Girl With Guitar (3 page)

G
odsend
that she was, Tonya took over Kylie’s tables while she warmed up in the lounge. Kylie ran to grab a bottle of water from the media room and bumped into a man she didn’t recognize.

“God, sorry,” she told him.

“Women usually don’t call me that when I have all my clothes on.”

Kylie arched an eyebrow and started to back out of the room with her water.
No time for douchebaggery tonight, buddy
. Tonya had warned her about slick looking guys who went around propositioning desperate waitresses in hopes of getting them naked in front of a camera.

“Hey, I was kidding,” he said with a teasing grin. “Sort of. Michael Miller,” he informed her, reaching out a hand.

Kylie eyed it as if it were a poisonous snake and he let it drop.

“And your name?” he inquired, dark eyes sparkling with amusement.

“Just a waitress. Excuse me.” Kylie bolted from the room. She’d heard Clive welcoming everyone and knew she was third on the list to perform. She wondered if he’d seen her name on it yet.

Kylie darted to the employee bathroom and tried to freshen up. She wouldn’t have time to change clothes so she’d worn her best jeans and the black Rum Room t-shirt Clive had just given her. After splashing water on her face, followed by some mascara and lip gloss, she exited into the hall to chug her bottle of water and wait in line with the other performers.

Leaning against the cool concrete wall, Kylie’s stomach clenched and sweat dripped down her back. Several of the male amateurs waiting to perform gave her appraising glances but she was too nervous to care. Or talk. The few other girls in line looked like a cross between Hollywood hookers and country Barbie. One lady looked old enough to be her grandmother.
Dear God, please do not let me still be doing this at her age.

No,
she thought,
shame on me
.
Good for her for not giving up on her dream
. The possibility of homelessness and starvation had almost been enough to do her in.

The act just before her went on and her ears filled with rushing fluid and a faraway ringing. She prayed that Tonya was right and that what she was about to do would work. She’d gotten a good look at the crowd—mostly early to mid-twenties and the few usual old timers.

She wasn’t at all sure that this was a good idea, but they definitely wouldn’t be able to sit there and ignore her like they might have if she’d gone with her original plan. If this worked, and she made it anywhere in music, Kylie was going to send Tonya’s kid to college.

“Next up! Well I’ll be, if it isn’t The Rum Room’s very own Kylie Ryans, ladies and gentlemen.” Nate, one of the short order cooks, introduced her and then stepped aside.

Kylie stepped onto the stage, ignoring the blinding lights, and walked over to talk to the drummer in the house band. She whispered in his ear and he nodded. She leaned over to the lead guitar player and said, “Watch me for changes.” He gave her a thumbs up and waited. Here went nothing.

“Evenin’ y’all,” Kylie drawled into the microphone. “I had a song I was gonna sing and then my friend Tonya, she might be your waitress, she told me it sucked—so I guess I’m just gonna play this here guitar and see where it takes us.” She grinned at the audience and then leaned closer to the mic once more. “Oh, and I go right back to serving after this, so if you don’t clap when I’m finished, I can’t be held responsible for what might happen to your drink between the bar and your table.” Kylie winked and strummed a few cords. “Okay, here we go.”

Laughter? Did she hear laughter? She thought she did.

I know you wanna tie me down, know you wanna put a ring on it, but I ain’t never been that kinda girl, not for all the money in the world.

Kylie launched into her modified version of Trace Corbin’s latest hit,
Not That Kinda Man
. It was the famous bachelor’s latest lovin’ and leavin’ single and she was attempting to turn the thing on its ear. He’d written and sang it as a sad break up ballad and Kylie had remixed and reworked it into the single girl’s party anthem.

You wanna own me but you don’t know me. Guess what darlin’? When you wake up I’ll be gone.

Kylie flashed her sexiest grin and wiggled a little at the crowd. Then she shouted, “Sing it with me girls!” into the mic and picked up the tempo, launching into the chorus.

Several waitresses, Tonya included, stopped what they were doing to sing along. Not that Kylie could really see them, but the girls in the crowd joined in too. She sang to the guitar player, whose name she was pretty sure was Andy, and he played right along, smiling and winking at her the whole time.
Well I’m not that kinda girl, don’t wanna play these games, not gonna wake up in your bed or take your name.
She gave Andy a playful smack on the ass and he blew her a kiss. Shrieking whistles radiated from the audience.

The music hummed and pulsed against her and somewhere in Kylie’s mind a little voice said,
Holy shit you’re doing it!

When the number was over, she practically flew off the stage, painfully aware of the pounding in her chest.
Oh well, if I have a heart attack and die right this moment, I’ll die happy
. The applause was loud enough to be heard over the ringing in her ears and she wanted it more than oxygen.

Clive was leaning on the bar, shaking his head but smiling. Tonya shot her two thumbs up. Kylie let out a little squeal of happiness and sent a silent thank you up to her daddy, feeling certain she was higher than any drug could ever take her.

She would let Tonya go home early tonight and do the rooms herself. She had enough energy to clean ten green rooms. When she told Tonya that, the woman hugged her. Hard. “You knocked ‘em dead, girl! That was amazing!”

“Yeah, well, I got some really good advice,” Kylie told her, unable to keep the permagrin off her face.

