Present Day
Glen stared at me like I’d just turned down a million dollars for doing nothing more than writing a book report.
“What?” he asked, stunned.
“No,” I croaked, fully aware I was throwing away the best opportunity of my career thus far. Maybe even the best opportunity of my entire career, even if it lasted four decades. “Sorry.”
“You do understand what I’m offering you, right?”
“To write an article on Derek Kane.”
“And the band,” Glen stressed, as though that might be the piece of information I had overlooked.
“Yeah. No thank you.”
“Not just a half-page fluff piece – I’m talking a full-on, six-page spread. I mean, if you turn in a good enough story, we’re potentially talking the cover.”
“Yeah. Thank you, but no.”
The longer he stared at me, the more his disbelief turned to anger. “You do realize that is a one in a million offer, right? You don’t just get handed the cover of Rolling Stone – not when you’re some unknown writer a year out of college. I mean, you realize that, right?”
“Yes, and I’m really sorry, but I can’t do it.”
He sat there, his mouth hanging open. “Can I ask why?”
“There’s just… too much history there. Too many… raw wounds.”
He shook his head. “Most kids in your position would sell their f*cking soul for this chance.”
“Yeah, well…” I said, my voice trailing off. “Are there any other positions open I could interview for?”
“No,” he snapped. “This is it.”
“Oh… well, thank you for your time, anyway,” I said, and gathered my things and stood.
He stood up at the same time. His anger was quickly turning into the beginning stages of panic. “Wait – don’t you want to think about it? Give it some time to marinate – ”
“No,” I said, and forced a smile. “Thank you, though.”
“Just think about it!” he urged me.
“If I change my mind, I’ll call you,” I said as I opened the glass door to his office and backed out. “Thanks again. Sorry.”
Then I ran down the hallway as fast as I could, and dashed into the stairwell rather than wait for the elevator.
I was afraid he might come running after me.
I was even more afraid he might talk me into it.
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.
14
Four Years Ago
Shanna was cold as ice to me the next morning – and it wasn’t just her hangover. She gave me the glare of death the entire time I was getting ready, though she didn’t say anything.
Finally I turned around and blurted out, “I didn’t sleep with him.”
“What a coincidence,” she sneered. “Neither did I.”
I hustled out of there as fast as possible and went to my English class.
I know Shanna was pissed, and she had every right to be – but it’s not like I’d wangled a hot new boyfriend out of the deal.
In fact, I was absolutely sure I would never see him again.
Not like ‘see’ as in ‘go out on a date with,’ either.
‘See’ as in ‘run into around town.’
I had resigned myself to that fact for many reasons.
He was an incredibly good-looking guy (incredibly good-looking), in a band, cool, charismatic, funny, surprisingly smart – and he was used to picking up women and sleeping with them the same night.
He’d had a brief interruption the previous night, that was all. For whatever reason, he had abandoned a sure thing to hang out with me. (If Shanna’s drunk, she’s about as close to a sure thing as a guy can get.)
Then, when I’d ducked away from his kiss… that was it, I was sure of it. Never going to see him again.
I didn’t go to shows at the clubs, I didn’t try to sneak into bars, and I didn’t hang out where we’d ever run into each other. At best, I might see him walking down Main Street with some tattooed chick all over him. Our eyes might meet… a brief second of confusion on his part, followed by an amused look of Oh yeah, aren’t you that girl who turned me down?... and then he’d probably drag his breathless date into a hallway and commence making out with her, just to show me what I’d missed out on.
15
I have to admit, I was a little curious about what I’d passed up… so I asked around. I had a friend in my Sociology class who was known for crushing exclusively on guys in local bands.
“Hey, Lindsey… have you ever heard of a guy named Derek Kane?”
Her eyes rolled back in her head, and she looked like she’d just had a spontaneous orgasm. “Oh my GOD he is SO HOT.”
I took that for a ‘yes.’
“Does he… you know… sleep around a lot?”
She narrowed her eyes. “Why? Did you sleep with him?”
“NO,” I said quickly. “No, but, he, uh… he made a pass at my roommate.”
“That figures,” she snorted. “He’s the biggest man-slut ever.”
Ew.
“‘Made a pass’?” Lindsey continued with a frown. “She didn’t sleep with him?”
“No, she, uh… passed out before they did anything.”
Technically that was the truth.
Lindsey smirked. “Your roommate missed out big time.”
I got a very naughty feeling when she said that.
“Did you sleep with him?” I whispered.
