Collaboration by Michelle Lynn, Nevaeh Lee Read Free Book Online Page A

before I tuck in for the night. Call me if you need anything or just want to talk.”
    After assuring him that I will and a few ‘I love yous’ later, we hang up. Feeling content after our conversation, I snuggle deeper under my covers and close my eyes, not even attempting to battle the exhaustion that overwhelms my body. The last thought I have before I fall asleep is that my dad is absolutely right—I should be more optimistic about Trace.
     

Chapter 4
     
    Trace
     
    “Time to go,” I say, grabbing her bare ass as I walk toward the ensuite bathroom. I pick up a pair of basketball shorts off the floor on my way, not bothering to look back at the naked woman still lying on my bed. LaDonna or Shadonna or some name that sounds a hell of a lot like Madonna was a decent fuck, but that’s all she was to me. And I’m fairly certain that’s all she expects to be. Guess I’ll find out if she’s still around when I step back out.
    After pissing what little alcohol I have in my system, I jump in the shower, grateful that this day is finally coming to an end. As the scalding hot water cascades down my tired body, I can’t help but recall the daily conversations I used to have with my folks over the dinner table where we would recount the best part of our day. If they were here right now, I would tell them that the highlight of my ridiculously long day was, surprisingly, collaborating with a country singer.
    Despite the fact that I’m essentially being forced to do it, making music—whether that’s writing or performing it—has always and will always be my favorite part about all of this shit. And that’s exactly what the rest of my day entailed…a whole hell of a lot of shit.
    Straight from the studio, I jetted over to LA’s most popular hip hop/rap radio station for a live interview. From there, I was shuttled all across the city to film scenes for a new music video. Doesn’t sound too bad, right? It wouldn’t have been, except the label has apparently decided they want cameras following me every damn place I go, as if I don’t already have enough of that with those paparazzi fuckers tailing my ass every second of the day. Guess the execs think it’ll help keep me in line—not if my boys have anything to do about it.
    I get back to my penthouse hotel suite to find the entire crew here with about a dozen groupies hanging around, no doubt waiting to see which one I’d pick tonight.
    Not being conceited, just being real. And fuck if I didn’t give in to my biggest vice—women. Just thinking about any one of them gets my dick hard again and, even though I could easily walk out of here and find some instant relief, I decide a hand job will be quicker and give me the solitude I prefer.
    Speaking of vices, I try to justify to myself that at least I’m not hell-bent on using. And although my recent night that ended in a side-trip to the slammer might otherwise indicate, I’m not a big fan of alcohol either. Seeing my uncle spend all of the money we had on smack and crack when Dre and I didn’t even have food to eat will make you see that that shit’s not all it’s cracked up to be. I’ve also watched my boys make some dumb-ass decisions while loaded up on either one or the other, and there’s no telling how many kids they’ve got out there thanks to drugs and way too many drinks. It’s why I was so pissed off at myself after what happened the other night. I should be grateful though that I got my ass thrown in jail, since it probably kept me out of far worse trouble.
    And even though I know my revolving door of women isn’t the worse thing in the world, I also know that it would disappoint my parents as much as anything else I’ve done. Growing up, they showed me what love is supposed to look like and taught me that sex should be confined to a loving and monogamous relationship. All that was fine and fucking great while they were around, but the years I spent as a teen without them and living under my