escaped his throat and the heat in his eyes neared lethal. “Did you lock the door like I told you to?”
Kylie bit her lip and shook her head. She’d disobeyed a direct order. She sincerely hoped there would be a punishment in her near future. Preferably something involving spanking.
“You’re really testing me here. I don’t recommend it, darlin’.” The bourbon lingering on his breath pulled her from her lust-filled haze. The scent was more potent than it had been the night before. Alarms rang out at the realization that he was already drinking this early in the morning.
Once he turned and headed towards Pauly’s room, Kylie nearly crumpled to the floor. The breath she’d been holding rushed out of her as she tried to regain some sense of composure. Shaking her head, like that would actually clear it, she wondered what had she been thinking. She wanted a career, a chance to make a name for herself. Not to be another random girl Trace Corbin bagged in the sack and tossed out on her ass.
As much as she didn’t want to concern herself about him, she was still feeling pretty grateful that he’d cared enough to punch a guy out on her behalf. Even if it was totally unnecessary. The way his eyes had flashed and his fists had clenched, it was like he was worried about her. Why, she had no idea. But it felt nice since the only other person who’d ever really cared that much was buried in Oklahoma. As she searched the cabinets for tea and honey, she opened one that she hadn’t even noticed before.
Bottles of liquor, the good stuff that probably cost more than she’d make on this tour, or maybe ever, filled the bottom shelf. Jesus. The man could open a package store. A half empty pint of Johnnie Walker Blue Label caught her eye and she lifted it. There was a tag still attached to the neck.
Trace, Great show! Can’t wait to have you back in the Blue Grass State! Your friends at the Brass Bull. Another, a single malt scotch Kylie had never heard of, sat behind Johnnie with a tag attached as well. Looking forward to working with you again! E & C Recording. Half a dozen bottles of Heaven Hill bourbon sat behind the fancier bottles, a few with cards and tags on them like the others. Did these people not think about what they were doing? For love of all that was holy, the man was known for getting drunk, getting in trouble, and damn near tanking his recording deal. Nothing says ‘thank you’ to an alcoholic like a big ass bottle of expensive liquor. Nice.
Anger surged violent and hot, and an impulse Kylie couldn’t control struck her. She grabbed the bottles and began pouring them down the sink one by one. So he doesn’t screw up this tour and ruin it for me , she tried to tell herself. But the real motivation behind her actions? Something she didn’t want to think about. Or admit. Tears began to stream down her face as quickly as the liquor was going down the drain. Did no one care enough about him to realize what was going on? At the very least, they should’ve cared about his music and tried to stop him from spiraling out of control.
When she was finished, she stared at the empty bottles on the counter. All twenty-seven of them. Her hand rose to her mouth as she took in the aftermath of her temporary insanity. What had she done? More importantly, why had she done it?
“R elax, Pauly. It’s one damn drink.”
Kylie was sitting in the booth on the bus attempting to write when she heard him coming. She’d thrown the evidence of her psychotic break in a black garbage bag and tossed it in a dumpster behind the bar in Jackson they were performing at in less than an hour.
The voices got louder as they stomped onto the bus. “Trace, you heard what Noel said. If you’re so much as—”
“Back the fuck off, Pauly. I’m having a drink on the bus so no one runs their mouth to Noel. Then I will go in there and blow the damn audience away like I always do. Your paycheck is safe.” The snide tone wasn’t one
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