Rock Me Hard

13


I stumbled out of the Rolling Stone building and onto the street.

I was furious.

At Glen…

At myself…

At Rolling Stone…

At Fate…

…but mostly at a certain former college roommate.

I whipped out my phone and dialed.

“Hey, Kaitlyn, what up?” Shanna answered.

“What the f*ck?!” I yelled at her, loud enough that the jaded New Yorkers on the street gave me a wide berth as they hustled by.

“Ohhhhhhh,” she said in that apologetic voice she used back in freshman year when she brought two guys home in the same week. “You talked to Glen, huh.”

“YEAH, I talked to Glen,” I barked. “What the f*ck, Shanna?!”
 
“Look, I was just looking out for you – ”

“What, by pimping me out to magazine editors?”

“Oh, God, don’t be so melodramatic,” she sighed.

“How did the two of you meet, exactly?”

“At a party.”

“Did you sleep with him?”

She cackled on the other end. “Oh my God, NO. I DO have standards, you know.”

This was the first I’d heard of them.

Actually, that’s not fair. Most of Shanna’s conquests tended to be fairly good-looking. They just usually lacked employment, intelligence, and any sort of future.

“Look, I know you’re pissed, but… meet me at the Forum for a drink and let me explain.”

“Explain what?” I seethed. “Selling my memories to guys you’re not even sleeping with?”

“No, trying to help jumpstart your career – which, by the sound of it, YOU’RE not even willing to do.”

Ouch.

“F*ck you.”

“Come on… what do you say? The Forum, 8 o’clock? Let me buy you a drink.”

I grumbled and mumbled, then said, “You can buy me two.”

She laughed. “And to think, this is the thanks I get for hooking you up with Rolling Stone. What are you going to do if I get you a gig at Newsweek?”

“Probably kill you,” I conceded, my fury lessening a little.

“Probably. The Forum, 8 o’clock, okay?”

“You’re buying.”

“First round only. After that, we’ll see,” she laughed.

“…okay,” I mumbled, then hung up.

It was a little bit ridiculous to be angry at somebody who had just gotten me an interview with Rolling Stone.

For a cover article, no less.

But I was bound and determined to hang onto my anger for as long as I could.

No matter how illogical it was.

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