Chapter 47: (Even) Rock Stars Get Played

I really really want to drag my updates out, but then I think about you guys...the readers. This chapter is dedicated to anxietal. She's got a book herself, that I'm really diggin'...called Both of Us. Check it out,  but it's on hold, so don't stress her for updates...Here's to you, anxietal ....

Kat

When I come downstairs already showered and dressed for the day, Trace is in the kitchen again. On the phone again, doing rock star business probably. Unlike yesterday, when he wore cargo shorts and an old brewery T-shirt, today, he looks like the rock star he is, in skinny faded jeans and a plain tight gray t-shirt that probably cost two hundred dollars. He's shaved and he's already styled his hair. Ray-bans hang from his shirt. I guess he's put on the swagger today because he's headed to LA, but he doesn't sound like his swaggery self. He sounds a little...anxious.

"You sure, man? I don't know when her flight is, and I don't want to hold you up."

He listens. "Naw, she's got her own thing—a summer internship," He chuckles a little. "I wish, man." He finally notices me coming up behind him. He mouthes good morning to me. "Yeah." Then he frowns. "I don't know. I told you—" he rolls his eyes, and grimaces. "Okay, okay. I'll ask."

Trace looks me up and down quizzically, noticing my turquoise paisley romper that I bought yesterday.I've paired it with a thin white shirt, knotted at the waist and I'm wearing the espadrilles, too. He smiles —it's much more my old boho style than my recent serious girl look and apparently he approves.

"Okay, damn, I said I'd ask," he barks into the phone. He winks at me. "My very impatient bio-dad wants to invite you to join us for dinner. At his place in LA tonight. I told him you can't, you are headed to—"

"Oh my god, really!?! Tell him, thank you, I'm a huge fan and I can't wait to meet him." I say with a sweet smile.

Trace lowers the phone and presses the mute button. "Are you serious?" he asks slowly. He notices my pullman that I lugged downstairs. "What about your internship?"

"I can still make it," I promise him, and then wrap my arms around him. "And honestly...I'm not ready to say good-bye to you again. Unless you don't want me to come with. I mean, if you need some time alone with Matt and his family—"

"No, no," he assures me quickly, he checks the phone to make sure it's on mute. "I'd really like it if..." he clears his throat and shrugs, "it will be easier if you are there to have my back," he says softly. "There's so many of them."

I beam at him. My big sexy rock star lived his whole life as a only, lonely child. It's throwing him off to realize he has five siblings. He's so cute when he's nervous. "You got it, TG." I put his phone back to his ear. "You better not keep Matt del Marco waiting," I whisper as I slip away to see about breakfast. Smiling, I pull the butter and cheese from the fridge. Trace winks at me and grabs the loaf of bread from the pantry. I'm super hungry, though, thanks to Colin trying to kill me at the gym this week, so I grab a yogurt, too.

As Trace briefly coordinates the travel details with Matt and smears butter on bread, Ben saunters up from the basement with a shit-eating grin on his face. "Glad to see you not crying over the recycling this morning," he says lightly, with a nod to Trace.

I squint at him. "You knew all day yesterday that Trace was coming, didn't you?"

"Yep."

"And you didn't think the decent thing would be to let me know?"

"Nope. That's not part of my job, getting in the middle of my principle's personal affairs." He looks at the unopened yogurt in my hand. "Any left?"

"Eating my yogurt now, too?" I challenge.

"Actually, you are eating my yogurt." He points to the label. "You bought that diet, artificially sweetened crap; I bought the good stuff."

"Oh, sorry," I mutter and offer him the container.

He takes it. "Don't mind if I do. Thanks."

"Really?" Damn, I really wanted that yogurt. He's right, it's a lot better than the crap I bought.

He points at Trace with his spoon, "Just because you gotta pet rock star on a leash, doesn't mean every guy does exactly what you want," he smirks.

"You work for my pet rock star," I sneer back. "What if I told him how obnoxious and annoying you are?"

"I would say I'm glad you Ben irritates the shit out of you," Trace wraps his arms around me from behind. "Otherwise I'd be jealous, since he's going to be spending a lot more time with you than me this summer."

I twist in Trace's arms. "Oh no, he's not. I don't need security, Trace. Nobody even knows I'm Little Sister, unless I'm with you. You are wasting your money, having Ben follow me around. I'm completely off the radar, except on your arm."

Trace never takes his eyes off me. "Ben, how many people took Kat's picture when she was out yesterday?"

"About two dozen," he says, "Only three were professionals. Well, only two paps actually got shots. The one that tried to sneak into the dressing room, walked away with all his images deleted and a promise I would break his camera if I saw him again yesterday."

I turn to gawk at Ben. "I never saw any paparazzi."

He nods. "I know. That's because I saw them first, and made my presence known."

"One tried to get pictures of me changing? Really?"

"Yeah. In Anthropologie."

"Shit." That would have been bad. That's where I bought this romper. It's strapless, so I had taken my bra off to try it on. I sigh. "Thank you, Ben."

