t listening in or they’d be giving me shit for sure. “You must be a hell of a guitar player to get to back up this girl.” Okay, that was a dig I just couldn’t help.
“I do what I can,” he says with a smirk, and I have the unexpected urge to knock that grin right off country boy’s face. I can’t even imagine how the execs would react to my starting a fight right here on Backlash property. “Oh, and congrats on the win, by the way, even if you did beat my girl. Then again, she did take home the grand prize so it’s all good, right?”
If Taryn was a fire hydrant, he just pissed all over her. Yeah, I better get the fuck out of here…and fast. “Look, it’s good to meet you, but I gotta jet...literally,” I say and notice the way the corner of Taryn’s perfect pink lips turn up at my words. “Tour starts tomorrow.”
“I heard about your tour,” he says. This should be interesting because I know this redneck doesn’t listen to my music. “What’s it called again?” he asks, and I see his eyes shift to the right where there is a newly-released tour poster covering half of the damn wall. This is Me, Motherfuckers is emblazoned across a life-sized version of yours truly, giving two middle fingers to anyone who sees it. Ironically, this poster doesn’t really represent me at all, but this asshole doesn’t need to know that. I’m not sure why exactly, but he is definitely trying to make me look bad in front of Taryn. Well, two can play at that game.
“I guess they don’t teach you how to read down where you’re from, huh?” I ask, indicating the poster. I don’t miss Taryn’s mouth drop open in shock at my words. So much for being polite.
“Actually,” he says, the ever-present smirk still firmly in place, “our home state is known for its high literacy rates.” And there he goes pissing again.
“Well, that’s nice to hear and if I had more time, I’d love a little lesson on the educational system in Texas. But I have a tour to start, so if you’ll excuse me…” Before I turn to walk away, I lean in close so only Taryn can hear me and whisper, “Talk to ya soon, Peaches.”
I smirk when I see that now-familiar blush consume her face and then strut past Stella’s desk, thankful she’s not currently behind it. I’m sure I’d get an earful after that little exchange and I’m not in the mood. Who the fuck does that guitarist think he is?
I throw open the door and it takes every ounce of my control not to slam it behind me. I sure as shit can’t let them know that he got to me. I cover my face with my hands and let out a low growl, only to find Stella standing in front of me when I uncover my eyes.
“What’s got your britches in a bunch, Sugar?” she asks.
“Nothin’, I’ve just got a lot to do before I leave and don’t have time for this sh—“
One look keeps me from finishing that sentence. Stella has no tolerance for our mouths; she reminds me of my mom in that way.
“Sorry, Stella,” I say, looking her directly in the eyes so she knows that I mean it. “I’ve just gotta go, that’s all.”
The look on her face tells me she knows there’s more to it than that, but fortunately she decides to leave it be. “Alright, honey bunches. You get along now and be good and safe on that tour of yours. And by that, I mean be good and be safe,” she says with a chuckle, laughing at her own not-so-funny joke.
I still can’t help but smile though. Stella is the one person who can always lift my mood. “What, no Motown farewell for me?” I tease.
“Ah, mercy mercy me,” she says and I laugh, immediately recognizing the Marvin Gaye song. He was one of my parents’ favorites and, though I would never admit it to a single soul, “Sittin’ on the Dock of the Bay” is one of my favorite songs ever recorded. “You know I never can say goodbye,” she says with a wink and adds, “That’s from the Jackson Five.”
“You’re on a roll today, aren’t ya, Stella?” I ask.
“Aww, baby love,” she says and now I’m laughing out loud at the reference to one of the Supremes’ biggest hits. “You know I’m gonna miss you, but I’m always here so you call ‘ol Stella if you need me, alright?” She holds out her arms and I let her wrap me in her large, warm embrace. I may be a pussy for thinking it, but damn I need a hug.
“Will do, Stella. Thanks again and we’ll talk soon,” I say, pulling away. I start to walk down the hall toward the private garage where Cal will be waiting for me.