Interview with the Rock Star

by Rylee Swann

  “You think so?”

  He sputters. “Yeah. I know so. But I’ve got to ask you again… is this really what you want or are you letting the shit in the past push you down this path?”

  It’s a good question.

  I meet his eyes. “There hasn’t been a day I haven’t thought of her. Not a day that I don’t regret everything. At first, I was lost in the drugs and James kept me on the road or partying all the time. When I came clean, so much time had passed that I figured she’d moved on. Figured she was better off without me.”

  “What made her leave? What was the official last straw?”

  I keep forgetting that Stephen wasn’t around back then. He knows bits and pieces, but not everything. I’ve never wanted to talk about it. I just wanted to forget what could have been. Move on. Let her move on.

  Until now.

  “James threw me a bachelor party the night before our wedding,” I tell him, and it’s an odd mix of weird and good to talk to someone about all this shit. I don’t have close friends anymore. After I clean slated all the people around me when I sobered up, I’d been leery of opening myself up. I didn’t trust people. Worse, I didn’t trust myself.

  Stephen nods. “The wedding was supposed to have taken place today, isn’t that right?”

  “Yes. Damn, I can’t believe it’s been a decade. Anyway, the night before, we’re partying and having a good time, and the next thing I remember, Presley is screaming and crying. I’m in a hotel, a naked blonde on one side of me, a naked brunette on the other, a few used condoms on the floor.”

  “Fuck.”

  My gut churns at the memory. “Indeed.” Even high on whatever it was I had taken, I still can’t believe I could have cheated on Presley. I was so crazy about her. Stupid crazy.

  “What happened next?”

  I close my eyes. The two women in bed with me had just laughed, quirking their fingers at Presley, asking her to join us. I’d still been knocked on my ass from whatever I’d taken.

  “I tried to get out of bed, but it was like my limbs wouldn’t move. The room had been whirling and I knew I was going to be sick. I…” I press the heel of my hand into my eye. “I just don’t remember much. Pathetic, I know.

  Stephen nods, but it doesn’t feel like it’s a yeah, you’re pathetic kind of agreement. He’s frowning too.

  “What?” I ask.

  “I don’t know. Something just seems weird about all this.”

  “Weird. Hell yes, it’s weird. I would never have cheated on her, but I clearly did.”

  He meets my eyes. “Yeah, it seems that way. How did Presley know where to find you that night, or morning, whichever it was?”

  “It was three forty-two in the morning.”

  Stephen quirks up a brow. “That’s specific.”

  “Yeah… I remember because, when I was trying to get up, I rolled to my side and the hotel clock was facing me. It kind of seared into my brain, you know.”

  “And you were supposed to get married on September eight, so the bachelor party was the seventh?”

  I sit up straighter, wondering where he’s going with this. Why this particular line of questioning? “Yeah. Why? What’s going on?”

  He scratches his chin. “I dunno yet. Something niggling in my brain. I’ve been with you for a little over a year now. James had been with you since the beginning, right? No one else in between.”

  “Yeah.”

  “I told you about how I went through all the books when you hired me, and how I’d found all those things that didn’t add up. The missing funds and petty cash. Everything was a mess.”

  “Yeah, I remember.” There had been tens of thousands of dollars not accounted for, but I’d told Stephen to just drop it. I’d already fired my cousin and distanced myself from him years before, causing a rift between my mom and my aunt that lives on even now. I didn’t want to put him in jail if what Stephen had speculated at the time — that James had embezzled a bunch of my money — was true.

  Stephen’s frown deepens, and even though he’s only seven years older than me, it makes him look much older. After a long moment, he meets my eyes. “I want to go back through all those books. When we get back home, I’ll dust off those boxes. It’s been a while.”

  Home.

  It’s a strange word.

  After losing Presley, I left Tennessee, vowing to never go back. I floated for a couple of years on my tour bus, falling deeper and deeper into addiction, even as I was thrust on stage to sing that damn song over and over and over.