She blushed a light pink. “…um… yeah.”
“Oh.”
I knew I shouldn’t ask, I knew I shouldn’t ask –
“…was he any good?”
Lindsey’s eyes rolled back in her head again, and she looked like she was having a second orgasm. “Oh my GOD, he’s incredible.”
When she said that, I felt like somebody had stabbed me in the stomach.
“…did you guys… date?” I asked feebly.
Now she was back to blushing slightly. “…um… I don’t know if I’d say that, exactly… we were kind of… seeing each other.”
“Did you go out for awhile?”
“…um… three or four times.” She paused. “…not all in a row.”
“Ah.”
Things were becoming a lot clearer now.
She shifted nervously from foot to foot. “You know how it is… we’ll see each other at a show… or at a bar… and we’ll hook up again.”
“Does he call you afterwards?”
She suddenly frosted over. “No. Why are you so interested?”
“I, uh… I told my roommate he seemed like bad news, and that she should stay away from him.”
“Well, that’s probably wise,” she said as she walked off – and then turned around with an exuberant smile. “But if you see him again, tell him I said hi! And give him my number, okay? In case he lost it.”
Ew.
16
I asked another girl – a hot chick, one who lived in my dorm – if she knew of him. She did. She hadn’t slept with him, but she knew a friend who had.
I asked about her friend’s experience.
“Well, she pretty much raved it was the best sex she’d ever had… but he never called her back again.”
So he was talented in the sack… and a total scumbag.
Gross.
“Would your friend sleep with him again if he hit on her?”
“She’d probably say she wouldn’t, but… I know her. She’d do it again in a heartbeat.”
Lovely.
Although, I can’t deny, even though I was disgusted by him… phrases like ‘your roommate missed out big time’ and ‘the best sex she’d ever had’ kept echoing in my ears.
Not that it mattered in the slightest.
I was never, ever going to see him again, I was sure of it.
So, of course, he came back two days later.
17
I was folding laundry at 4 PM when somebody knocked. Shanna wasn’t home, so I called out, “Yeah?”
“It’s Derek,” a deep, incredibly sexy voice rumbled.
My heart did two backflips, and it was hard to breathe for a second.
I started to race for the door – caught myself – and walked over calmly to open it.
I tried to ignore the fact that I was in sweatpants again.
He was standing there in essentially the same get-up as the other night, except he’d changed out the Led Zeppelin shirt for – of all things – a faded Whitesnake tour shirt.
He pointed to it with a mock gangsta expression like, Yeeeaaaah, boy, REPRESENTIN’!
I burst out laughing.
“Ohhhhh… very nice. You joined the fan club, I see.”
“Just for you,” he said, and grinned as he leaned against the doorframe, his arms crossed across his chest. “I had to go to three Goodwills to find this puppy.”
God, he had great arms…
“Is that so? Orrrr were you secretly a member all along, and you’re just coming out of the closet?” I teased.
“You got me.” He put his hands on his hips defiantly. “Now I’m out and proud, baby.”
“Are we talking the Whitesnake closet, or is there something else you want to tell me?”
“Why?” he asked mischievously. “If I thought I might be gay, and I was all depressed because society hates me, would you try to help me… figure things out?”
Unnnnnhhh.
Despite the whole ‘I might be gay’ part, which normally would be a libido killer (but here was obviously just a joke), it was the idea of how I could help him ‘figure things out’ that got me.
I had to fight to keep down the fluttering in my belly.
Remember: man-slut, the little angel on my right shoulder whispered.
Best sex of her LIFE, the little devil on the left smirked.
Kevin – remember Kevin, the angel urged.
Your EX-boyfriend, the little devil shouted.
“No, but Shanna would be up for that,” I finally said.
“Shanna doesn’t need that excuse to take a guy to bed.”
I laughed. “True. But haven’t you heard? Society doesn’t hate gay people anymore.”
“Haven’t you heard?” he shot back. “We’re in Georgia.”
I laughed again. “Well, the Baptist Student union is right down the street. I’m pretty sure they’ll help you ‘pray the gay away.’”
“Great, I’ll just go down there and – oh, you know what?”
He pulled out his shirt collar and looked down at his chest as though he were inspecting something.
I sooooo wished I could see what he was looking at right then.
He let go of his collar and looked back up at me. “We’re good. I just realized I’m 100% into women.”
And he gave me a look from my head to my toes that basically said, I want to rip off your clothes and lick you up and down like an ice cream cone.
