Rock All Night

17




I composed myself – no mean feat, I can assure you – as I listened to the water turn off. Derek came back into the room with one towel wrapped around his waist, and drying his hair with a second.

As soon as he saw me, he gave me a rueful grin and shook his head. “You are the toughest nut to crack ever, did you know that?”

“I’m just being professional,” I said, my voice shaky.

“Right. We both know you want to, so why don’t you quit using that ‘professionalism’ crap as an excuse?”

“Maybe you shouldn’t tell me stories about how you revenge-f*cked some music critic’s girlfriend right before you try to seduce me.”

He squinted at me. “That really bothers you, doesn’t it?”

“What, you using women for your petty little schemes? Yeah.”

“She didn’t have any complaints.”

“How do you know? You probably never saw her again.”

“Sure I did. Two or three more times, as a matter of fact.”

Jealousy bit harder.

“And it was her pursuing me, not the other way around. That’s how I know she didn’t have any complaints: she came back for more.” He gave a smug, self-satisfied smirk. “They always come back for more.”

GOD, he was such a f*cking a*shole.

A HOT f*cking a*shole… but still an a*shole.

“Well, then, maybe that’s what I don’t like – you using women to feed your monster ego.”

He rolled his eyes as he started to put on his clothes. I tried not to watch, but couldn’t help myself, as his lovely cock disappeared behind the fresh pair of boxers.

“Jesus, Kaitlyn – if I’m happy, and they’re happy, what’s the f*cking problem?”

“Oh, I don’t know – pregnancy – disease – ”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa,” he said, throwing up his hands. “I always use a condom. Always have. And even when I had no money, I always got tested at the free clinic. I get tested now, once a month. And I’m totally clean, by the way. I don’t want to hurt anybody; I just want to have a good time. And so do they. Not everybody’s like you.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” I snapped.

“It means I know you’re good in bed…”

My lower extremities almost spontaneously combusted. I was right on the verge of jumping him when he continued.

“…but you have this whole Disney idea of sex, about how it has to be Cinderella and Prince Charming forever and ever, and love, and marriage, and gauzy curtains and shit. Not every woman feels like that. A lot of them want to just have the night of their lives.”

The night of their lives.

My lady parts heated up a little more.

“Oh, and you’re the one to give it to them,” I sneered.

“I sure as hell try,” he grinned.

“The ones I talked to were pissed that you never called.”

He sighed as he continued to get dressed. “They knew the score. They knew what I was when they went home with me. They were pissed because they didn’t get everything they wanted – because what they wanted was a whole lot more than I was willing to give. But they knew that. Anybody who ever got angry at me afterwards knew that going in, and if they say they didn’t, they’re not being honest with themselves. You don’t go home with the hot guy at the bar – the guy with the reputation – an hour after meeting him, and then expect him to be your knight in shining armor the next day. If they want to dress it up with stories about what an a*shole I am, and that helps them feel better, then fine. But I never promised them anything except an incredible night. That’s it. I never lied to any of them, I never played any of them – I just gave them everything I had in that moment, but that’s all I ever promised.”

He was fully dressed by now. He looked fantastic…

…although he had looked a whole lot hotter with water and soap coursing down his naked body.

“Well, some of us want a lot more,” I said in anger (and more than a little frustration).

“Yeah, and some of you are just afraid,” he said, going over to the nearest mirror.

“I’m not afraid,” I protested – and it sounded like a lie.

“Yeah you are,” he said, and squeezed out some styling gel into his palm and made a couple of swipes through his still-damp hair. “And that’s fine. It’s cool. I get it.”

“There’s nothing to ‘get,’” I insisted. “I’m not afraid.”

He walked over, his hair now absolutely perfect with just 30 seconds worth of effort. (Men have it so damn easy.) He tossed the tube in the toiletries bag, pocketed the old, sweaty pair of sunglasses, and slipped the new Maui Jims up onto the bridge of his nose. The last thing I saw before he slipped them all the way on were his emerald green eyes twinkling at me mischievously.

“Yeah, you are. But that’s okay… I’m going to keep trying.”

With a grin, he pushed the sunglasses fully into place, walked past me, and exited the locker room, leaving me alone to stew in my annoyance and sexual frustration.