  One day, I woke up in a hospital, a tube down my throat breathing for me. The doctor called it an accidental overdose and I had been in a coma for over a week. When the tube emerged, the truth emerged as well.

  I didn’t want to die.

  But I didn’t want to live that way anymore either.

  James tried to talk me out of it. Told me I was fine. Said I was just a rock star living the rock star life.

  I fired him.

  I fired everyone.

  We were in Arizona at the time, and I decided that the desert was a good place to dry up. I found a place in Sedona and got myself admitted. Three months later, I walked out, thinking there just might be some hope for me yet.

  I’d wanted to go to Presley then, but there were too many reasons as to why that was a bad idea. I hadn’t trusted myself enough to stay clean being one of the primary reasons.

  So, I found a little place there, wrote music and played my guitar. One year turned into another, then another, then one more.

  One day, I’d bumped into Stephen at the damn grocery store of all places. He recognized me. We began to talk. I’d been itching to sing again, and after several more meetings, we decided to make this come back tour.

  I’ve come back all right. I’ve come back full circle, to where it all began.

  My phone plays a badass riff sound, my notification for an incoming email. Although I get hundreds a day, only my most private email makes that particular sound. The email I’ve had since the beginning.

  It’s her.

  It has to be.

  God, please let it be her.

  I stare at the phone so long that Stephen says, “You all right, man?”

  I look up at him. “That might be her.”

  Stephen doesn’t pressure me to open it. He just sits back and swallows a drink of his water.

  I tap the screen, and sure enough, there is an email from her.

  I exhale and tap again.

  The subject line reads: Interview Question.

  I scan the body of the email, then read it again.

  I wonder… what would you say to the tens of millions of children who might be tempted to try drugs?

  That’s it. There’s no hello or goodbye. There’s nothing personal at all, but my heart increases its speed in my chest.

  Should I reply? Should I not?

  If I do, what should I say?

  My stomach is churning when I tap the reply button.

  She made her email professional. I’ll meet her in that same place.

  Excellent question. You’ll have your answer tomorrow night.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  Presley

  My stomach has been in knots all day. In fact, I’ve been needing to throw up since I typed that email last night.

  I haven’t left my apartment all day, thrilled that it’s a Sunday. I’ve done nothing but lie around, fretting and worrying. I don’t even get out of my pajamas until after six and only then so I can take a long, hot bath.

  Phyllis is coming at eight with more wine and Chinese takeout. I wrinkle my nose. Maybe I should pop some popcorn too. Treat the whole thing like a show.

  But it’s more than a show.

  So much more.

  Too bad I don’t think it will last.

  Last night, Phyllis and I made a bet on how long it will be before Kace “forgets” a show. Then, how long it will take for the website to go dead.

  I gave him two weeks.
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  Phyllis had been more charitable and bet ten bucks on a month.

  In truth, I’ll be surprised if he shows up tonight.

  A part of me knows that it’s me living in the past, but that’s where my experience of him lives. The promises. The tears. Over and over and over.

  And me, believing the promises, wiping away the tears. Hoping tomorrow would be different. Over and over and over.

  Sinking down into the hot water, I groan as it envelopes my muscles.

  I remember another bath so very long ago. I’d escaped to the bathroom after a fight, needing the privacy to pull myself together. Kace had used a credit card on the door and came in over my protests, looking like total shit. He was so very thin then. But his touch had still been magic…

  He looks at me with a look of pure sadness. “I’m sorry, Pres. I’ll try to do better. To be better. I promise.”

  I close my eyes so I don’t have to see him, sinking into the water until it’s just under my nose. I jump when he touches the knee poking up through the bubbles, and I already know I’ll lose this battle.

  Because, even as he wars with addiction, I’m addicted too. To him.

  I open my eyes, knowing I need to send him away, and his pupils dilate. The look on his face changes from sadness… to something else. Hunger.