"Just doin' my job, Ms. Ballard." He strolls away with the yogurt. "Car here in twenty," Trace calls after him, and Ben holds the spoon up in the air as acknowledgment.

Trace runs his hands up my sides. "It's my fault you and Ben got off to a bad start—that night I left him to watch you in the hotel suite. But can you do something, for me?" He gives me the dreamy rock star smile, and I nod, helpless in his gaze.

"Can you please not bust his balls all the time?"

I bite my lip. "He told you? That I've been giving him a hard time?"

"He hasn't said a word. I just know you."

I sigh. "I have been childishly rude to him. Ben being around annoys me, but it's really kind of...you I'm annoyed with, about Ben."

He raises his eyebrows. "How so?"

"I feel like you think I'm still fifteen. Like I need babysitting."

"Baby, it has nothing to do with me not thinking you are competent to take care of yourself. I take security with me all the time—to avoid the hassles of fame. He's not paid to report on you, you know. You can go whatever, do whatever, with whomever—he'd never tell me, unless there was an incident that compromised your safety. He can't do his job if you don't feel comfortable with him."

"So if Ben isn't reporting on me, how did you know I was with Colin this week?"

Trace grins. "Riley. Now, he will stalk your ass. It's basically why I hired him—to help keep tabs on Ash."

I roll my eyes. "Well, I'm not your druggie fake wife fleeing from you for a fix, so Riley does not get to keep tabs on me, okay? No social media stalking, or actual stalking." Then as an afterthought I poke Trace in the chest. "And no outsourcing to private investigators, either. Riley told my parents he had a damn network for Ash. You can't try to control my life like that, ok?"

Trace leans his arms on my shoulders and pouts. "It wounds me that you think I would treat you like that. I didn't do that because I wanted to control her, but because I couldn't trust Ashlynn to handle herself. I trust you. If I wanna know where you are, baby, I'll ask you. I'll trust what you tell me. And you can do the same. Because wherever I am, no matter what I'm doing, or who I'm with, my heart and my loyalty belongs to you. And I'm really hoping that you feel the same."

I hook my fingers through the loops of his jeans and lean my head on his chest. My heart has belonged to Trace practically as long as I can remember, but my heart is still sore right now, from his rough handling, and I still need to protect it. "I feel the same," I say hoarsely, but it's hard for me to say anymore more than that. It was much easier to say "iloveyou" over text last night. I change the subject. "Where is Riley, anyway?"

"In LA, getting stuff set up for the big father-son reveal and doing some stuff I need done," he says vaguely. He twists around to spatula the grill cheese out of the pan, offering it to me. "So will you play nice with Ben? He's going to get some other guys to try out, put you together a rotating detail...but if you like the other guys better than Ben, he'll bow out and come back on tour, 'cause he's like, mine and Adam's favorite guy."

I munch the grilled cheese, as I slap another one in the pan. Trace puts an arm around me, and we watch the sandwich cooking together. "I will play nice with Ben."

"That's my girl." Trace kisses me lightly, and then stiffens, his eyes widening. "Sorry, I forgot I'm leaving the kissing to you."

"A little kiss is fine," I murmur. "Believe me, when I'm ready to have you in my bed, you'll know it, Rock Star."

"Mmmmm," he groans and slides a hand down my ass. I pull it away, because I really don't want to be all hot for him on the car ride to the airport, or distracted by lust when I meet THE Matt del Marco. "Your sandwich is burning," I whisper as I twirl away.

The car ride is uneventful, except that Trace and I alternate DJ'ing the songs and get in a playful fight about which band is better for beach listening— Vampire Weekend or Tame Impala. When we get to the airport, Trace puts on his sunglasses and a ball cap. He hesitates. "You sure about this? I mean, if you miss your first day of your internship..."

"Let me worry about that, okay?" I pat his hand.

Trace is virtually incognito, but I didn't bring a hat. An airport security team of four immediately appears from nowhere and walks us and Ben. Someone recognizes me. I hear my name, and then "Trace! Trace!" and a few cameras flash. "Just keep walking," Trace tells me. "Airports are not the place to stop for fans. Even a small crowd and TSA gets antsy." Somebody shouts out "Trailbait!" in a mocking voice. I let out a little gasp of indignation as I realize they are talking about us—that's our ship name.

"Oh fuck no," I mutter, my head snapping around to locate the asshole that shouted so I can flip him off.

Trace's grip on my hand tightens slightly, his Rock Star face never waivers. "Let it go, Kitty. Haters gonna hate."

The security crew directs us  to a private security area—even celebrities flying private jets get screened, it seems. But it's pretty painless, just a wand wave and a bag through the x-ray machine. Then we travel through back corridors to arrive at our gate, which is empty because no other passengers await the flight. The ticket agent just waives us through with a smile.

"That was easy," I look behind me, up the access tunnel. The gate attendant is still smiling at Trace. The whole check-in process took maybe fifteen minutes, instead of the hours it takes to get on a commercial flight at the nation's busiest airport. "I want to be a celebrity," I tease him.