The next act stepped out of the shadows and took the stage. Kylie heard a deep male voice with a sexy southern drawl say, “Damn. Just my luck to have to follow that.”

The audience was still shrieking and screaming and Kylie knew she’d done well, but seriously?

“I apologize for standing y’all up a few weeks ago. Musta got my dates mixed up. Probably time to fire that manager of mine,” the handsome man on stage drawled.

Who was this guy? Whoever he was, the women in the audience were going crazy over him.

“Well, since that good looking waitress stole my number, guess I’ll have to sing something else. Where is that girl anyways?”

Oh God. Oh God,
please no.
Kylie’s heart sank and her high evaporated instantly. She turned to face the man on stage. Trace freaking Corbin was standing there with a guitar in one hand and the other to his eyes, scanning the crowd for…her.

T
here
was only one way out of this. Okay, maybe two. Duck and hide and risk losing her job, or face the man whose song she’d just butchered in front of several hundred people. And risk losing her job.

Well, she’d never been one to back down, and she’d never ducked and hid from anyone in her life. Certainly not some cocky-ass country music singer who everyone knew was pretty much drinking his career down the drain.

“Can I get you a drink, Mr. Corbin?” Kylie asked in the sweetest tone she could muster, stepping towards the stage.

“No, ma’am. Got one,” he told her, winking at the audience and lifting a beer bottle in her direction. Thick dark hair peeked out from under a trucker’s hat, and muscular suntanned forearms flexed at the end of his rolled up shirtsleeves. His bright white smile was framed by boyish dimples, and damn those jeans were doing things to her.

“Then what can I do for you?” she asked, rolling her eyes at the crowd as if she was annoyed with the megastar for interrupting her work. Good Lord. If they only knew that her heart was beating triple time against her ribs.

“Well, since you stole my song, the least you could do would be come up here and sing with me,” he slurred. For heaven’s sakes, the man was half drunk. And geez, could his jeans get any tighter?
Focus, Kylie.

“Excuse me, sir. You mean to tell me you sing a song about bein’ a single girl that can’t be tied down?” The audience cracked up all around her.

“She’s cute, Clive. Where’d you find this one?” Trace bellowed across the bar. Kylie didn’t look to see what Clive did, but she could see a few cell phone screens lighting up the room. This was definitely going to be on YouTube. Trace Corbin was going to make sure she never got recognized in the industry, unless it was by people laughing at her.

“Well, pick a song already. I got tables to wait on,” Kylie said, hopping back onto the stage.

He eyed her carefully as he lifted his guitar. “You gonna change the words all up? Make me look like a fool?”

“Oh no, darlin.’ Pretty sure you can handle that all on your own,” Kylie answered with a flirty grin.

She prayed she looked like she was keeping her cool, but the last time she’d seen this man he was on CMT and she was watching from her bedroom in Okla-fricking-homa. And holy hell if he wasn’t even hotter in person. He smelled like aftershave and bourbon. Kylie decided then and there that she’d never be able to get a whiff of either without recalling this moment.

Trace played a few cords and winked at her. She just shook her head. Whose friggin’ life was this? She recognized the song immediately
. Waitin’ for You to Call
, one of his “booty call ballads,” Lulu called them.

“It’s two am, can’t believe I’m back here again. We called it off again tonight, just like all the other times. But we both know it wasn’t right.”

The deep timbre of Trace’s voice sent unwelcome shivers through Kylie’s body, but she launched into her half of the lyrics.
“I’ve got the T.V. turned down and my ringer up loud, waitin’ for the sound that says you’ve come around. Can’t wait to hear your voice as you say those words, the ones that always cause me to fall. I’m here waitin,’ waitin’ for you to call.”

Kylie knew she didn’t do as well as she had done when she sang on her own. Her voice shook a few times and she could barely concentrate on the lyrics with the famous singer watching her so closely. So she just stared into the bright lights and pretended she was singing to her daddy in Heaven as they harmonized on the chorus.

“I know you didn’t mean the things you said, know you didn’t mean to leave my bed. You said you couldn’t do this anymore, said you didn’t want to try. But I know you, and this is just another lie.”

She took a second to pull air into her lungs while Trace sang his part.
“The sun’s comin’ up and my heart is breaking down. I’m still waiting for that sound that says you’ve come around.”

Softening her voice to imitate the way she’d heard him sing the next verse on the radio so many times, she sang her final solo.
“You don’t have to say you’re sorry. I forgive you. I won’t have to say I love you, ‘cause you already know. We won’t waste time apologizin’, just pick up the phone.”

With her heart thrumming louder than the music, Kylie let her voice flow into his as they sang the final chorus together.
“I’m here waitin’, waitin’. I’ll be right here waitin’, waitin’. I’m still waitin’ for you to call…”

She should’ve just thanked the audience, hopped down off the stage, and resumed her regularly scheduled life. But she didn’t. Instead she made the colossal mistake of looking over into hazel eyes that had darkened to the color of the sky just before a deadly twister touched down, destroying everything in its path. She was from Oklahoma and she knew a thing or two about storm warnings. Trace Corbin was setting off all the sirens inside of her. Kylie was standing directly in the path of something wild and dangerous and a hell of a lot more powerful than her.
Look away
, her subconscious screamed. But she couldn’t, because for the first time since her daddy died, she was alive.