Collaboration by Michelle Lynn, Nevaeh Lee Read Free Book Online

long as she doesn’t live with me, I could care less where she lives.
    ***
    Once I’m home and tucked in my bed, I grab the TV remote, not accustomed to the silence. Flipping through the channels, I pause when I see a pair of familiar blue eyes staring at me from the flat-screen. Trace’s new video, “Want Me,” is playing, and of course there are about six half-naked girls grinding against him while his flirtatious eyes and wandering hands roam their bodies. It’s hard to believe the man on the screen is the same one I was with this morning. I can’t seem to look away as the girls run their hands across his hard abs and through his short, dark hair. Right when it looks like they’re about to have a massive orgy, my phone rings, causing me to jump about a mile high. I quickly change the channel to CMT, where the soothing sound of country music calms my racing pulse enough that I can answer the call.
    “Hi Dad,” I answer. You would think I’d been caught watching porn by the way I feel my face heat up.
    “Hi, sweetheart. Just checking in on you.” My dad’s tender and caring tone is like a warm blanket and I immediately relax.
    I scoot up to lean against the headboard. “I’m good, just about to catch up on some sleep.”
    “Take care of yourself. It doesn’t take much to overdo it. Make sure you eat and drink regularly. Water…drink lots of water.” I can’t help but wonder if all dads are like this or just ones that never see their daughters. Either way, I’m glad he cares so much…sure beats the alternative.
    “I do, Dad. Don’t worry about me. How are things at the ranch?” I ask and his silence instantly worries me. “Dad?” I question.
    “Oh, everything’s fine here.” The distant tone I detect in his voice does nothing to comfort me.
    “You would tell me, right?” I ask. Ever since my mom brought me out to Los Angeles, my dad has never asked me for anything. After I got my first big check, I tried to give him some of it to help out with the expenses of the ranch, but he wouldn’t hear of it. Although I respect his independence, I’ve always wished he would take the money. My mom certainly has no problem taking more than her fair share.
    “Of course. I checked your tour and looks like you’ll be around here in a couple of months,” he says, not so smoothly changing the subject. “You’ll come see me won’t you?” My dad always keeps track of where I am, but I never see him unless I go back home.
    “I can’t wait. All I left before the tour is a collaboration that the label has me doing with another artist,” I tell him.
    “Oh yeah. Who?” he asks curiously.
    “Trace. He’s a rap—“
    “I know who he is,” my dad interrupts, before I can explain who Trace is. I’m surprised since my dad is as country as they come. “He did a benefit show down here a year or so ago. I forget what it was for, but it made big news.” How do I not know all of this stuff about him? Even my dad knows more than I do about Trace.
    “Oh” is all that comes out of my mouth.
    “Taryn, is he treating you nice?” my dad questions.
    “Yes, why would you ask that?” I respond softly, pulling my knees up to my chest.The feeling of being exposed washes over me.
    “I don’t know. You just have an unsteady tone in your voice. Wait,” he says, pausing briefly, “Taryn, do you like him?” The way he phrases the question, you would think my eighth-grade best friend just asked if I like him, like him. Not that I’m surprised. My dad has always encouraged me to talk about boys, joking that he needed to know who needed to be at the receiving end of his rifle.
    “All I can say is that he’s different than I thought he was,” I answer, as honestly as I can at this point.
    “You of all people should know not to judge someone before you get to know them,” he advises, and before I can agree with him, he continues, “Well, sweetheart, it’s been nice talking. I should head out to the stables