Oh, she’s back to that again. For fucks sake. What do I have to do to keep her interest in me and off this fucking interview?
I hate interviews at the best of times. Even more so, when all I want to do is figure out how to get her back into my life, and into my bed.
“You won’t get fired,” I state.
I’d ruin the fucking magazine if they ever even considered firing her.
“You sound pretty confident of that,” she laughs, it sounds forced.
Does she not think I have that kind of pull? I’ll show her just exactly what kind of pull I have, and also just what I have to offer her.
“I am.” Staring at her, I take another pull on my smoke.
She shifts in her seat. I like that I make her nervous. And I’m so going to use it to my advantage right now.
“You okay?” I probe. “You seem a little uncomfortable.”
“Of course I’m not uncomfortable,” she bites.
She so fucking is. And it’s so fucking hot.
“I just need to–”
“Do your job.” I finish for her. “Okay, go ahead, ask me anything. I’m all yours, Tru for the next thirty minutes.”
She wants to interview me, fine, interview me. But I’m going to have some fun while she does.
When I said I was good at two things, making music and fucking, that was a lie. I’m good at something else, very good in fact, and that’s talking.
I glance at my watch, giving an air of indifference, and confidence, as I lean back against the sofa, putting one arm to rest on the back, I give her another one of my trade mark smiles.
It disarms her again. I can see it in her eyes. Good, because that was the intention.
She puts the end of the pen in her mouth, and I lose focus.
My dick starts to harden again as I watch that pen in her mouth, watching her chew it.
Fuck.
I’ve actually turned into a horny teenager. I can’t stop getting hard-ons around her, just like I couldn’t back when I was young.
And because my dick is big, it shows a lot when it gets hard, and no, that’s not me being a cocky bastard, it is big. Huge in fact.
I surreptitiously shift it about in my pants while she’s not looking, having a drink of her water, begging the eager fucker to go back down.
At least I’m sitting so it shouldn’t be noticeable while it tames itself.
“It’s been said in the past that you’re a perfectionist when it comes to your work,” she says out of the blue. “–your music, and because of that you can be … at times, difficult to work with. Do you agree with that? Do you consider yourself a perfectionist?”
Now that’s got my attention. I resist my urge to laugh.
This is the Tru I know.
Let the games begin.
“People don’t work with me, Tru, they work for me. And the guys in my band, the ones who matter, don’t seem to have a problem with the way I run things. But to answer your question, I want my music and my label to be the best it can be. Currently it is, and I intend to keep it that way, so if I have to bust a few balls and have myself labelled as a complete shit to work for, or a ‘perfectionist’ to keep me, my band and my label at the top of its game, then yeah, call me a perfectionist. I’ve been called worse.”
She’s staring at me, mouth wide open.
Good.
I watch as she scribbles down my answer, feeling pretty pleased with myself.
“The general feeling and what people are saying, is that ‘Creed’ is your most chart-friendly album to-date, do you agree with that?”
“Do you?”
“Me?”
“Yes. I’m assuming you’ve listened to the album?”
I’m testing her.
“Of course I have…” she starts to stumble.
She’s so sexy when she’s nervous.
“… and … yes, I agree with the general consensus. I think that a lot of the songs are holding a softer tone than your previous albums. Especially ‘Damned’ and ‘Sooner’.”
She’s garnering focus. Disarm her again.
“Good. Then the point of the album is being received.” I give her another smile, enjoying the feeling I get watching her thrown expression.
“So tell me – what would you be doing right now if you weren't talking to me?”
“I’d be catching up with an old friend.”
“Um…” she stumbles once again.
I’m enjoying throwing her off balance. It’s fun. And seriously hot to watch.
“Okay … it’s been a while since you toured, are you looking forward to getting back on the road and playing live again?”
I lean forward, closer to her.
She crosses her legs in front of me.
I can’t help but look at them. Fuck, her skin looks so soft. I bet she tastes amazing.
Focus Wethers. Eyes up. You might be playing, having a little fun here with her, but respect her, remember. Treat her like the serious journalist and writer she is.
I look at her face as an idea starts to form in my mind.
“Playing live is what I love to do, it’s what I live to do … and I have a feeling this tour is going to be a very interesting one – probably my most interesting to date,” I add, as that forming idea, turns into a sudden flash of inspiration.