My knees went weak.
This… this was not good.
I turned away to regain my composure and went back into my room. “How nice for you. Shanna’s not here to take you up on it, though.”
“That’s even better, since I came to see you.”
Oh crap.
This was soooo not good.
Remember Kevin, remember Kevin, remember Kevin! the little angel cried.
Your EX-boyfriend, your EX-boyfriend, your EX-boyfriend! the little devil hollered.
I turned around and tried to sound surprised. “You came to see me?”
“Yeah.”
I thought about mockingly asking him Why?, but I was afraid he might tell me exactly why.
Instead I just stared into his beautiful green eyes for a few seconds…
…and then he grinned at me, like the whole thing had been in good fun.
As soon as he did that, I broke out grinning, too – I couldn’t help it! – and then I looked away, shy and embarrassed.
Thank God there was a pile of laundry right in front of me: something to do. I started folding.
“Um… well… hi,” I said as I folded a cotton shirt.
He kept leaning against the doorframe, just watching me. “So, how’d the Chaucer test go?”
Oh yeah!
Something neutral to talk about.
“Really well, I think – the essay was to write about what the knight learned from the old woman, how he used it, and what it implied in the battle of the sexes.”
“Battle of the sexes, huh?”
“That was the essay question.”
“You know, in the battle of the sexes, I’m more of lover than a fighter,” he said with a playful smirk, trying to gauge my reaction.
Best sex she’d ever had.
Your roommate missed out BIG time.
I chose to ignore the comment.
“I think I might have gotten an A or a B, if I didn’t screw up any too much on the grammar or spelling.”
“See?” he said, immensely pleased with himself. “I saved your bacon.”
I made a face at him. “Yeah, after distracting me for hours on end.”
“Aaaaah, you enjoyed it.”
I did, but I wasn’t about to admit it.
“You can’t claim to save me when you’re the one who put me in danger.”
“Danger?!” he exclaimed in mock offense. “I’m not dangerous, I’m good luck. You should always follow my advice.”
“Yeah, I can imagine what that advice would be.”
“Can you now?” he said with a seductive smile.
I’m pretty sure it would include clothes flying off and naked bodies writhing around.
Then I imaged his naked body – muscular, gorgeous, absolutely perfect –
STOP it.
“Yeah,” I said, and tried to sound as disapproving as possible. “Somehow, I think following your advice would be a recipe for disaster.”
He looked thoughtful as soon as I said it. “That’s good… I should write a song called ‘Recipe For Disaster.’”
“You should name your band ‘Recipe For Disaster.’”
“How complimentary of you!” he said mockingly.
“I try.”
“But we’ve already got a name.”
“Which is…?”
“Inward Spiral.”
Okay, that was the best possible answer he could have given me.
It’s a lot easier to ignore a gorgeous, buff, Greek god’s advances when he starts talking about his pretentiously named garage band.
I tried to be polite, though. “Um… okay, that’s very…”
I must have made a face, because he became ever-so defensive. “Very what?”
I paused.
“Don’t all spirals go inwards?” I asked.
“Well, they normally go down,” he said in his deep, smoky voice.
Now I was thinking of him going down on me… those sensual lips kissing me beneath my waist…
STOP IT.
I forced myself to grimace. “What a clever double entendre.”
“I have no idea what you mean,” he said with faux innocence.
I gave him a tight little smile and squinted like, Suuuuure you don’t.
“Are you one of those chicks?” he asked.
Again, best possible answer he could have given. I can deal with double entendres, but he was being sleazily brazen. I imagined him as one of those guys who unzipped his pants and expected girls to service them, and it offended me.
Unfortunately, the idea of unzipping his pants also excited me, too.
“One of those chicks who go down?” I asked angrily – a little too angrily. I must have sounded like the uptight prude from hell.
He grinned. “I wasn’t going there, but, sure, if you want to volunteer that information – ”
“I don’t.”
“Don’t do it, or don’t – ”
“Don’t volunteer that information,” I snapped.
“Okay, then, I was talking about super-literal, anal retentive chicks who talk about spirals going inward.”
“NO.”
He could tell he was getting on my nerves.
He could also probably tell I had been getting a little hot and bothered.
He seemed to be getting off on both of those things… but he played it smart and backed off. “I agree… it’s not the greatest name ever. If you think of a better one, let me know.”
“Recipe For Disaster,” I deadpanned.
He laughed. “It’s a little too home ec for a band name. But I’ll consider writing a song.”