He frowns. "Yeah, we need to talk about that, tonight," he says. "You really don't want to be a famous-for-being-famous celebrity, Sweetheart."

I frown back at him. "I'm not sure it's any worse than being trailbait," I say quietly.

He squeezes my hand, "If we ignore it, all that trailbait shit will blow over, but if you start feeding it with LA appearances, it will never end. You need to stay on the DL as much as possible. Look, can we talk about this later?" he asks anxiously.

I bite back my frown. I'm surprised that Trace feels so strongly about this. I mean, he's a celebrity. I figured he took the whole fame thing in stride. Wow, this is about to be awkward.

Reaching the plane stops our further discussion. Animated voices inside pitch higher as Trace steps into the cabin.

"About damn time," Matt booms, raising out of his chair and slinking forward. Wow, it's crazy how I never saw the resemblance before, but now that I know Matt and Trace are father and son, the similarity in their looks is unmistakable. The same face shape, the same chin, the same grin. Trace has darker eyebrows that give him a more brooding look than Matt, but beneath their brows, they share the same icy, near-gray eyes. Matt looks like a slightly beefier version of Trace, in the same kind of skinny jeans, and the same nondescript but expensive t-shirt. Must be the rock-star off duty uniform.

He back thumps Trace, and turns it into a cool, one-handed hug. Trace looks a little embarrassed, but he hugs Matt back. Matt is giving him a hard perusal. "You look, better, than two days ago," he smiles, and then his eyes flit to me. My stomach flutters in a small imitation of the way Trace makes me feel."You must be the reason. Nice to meet you, Kat. I'm Matt." He reaches out his hand, and I take it, shutting off my giggle with my other hand.

"Christ," Trace mutters. "It's not like you never met a rock star before."

I slap him on the chest. "You don't count, doofus," To Matt I say, "It's really nice to meet you. Your band is amazing, and well..."I look him up and down, "your genetics, too. Thanks for passing on your hotness to Trace," I say, then I gasp, realizing how insane I sound. "Oh god, that was a really inappropriate thing to say," I cover my eyes with my hands, and Trace laughs. I peak through my fingers. Shit, that wasn't Trace laughing. That was Matt. "Oh my god, You guys sound..."

"Just alike when they laugh," Marianne comes forward, in her signature six inch heels and red lipstick. Today, she's wearing a bright floral tank top and white jeans, though. LA bound, I guess. "And you're right..."she points at Trace, "that doll got his looks and his swagger from Matt." She beams at me. She looks me up and down. "Already finding your style, I see. This looks much more natural on you than the uptight suit you wore day before yesterday," she says approvingly.

"What?" Trace says, looking between us. "You two already met?"

Marianne's eyes widen. "You haven't told him yet?"

I bite my lip, and look at Trace. I think about how to explain, and suddenly I remember what Mac said about Adam's Prince Charming Problem in the hot tub. "No. I don't think he's going to like it. He's got...fairy-tale hostage syndrome, when it comes to women he cares about."

Matt barks out a sharp laugh. "Trying to keep you very well in a pumpkin shell, is he?"

I cock my head and look at my scowling boyfriend. "Hmmmm, more like in an ivory tower, under guard." I hook my thumb at Ben, who's already made himself at home, taking a seat at the far end of the cabin with the del Marco's entourage. "But, you know...La-La Land is the modern fairy tale, right? Trace will adjust."

"What the hell are you talking about, Katheryn?" Trace is pouting like a three-year old whose about to lose his shit at having to share his favorite toy.

I find myself folding my hands together in front of myself and smiling coyly at my Rock Star. "I've had a change of plans for the summer, Sweetie. I'm not going to Texas."

Trace looks at me, at Marianne, and then at me again. His scowl is a twitch shy of monstrous. "No. No fucking way."

"I don't like your tone." I really, really don't.

"I don't like you withholding shit," he retorts.

"Fuck you and the hypocritical horse you rode in on, Ashlynn's husband," I snap back automatically.

"Hold up" Matt says, grabbing Trace by the shoulder and directing him to a seat, beckoning the attendant to pour drinks. "My jet, my rules. No fights before take-off. The pilot might come out here to check your ass and miss our runway slot. Once we make altitude, you two can raise all the hell you want."

I follow, sitting across from Trace, beside Marianne, who is sipping a glass of champagne as she smirks at her husband. Matt is chatting amiably with Trace, forcing a beer in his hand. I doubt Trace hears a word he's saying, because his glare is singularly focused on me. He's a smart guy; he's  put things together in his head already, and not at all liking the conclusions he's reaching.

Yeah, he's figured out that I've ditched the Texas lab internship to live in LA for the summer, as part of Marianne's philanthropy engine. I know he's not going to like me living Hollywood, while he's out on tour. But when Marianne made her proposal to me, for the first time in a long time, I knew exactly what I wanted, what I needed—a chance both to find myself and to learn how to live in a rock star's orbit.

Well. WTF happens next, you ask? Spoiler:  love spat. Y'all stay tuned! Vote for drama, please!