EPIC (Book 1 of the Soundcrush series)

Chapter 11: Rock Stars Weren't Always Rock Stars

Kat

I stare in the mirror.

Fuck Trace.

I don't know what kind of girls he's used to, but I think I look fine. Better than fine. I look fit and healthy and strong and hot. I pull off these clothes that are hanging off me and stride back into hotel room in my underwear. I'll wear the damn yoga pants and a tank top to his concert tonight. Who asked him to ask a stylist to pick out clothes for me, anyway?

He's coming back in the door looking weirdly anxious. He presses his lips together. He wasn't walking with that rock star slink, earlier, was he?

I throw up my hands and twirl. "This is me, Trace, if you don't like it, screw you."

He grabs me around the waist and pulls me tight againt his chest. "I like it. I like your boobs." He runs a knuckle down my cleavage. "I like your ass." His other hand rubs my butt gently. "That's all I meant when I said you were curvy." Then he lets me go, like he's putting me away from him. He takes out his phone, scrolling through some texts, I think. "It really doesn't matter what size you are," he murmurs, still looking at his phone. "You're not a piece of ass to me, okay? So put on whatever, while I go do some business, and then we can take that drive. We can drop by your house for you to get your own clothes." He's still looking at his phone.

I more than a little flustered by the way he just ran his hands all over me and then nearly pushed me away. The dymanic is different now. How come when I was wearing a big fleece and brushing my teeth he looked at me like he could eat me, and now that I'm standing here in underwear he won't even look at me? I think maybe Trace likes the idea of me, but maybe he's not used to real girls anymore. Girls with tan lines and two day stubble on their legs. All that shit Riley dumped on my counter and not a razor anywhere. I turn away, and pull on the tank top.

He tosses my phone on the bed.

"You left this. You might want to check your texts."

"Did you check my texts?"

He looks slightly irritated. "Obviously not, Kat," he mimics the thumbprint access necessary for his phone, and of course, mine is the same. There's no way he could have opened my phone. "But I saw a text alert from your boyfriend."

"I thought we weren't talking about him today."

"We aren't," he says, but he's still distracted by his phone. "But what you do on your own time, right?"

I blink, a little surprised. My own time. I thought he wanted to spend as much time as possible together, today. He's going to be gone tomorrow, after all.

Then he puts his phone away and looks at me—only my face. "I've got to take this meeting. On second thought, it might be better if you hang out here. I'll come get you as soon as I'm done, okay, babe?"

I nod. He smiles, but it doesn't reach his eyes. He steps close again, pressing a hand against my back. I think he's going to kiss me—really kiss me—but he just closes his eyes and kisses my temple. Then he slinks out the door, leaving me very confused.

Half an hour ago, I would have sworn we were just Trace and Kat, like old times, but with new possibilities. Now, he's flexin, and I don't know where the rockstar coolness is coming from. What happened to all access? Plus, I'm already stressing if I look good enough for a rockstar. Colin is a high performance athlete—his body can do things that I would probably never push mine to accomplish, and yet he never made me feel this way. Then again, he's very invested in diet and exercise. His and mine. He knows how hard I work for the body I have. I certainly didn't buy it, or modify it with surgery—maybe that's what Trace is used to, now.