“Oh, you’ll deign to consider it, huh? Thanks,” I scoffed.
“Has anybody ever told you you can be a little bit prickly?”
He didn’t say it in a pissed-off way. More like he was talking to a hilarious three-year-old throwing a temper tantrum.
“Has anybody ever told you you can be really inappropriate?” I retorted.
He grinned. “You’re the first, actually.”
“Okay, then, let’s make it official: you’re being really inappropriate.”
“Right now?”
“No, not right now,” I said in exasperation.
“Then when? What did I say?”
I glared at him and went back to folding my laundry in silence.
No way I was going to bring up anything about anybody going down on anybody else.
“I’ll watch what I say from now on, I promise,” he said, amused.
“Thank you,” I snapped.
We continued like that, me folding laundry, him just watching in silence, for another ten seconds. That doesn’t sound like much time, but when you’re experiencing enormous attraction towards someone and know you shouldn’t, and they’re obviously flirting with you, and both of you are fully aware of what the other person is thinking – ten seconds is hella long.
The entire time, I could feel the sexual tension building – both in the air, and in my own body. Which made me even crankier, since I knew one of the two wasn’t going to get released any time soon.
“So,” I said, “what exactly are you here for, if you’re not here for my roommate?”
“I told you. I’m here for you.”
Oh God. Remember Kevin remember Kevin remember Kevin –
“Well, here I am,” I said in an exasperated voice, crossing my arms and turning to look at him, challenging him. “What do you want?”
He dropped his eyes shyly to the ground, then looked back up at me in an innocent, unbelievably sexy way, his eyes low and beseeching me from under his eyebrows.
“Would you go to a movie with me?” he asked earnestly, no trace of arrogance or game-playing in his voice.
That took the wind out of my sails.
I thought he was going to launch into another series of sexual innuendoes, and I was all ready to get furious and kick his ass out of there.
But instead, he was asking me out.
And really nicely, at that.
“I… I have a boyfriend,” I said, my voice a little shaky.
“I thought he was an ex-boyfriend.”
Oh yeah.
“He… we’re getting back together.”
“Are you back together yet?”
“N-no, but… we will be.”
“That a definite thing?”
I swallowed hard. “Yeah.”
“Okay… so you’ve got a ‘boyfriend,’” he said, putting ‘air quotes’ around the word with his fingers. He shrugged and smiled. “The invitation’s still open. It’s just a movie.”
Yeah, right.
I hedged for a second.
Tell him ‘no,’ tell him ‘no,’ that’s the only safe thing to do, tell him ‘NO’ –
“…what movie?” I asked tentatively.
“You know who David Cronenberg is?”
Do I know who David Cronenberg is.
Do I have two horror-movie-obsessed brothers?
Yeah, I know who David Cronenberg is.
“I’m not going to see The Fly with you,” I said. “Or Videodrome. Or Crash. Or whatever other f*cked-up movies he did.”
He laughed. “Did you see A History Of Violence?”
My resistance faltered a little. “No, but I heard it was really good.”
“It was awesome. I think it was nominated for an Oscar or something. And the one he did after that is playing at the student center – Eastern Promises.”
Ohhhhhh… I had heard about that one.
“Is that the one where Viggo Mortensen gets naked in the shower?” I blurted.
Derek burst out laughing. “Seriously? All I had to do to sell you on the movie was say, ‘Viggo Mortensen gets naked in the shower?’”
I started giggling – and was immediately horrified to hear it. I clapped a hand to my mouth and only removed it long enough to say, “No, it’s not like that – ”
“You probably already looked up that scene on the internet, didn’t you?” he asked indignantly.
“NO – ”
“You’ve probably got, like, Viggo Mortensen ass porn all over your computer, don’t you?”
“NOOOO!” I howled and laughed at the same time.
“So, you wanna go with me and watch Viggo Mortensen get naked in the shower?”
“Oh, you want to go see Viggo Mortensen naked, too?” I taunted him. “Maybe you should rethink that ‘100% into women’ thing.”
“No, I want you to go to a f*ckin’ movie with me, but apparently that’s only happening if Viggo Mortensen gets naked in the shower,” he grinned.
I laughed so hard I thought I was going to cry.
When I finally came down, I choked out, “…okay… when’s the next showtime?”
“Thirty minutes from now.”
“Okay… let me get dressed.”
I didn’t realize until later that, after he made me laugh, I hadn’t once considered saying ‘no.’