Kat

Trace makes up for dinner with a room service spread for breakfast. Omelets, praline bacon, some kind of cajun skillet with sausage, peppers and potatoes, fresh fruit, beignets. Incredible coffee. For once, I pile my plate to eat with abandon, promising myself to skip lunch, since I'm sure our date entails dinner plans.

We sit on the balcony, which overlooks a private courtyard, and talk easily for more than an hour—part reminiscence, part catching up, part plans. I agree to spend the next two weeks on tour, and see how it goes from there. He tells me we are headed to Jacksonville, Miami, and then back up through the Carolina's—Charleston, and then Charlotte. From there, Soundcrush heads up the Eastern Seaboard, and then hits Europe in mid September. The tour ends early next year, and then Soundcrush is on hiatus except for Hollywood-type appearances until they reconvene in the fall to start writing for their new album. He mentions the hiatus and travel again, but this time he tempers it with the option of us traveling next summer, between my freshmen and sophomore years of college. He tells me I'm in the driver's seat with an open invitation, and that I can come and go on the Soundcrush tour as I please, that he wants me with him as much as I can and want to be there.

I don't know what to do with that kind of offer. I thought he was joking around, showing off, last night. But the way he's mapping things out, explaining to me my options—it's kind of freaking me out. I've been thinking all this time, that Trace is still the nineteen year old kid I knew when we parted ways, except that the rock star lifestyle had made him more impulsive and reckless. The party-hard, only-live-once attitude is definitely a part of Trace, but he also has a more mature side now that I'm getting a view of here, over breakfast.

I realize with a shock that my boyfriend is not a kid anymore. He's not even a college student that's following a safe, set pattern in between being a kid and a grown-up. Trace left all that behind years ago. He's a man who has traveled the world, makes all his own decisions, and has the means to execute virtually any decision he makes. He has a hundred times my experience—and I'm not just talking about it bed.

Suddenly I feel extremely insecure. Why does he even want me? Shouldn't he want someone more sophisticated, someone more on his level? And how can I keep up with him? I'm just barely an adult, and I certainly don't feel like a grown woman. I feel like a lucky, well-off girl, a college student with a perfectly safe and unremarkable plan for my future, guided by my parents. As soon as my parents hit port and get my email, enough shit is going to hit the fan. I can't imagine telling them I am not going to Duke, but around the world with Trace.

They hold him responsible for Ashlynn's accident. I don't—I hold myself responsible. But they need somebody to blame, and Trace is the obvious choice. He took me to the party where I got wasted. He called Ashlynn for help. Ashlynn got hurt in his house. He called 911.

They don't know what I know. How he helped her. How he's still trying to help her.

I wonder if I should tell him, that I heard what really happened that night. How he and his dad argued, and then the sounds of blows and crashing against walls and Ashlynn yelling. And then her crying out, and the thud, and the shocked silence. The frantic argument in which Trace stood up to his dad.

Should I tell him that I know he saved Ashlynn's life that night?

Looking back, I still can't believe that I didn't rush down the stairs to my sister. I knew she was hurt, but I couldn't move. The sounds that had awoken me were so violent and scary—I pushed them away, paralyzed with drink and fright. I just lay there listening, with my heart pounding, hoping I would wake from the nightmare. I didn't move at all, until the responders were treating Ashlynn and Trace came to wake me. I pretended to be asleep. I hid under the covers like a terrified child, and I will never forget how that felt. I wonder how many times Trace did the exact same thing...

"Earth to KitKat," Trace is leaning on his elbows, talking through his hands and making static. "Report...sssshhhh your status...shhhhh, Commander KitKat. Is the gravity...shhh...too...intense? Are you...shhhh...fleeing orbit? I repeat...shhh...Report. Is this a...shhh...mission abort?"

He's joking around, but beneath it, I can see he's uncertain. He realizes I'm kind of freaked out by the big plans he's proposing. He's trying to check in with me. He's part Prince Charming and part Dork and part scared little boy under the covers. It's adorable, and heart-breaking.

Okay, so maybe Trace isn't just the worldly rock-star. He's still my Trace, too, and that's why he wants me—because he can be himself with me. So I have to be brave, and be my real self with him, and not the insecure mess that I've let myself unravel into in the last couple of years. I want to be here with Trace. I want to everything we can be, together. I want to grow, to meet him where he is.

