Rock All Night

6




Ryan turned back to the other two band members. “Kaitlyn’s here to interview us for Rolling Stone.”

Again Killian’s fingers froze on the guitar, and he looked at Derek for confirmation. “What, she’s the one?”

Derek nodded.

“She’s the one you’re breaking your famous embargo for?”

“Yup.”

The guitarist shook his head in wonder and went back to playing. “This just gets curiouser and curiouser…”

“Waaaait a minute,” Riley scowled. “How is it that the same chick you mooned over is the one who – ohhhhhhh. You couldn’t seal the deal back in the day, so you thought you’d bring her here and dangle that big exclusive in front of her so you can getchoo some, huh?”

Actually, that had been my working theory, too… although I wouldn’t have put it quite that way.

Neither would Derek, because he flipped her the bird.

Riley threw a drumstick at him. Just whipped her arm back and sent it pinwheeling through the air.

I let out a little scream.

Derek sidestepped out of the way just in time, and the drumstick clanked! against the row of bottles behind him.

“JESUS!” Miles shouted.

“Yeah, respect the booze, Riley,” Derek said, completely unfazed, like flying drumsticks happened all the time.

“Shut up or I’ll shove the next one up your ass.” Riley turned back to me. “So, Blondie, what do you wanna ask me first? How I like my women? Cuz I like ‘em like you.”

“…that wasn’t on my list, no.”

“What is on your list?” Ryan asked.

“Um… uh…”

I actually hadn’t gotten that far yet.

I’d been too preoccupied with seeing Derek for the first time in four years to actually think of any questions.


Riley shook her head. “Woooow. You really must wanna tap that ass, D, cuz she sucks at being a reporter.”

“Journalist,” I corrected.

“Well, you suck at that, too,” she assured me cheerily.

“No time for chitchat, we have sound check in an hour.” Miles clapped his hands. “Let’s go, let’s go! Limo’s waiting for us downstairs!”

Killian stood up and took his guitar. Riley followed him. Derek snagged a bottle from the bar and headed for the door.

“I need to go get my stuff first,” I protested.

“Then you get to the concert on your own,” Miles snapped.

“But – ”

Ryan saved the day. “What do you need?”

“I left my tape recorder in my bag, which is in my room. I hope.”

Since I hadn’t even been to my room yet.

He reached over by a laptop computer and grabbed something. When he handed it to me, I saw that it looked like a digital recorder with a fat, wide microphone at the top. ZOOM was printed across the front, above a control panel of tiny buttons.

“Here, take this. There’s a flash card in it – there should be, like, 24 hours of recording time on it.”

“Don’t you need it?”

“I’ve got plenty just lying around.”

“‘Just lying around’?”

“We record practice on them in case somebody comes up with something great. Plus, when inspiration strikes, I always want to have something around to record it.”

“Okay…”

“Press that button there… see the red blinking light? That means you’re on standby. Hit it again and you get a continuous red light, which means you’re recording. Then just hit that button to stop recording.”

“Thanks,” I said gratefully.

“Teach her to do her f*ckin’ job in the limo!” Miles said, herding everyone towards the door. “Let’s go, let’s go! Right!”