The Bad Boys of Summer Anthology(156)

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 that is 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 with 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.

I pull up on the street in front of Taryn’s house, grateful to arrive before my thoughts can continue further along this melancholy path. You can’t miss her place because even though it’s as cute as she is, it’s the smallest house on the block. Of course, that’s completely relative and it still probably costs more than most people will make in a lifetime, but still….I know she’s not hurting for cash.

I turn to ask her about it and the glow from the overhanging street lamps reveals that she is sound asleep. The way that the lights illuminate her strawberry-blonde curls framing her perfect, pale face, I swear she looks more angelic than any angel ever could. I hate the thought of disturbing her sleep, but I also can’t get her inside her own house without help.

As I’m disentangling my fingers from hers, I spot her clutch on the floorboard. Without pause, I pick it up, find her keys inside, and pull them out. I’m surprised to find an unusual-looking key fob and when I push the button on it, I’m even more stunned when the iron gates in front of me begin to open. What the fuck kind of security is that?

I toss the keys back in her purse, pull the car in, and close the gate behind me, swearing under my breath so I don’t wake her. Once I cut the engine, I shoot off a quick text to Cal—the girl has some serious security issues. While making sure her daughter is half-naked in a music video is obviously important, Taryn’s safety is evidently not high on her mom’s priority list. That ends tonight.

I look over at her again but this time I can’t stop myself from placing a chaste kiss on her sweet, luscious lips. I have no idea whether she intended to just lick her lips or not and I really don’t care, because when her soft tongue snakes out and licks across the seam of my lips, my dick instantly wakes up. I want to make sure she’s awake before I launch a full-out invasion of her mouth, so I part my lips and slowly stroke her tongue with mine. In response, I feel her delicate fingers wrap around the back of my neck as she tilts her head and tangles our tongues together. Yup, she’s awake.

I can’t stop the moan that erupts from my mouth when my left hand brushes through her silky curls. I have never felt hair this soft in my life and as fucking corny as it sounds, I could honestly run my hands through her velvety locks all day and all night. She echoes my moan, although hers sounds a lot like a frustrated groan, which is confirmed when she grabs the hand that’s twisted in her hair and places my hand right above her knee where I had it earlier. Message received but hell no—I’m taking this slow.

I leisurely stroke the smooth skin along the hemline of her dress, moving toward the inner part of her thigh. I feel her legs part slightly, giving me an open invitation to go where I badly want to be, but I utilize every ounce of restraint I have. Once I plunge my fingers into her wet pussy, I know that there will be no slowing down.

A light outside flickers, reminding me that we’d better get the fuck out of this car and into her house before one of those tour buses stops by and the lucky bastards end up with photos worth way more than the chump change they paid for the tour. I reluctantly pull away, loving the sound of her whimper, before I throw the door open, hop out, and slam it shut. I run around the car to help her out and lead her toward one of the few places where we will be safe from prying eyes. We both move quickly, ducking our heads in a conditioned and now completely natural response—even when there aren’t any cameras around.

Taryn already has her keys in hand and immediately opens the heavy wooden door. Thank the fuck she at least has an alarm system, which she turns off while I close the door behind us. As soon as the door clicks closed, I turn toward her with a look that would no doubt be described as predatory. But instead of looking like frightened prey, I only see pure lust emanating from those staggeringly beautiful eyes. I’ve always thought Taryn’s eyes changed color depending on her mood and now I’m sure of it. Right now they look like they’re on fire, gold flecks bursting through wild and intense green, a forest on the verge of erupting in uncontrollable flames.

I stalk closer and she backs up against the foyer wall, where I cage her in, my hands beside each of her shoulders. I lean in, bypassing her lips and moving mine toward her ear. Although her eyes are telling me one thing, I need to hear what her mouth says.

“Do you want me?” I whisper. She leans her head back against the wall, further exposing her neck, and I take the opportunity to trail kisses from her ear down to her collarbone. I kiss across the delicate area, which judging by the sounds she’s making, is also an erogenous zone for her. Then I proceed to kiss my way back up her neck before whispering in her other ear. “Although I like that answer, I need to hear you say it, sweetheart. Do. You. Want. Me?” I ask, nibbling on her earlobe with each word spoken.