"Orbit is stable. We're still a go for a two-week mission. Repeat missions likely, dependent on sustainable living conditions." I report.

He beams and grabs my chair, pulling it to him with surprising force. His kiss is hardly less forceful, and I rise out of my chair and climb in his lap. We both love me on his lap—I guess it's our thing. After a lot of kissing, I pour us another cup of coffee, and we share it, while I'm still straddling him, my legs dangling through the arms of the patio chair.

We spy on a pair of lovers that wander into the courtyard below. They are walking hand in hand, their backs to us. The handsome guy pulls the red-headed girl into an alcove of potted palms and kisses her. Then he leans back and takes her head in his hands, talking.

"What do you think their story is? First weekend getaway, like us?" I murmur.

"Hmmmm." He leans forward, carefully holding my back so I don't tip out of his lap. "Nope,way past that," he says smugly. "Look again. Babymoon."

He's right. I didn't see it at first because I only saw her back, but the red-head is obviously pregnant. "Oh. Wow." I lean over the rail, curious for a longer look.

He bounces me up and down gently and laughs. "You're frowning. What—you disapprove of procreation in general, or you don't like the look of those two merging genes?"

"Neither, I'm just a little surprised. They look so...young." They look like college kids.

He sips the coffee as he evaluates them critically. "Maybe the condom broke," he says with a dry tone.

"That's mean." I swat his chest. "And random. Where did that come from?"

He blinks. "What? I dunno...just sayin'."

"They look happy."

"I didn't mean to imply they weren't happy, I just meant...shit happens." His thumb rubs a tiny spot on the inside of my arm, where my birth control implant is. "It's good to have a back-up, like you do."

I blush. I'm surprised he's noticed that, but I guess he's slept with a lot of women and knows a fair amount about all matters of sex and contraception.

"My mom thought it was a good idea for college. It's good for three years...I don't have to think about it every day. It was...you know...just in case. Just because I have this doesn't mean...I mean...I am a virgin, like I told you..."

He smiles. "Kat, you don't have to explain your birth control implant to me. It's smart. I'm glad. It just means..." he shakes his head and grimaces, stopping his words with a gulp of coffee.

I push his chest slightly. "What?"

He gives me a direct look from underneath his Lucifer eyebrows. "When we get there, it might be a little...tempting not to use condoms, knowing that you're covered. But we should. Definitely."

I take the coffee cup from him, sip slowly.

"The test results you showed me...was that the first time you've ever been tested?" I ask casually. "Are you still worried about your...health?"

Trace shakes his head. "No. Dawes stays on our ass to have a full check-up every six months. I've always tested clean. This last time, that was an extra screening. For you."

I put my hand on his cheek. "For me." He already told me that. "God, you rock stars are sure of yourselves," I smile.

He shrugs, a little embarrassed. "I was actually the opposite. I was sure you wouldn't give me the time of day—sure you weren't even coming to the concert. But if there was any chance you might show, and chance we might find ourselves where we are right now...I had to know I was good for you, Kat. I never want to hurt you in any way."

I nod, sort of surprised at myself for what I'm about to say. "Ok, maybe I'm dumb and inexperienced, but...if we're 99.9% protected against pregnancy with my implant, and you've always been safe and you tested clean repeatedly, and I'm a virgin...and we're not going to be sleeping with other people, isn't that the kind of situation where you don't have to use a condom?"

Trace lowers his sunglasses. His eyes are nearly black with dilated pupils as they lock onto mine. "You should think on that some more, Sweetheart. Not using a condom is a big deal."

"Have you...done that? Not used one?" I ask casually.

Trace shakes his head. "Never."

"Why not?" I ask slowly.

He shrugs, looking down in the courtyard, avoiding my gaze. "I've never had a situation with that much...trust."

For some insane reason, that makes me happy.

"Oh. Well. We have trust, don't we? I mean...I trust you, not to sleep with other girls. And I don't want anybody but you, and I hope you trust that. So maybe you should think on it. The idea of nothing between us—it's nice, right?"

His jaw tenses. "Nice?" He shakes his head, "No, it's not nice."

Oh. I can feel my face blushing in embarrassment. Obviously, I am an idiot at this sex stuff. Trace must think I'm some kind of reckless, crazy, girl. "It's not? Well, forget about it--" I try to rise off him.

He grabs my ass, a little too hard, forcing me back down on his lap. "It's pretty fucking far beyond nice.  If you don't stop talking about me going bare inside you, I'm going to lose my shit and go all rapey on you right now," he teases.

I bite his shoulder with an equal enthusiasm and he hisses slightly. I suck and lick the bite site as I murmur. "I absolutely don't believe you. I've been trying to get you to violate me for days and you are too damn honorable."

"Hmmmm. Just think about the condom thing some more, ok? When the time comes, you can choose. But...have you thought about this—maybe it's not just about you and me? If you don't make condoms a habit from the start...what if it's hard to get in the habit later, if you need to? I mean...with other guys," he winces.

Something inside my chest feels like it rips a little when he says that. I know it's crazy, because we are extremely new and we haven't even slept together yet, but in some small way, Trace's implication that I will have other lovers in the future hurts. It's like he's already planning our break-up.

"Hey, did I just upset you?" Alarm is stamped on his gorgeous features. God, he can read me like a book.

"A little."

"I thought so," he says quietly. "As I said it--the thought of you moving past me with some other guy-- it hurt like crazy. It hurt you too, huh?"

"Yeah," I admit.

Trace lays his head on my shoulder.

"I didn't mean it like that. Kat, I can't ever picture a time when I'm not going to want you to be mine. But I'm trying to be practical, too."

I nodded. "This is really confusing, Trace. We are so new, but I feel like—"

He squeezes my thighs. "We are solid. I know. Friends to lovers is...intense. Don't freak and run, please. Just...stick with me, ok? I swear, I think we're worth it. I couldn't take that, if you walked away now." His voice is pained.

Moved, I lean my forehead against his. Why is he so scared I'm going to bail? Haven't I given him every indication I want this? I broke up with my boyfriend—for him. I left town without running it by my parents—for him. I'm five hundred miles from home and I don't even have the emergency credit card my parents gave me...in the rush to pack I forgot it in another purse. All I have is my debit card and a hundred dollars. There's probably not enough in my bank account for a plane ticket home. If things went horribly wrong between me and Trace, I would have to call my parents and explain, and ask for help. I'm the one that's vulnerable here...and I'm trusting us, so why isn't he?

Maybe it's because of his childhood, his dad. I guess anyone that grew up like that would have trust issues. "I'm not going anywhere." I wrap my arms around his head and pull him to my chest. "I'm right where I want to be, right now.

He sighs and wraps around me so tight I can hardly breathe. I try not to gasp. He seems to realize he's holding on too tight and relaxes.

We both turn our attention to the couple below, to ease the tense moment. They are sitting on a bench now, and the blonde young man casually reaches over and rubs the girl's round belly as they talk.

Trace is watching them speculatively. "I take it back. I don't think their baby was an accident at all. They look really...intentional. I think they are married. Some people still do that, you know—start families right out of college. I suppose getting married young doesn't always have to be a stupid mistake."

There's something really strange in his voice when he says that, and it creeps up my spine. I involuntarily shiver. Trace feels the sensation rumble over me, and his eyes widen as he looks at me.

"Okay, this is a weird conversation, and it just keeps getting weirder," he mutters as he looks away. "I really don't how we got here..."

"We can totally change the subject," I agree quickly. "But wait—I do have one question." Suddenly I have to know.

Trace pales. The terrified look washes over him. "Shoot," he says, his voice tight.

"How is babymoon even a word in your vocabulary, Rock Star?"

He blinks, laughs and the terrified look is gone. He runs his hands up my thighs, squeezing. "Matt Del Marco. He and his wife can not stop having kids. They had their fifth last year...I ran into him right before he took Marianne to Fiji for two weeks, before she couldn't fly anymore."

"Wow," I say. "They are on the other end of the age spectrum."

"Yeah. Well, I don't think they got started until their late thirties. Matt's in his early fifties. Marianne is a little younger than him. Late forties, I think."

I squint at him. "You sure know a lot about him."

Trace shrugs, and looks away.

"You like Matt del Marco." My voice is sing-song and twelvish.

He takes the coffee cup and swallows, rolling his eyes at me. I continue my teasing. "You like like him. You have such a man-crush on Matt del Marco. You are jealous of Marianne. You want to have his babies, don't you?" I tickle him.

"You fucking asked for it, KitKat," he rises from the chair, taking me with him. He strides into the suite, throws me down on the couch and tickles me mercilessly. I am thrashing and trying to break his nose until I am rendered unable to do anything but giggle and screech in turns.

"Mercy! Mercy!" I gasp, and Trace relents at once, plopping down and pulling me to him, cradling me tenderly. "I'm glad you know who has the upper hand," he smirks.

"Yep. Me," I say smugly. "One word and I get my way."

"Definitely," he agrees, as our mouths meet in a hungry kiss.

I feel Trace's phone alert in his pocket and I slide it free. He doesn't react at all as I read the text alert.

"Riley wants to come down in five," I report.

He lends his thumbprint. "Tell him to bring your surprises 1 and 2 and 3," he commands.

I squeal, and then I remember I'm eighteen and not a kid anymore. "You don't have to buy me stuff."

"Kat, I have more money than I could ever spend. I give Marianne del Marco fifteen percent of my annual income to do good things. I have another big philanthropy in the works with Leed and Mac—I'll tell you about that later. Let me spend some petty cash on my girlfriend, ok?"

I throw a sweatshirt over my skimpy tank and greet Riley at the door. He has two small boxes and Tamara in tow.

"This one was Trace's idea but I did battle at the store for it," Riley says as he enters and hands me the first box. I tear open the black wrapping paper that is chalked with the words, Kat is Kool. Trace is Tame. Riley is Reagent.

It's a new Iphone to replace my cracked one. Riley has programmed in all the numbers of the Soundcrush Inner Circle. I see the look he and Trace exchange. That's a big deal. I kiss Trace my thanks.

"Why do you get the thanks, Gallant?" Riley teases. I smile at the easy friendship between Trace and Riley.

"Because it was my idea, " Trace grabs the second small box. "I picked these out online, but again, Riley came through with the trip to the store."

This box is also wrapped in black paper. Kat Kills, Trace Trails, Riley Rules scrawls across the faces the of the box. Inside, is a pair of cat eye, tortoise shell sunglasses, with three tiny crystals in each upper corner. Celine is the brand. Not being a follower of high fashion, I'm not familiar, but I can tell by the weight and the smooth action of the arms that they are by far the nicest pair of shades I have ever owned.

"I noticed you didn't have a pair when we got off the plane. You looked uncomfortable, in the glare on the tarmac," Trace murmured.

Purple Prince on a Piece of Toast! He's right. After I returned Mac's Gucci's on the plane, I was rendered sunglassless. And that's a problem during a Southern summer day. I want to drop down and do something very naughty to Trace. It doesn't matter to me if these sunglasses cost five or five hundred dollars, what matters is he is so thoughtful. He was always good to me, but now...he's amazingly considerate. I put them on at once and raise my face to Trace. "How do they look?"

"Adorable." He whispers low in my ear and then straightens up. " And now for your third surprise."

Tamara tosses her balyaged hair and strikes a pose in her fringed jeans. "Me!"

I laugh. "You are my present?"

"Yep. Trace's credit card and I are getting you ready for your date. And date-prep starts right now, with a trip to the in-house spa. Say goodbye, Trace." Tamara looks like Bodie when she grins and winks at Trace.

"What? I didn't approve you stealing her for the whole day," Trace grumbles.

Tamara backhands Trace in the abs. "Oh, go hit the gym with Bodie. He's missing you, you know."

Trace says goodbye with a wink at me. I'm a little surprised, I was expecting a good-bye kiss, but I'm starting to learn he's not particularly comfortable with PDA. I turn to follow Tamara from the suite, and he pulls me back by the wrist.

"Hey Gorgeous, do me a favor?"

"Probably," I smirk.

"Enjoy yourself. I've been waiting a while to spoil you a little."

"Okay," I rise to my tip-toes to give him a kiss on the cheek.

"You don't have something smart to say?" he squints at me.

"Nope," I smile sweetly. "Lack of sarcasm is my way of showing appreciation."

"Huh. I don't how I feel about that. I kinda like your smart mouth," He grins and gives me the