  My heart flutters and then pounds hard as I recognize that look. I’m about to be fucked, and I won’t be able to tell him no. I feel a tingling between my legs as my body dampens and swells, preparing to welcome him. The pit of my stomach, the very core of my entire existence, tightens as his fingers run down my calf.

  “I love you, Pres.”

  I don’t answer. He already knows that I love him too.

  He lifts my leg and strokes the bottom of my foot before pressing his thumbs into the arch. Lifting my foot to his mouth, he licks where his thumbs had just been.

  “I love every part of you, Presley Elizabeth.”

  He pushes his tongue between my toes, penetrating the space between them, sending a spiral of sensation up my body. One toe slips into his mouth, his teeth grazing the skin before he begins to suck, causing my belly to constrict.

  The other foot is next, given the same ministrations, and I groan as new spirals of heat run up my leg. As he makes love to my feet, his fingers work their magic on my calves. Then he bites me… hard… and my eyes open in surprise. He grins and bites me again, just above my ankle.

  My gasp of pain and surprise doesn’t stop him. It seems to fuel him even more.

  “Keep your eyes open, Pres,” he commands softly. “Don’t stop watching me.”

  “Kace…”

  “Shhh…” He kisses and strokes the places that now feel raw. He lowers my legs and leans toward me, like a tiger stalking his prey.

  “I need you, Presley. Just like this. Please don’t say no.”

  Even though I hate myself, I nod my consent. With that slight lowering of my head, he stands, and without taking his eyes from mine, he climbs into the tub, clothes and all.

  Straddling my body, he leans close and runs his nose up my jaw line, his tongue following in its wake. His hands move up my body, around my neck, and into my hair.

  They close into fists, creating that indescribable sensation I love so dearly. He pulls, and I watch him smile as I groan. Lowering his head again, his teeth trail up my neck and to my ear before winding their way to my mouth. His lips find mine, and we melt together.

  It’s always been like this.

  Even with our first kiss, there had been no awkward placement of noses. There had been no bumping of teeth. It had been perfect, the kiss of all girl’s dreams.

  It’s still perfect, and we melt together. He growls low in his throat when I open my lips to deepen the kiss, and an urgent exploration of tongues and teeth begins. With an intensity that’s always there, he explores my mouth, and then bites my lower lip, raking his teeth across the sensitive skin.

  I gasp, both in pleasure and pain, and that small sound is like gas on the flame of his passion. The water laps up to my chin when he shifts his position, grinding the zipper of his jeans into my stomach.

  A hand moves from my hair, to my neck, and then my breast, and I arch when he squeezes the nipple hard. He sits back, lets the second hand join the first. At first he strokes me lightly before squeezing, kneading my breasts together. The contrast between the touches heighten every sensation and keeps me on edge, wondering what he’ll do next.

  He lowers his head and begins to suck hard, taking as much as my breast as possible into his mouth. He bites me again, but this time the pain is so pleasurable, I’m only surprised at how good pain can feel. Like before, he changes technique. Hard. Soft. Fast. Slow. I start to beg for more, wanting it all.

  Without warning, he pushes into a standing position and water streams from his soaking wet clothes. He grins at me, pulling his t-shirt over his head before unfastening the jeans and pushing them down his legs.

  I watch each part of his body become exposed. The body I love, thick or thin, pale or tanned. He strokes himself, bringing my attention to his erection, long and thick. My mouth waters, and I begin to move to my knees, but he reaches down and lifts me up, placing me on my feet before him.

  “Let’s never fight again,” he begs, his arms going around me as I press into his warmth.

  When he steps away, the loss of his warmth leaves me shaking, but not for long. He folds me into a towel as carefully as he would a child. He pats me dry, not missing a crevice before moving behind me to squeeze the water from my hair.

  “I want you, Pres. Here… now.”

  I press back into his erection, and he moans against my ear, then begins walking me toward the bathroom vanity. When we’re there, he lifts my hands and places them on the mirror. I meet his gaze in the reflection, his pupils so dilated that almost none of his blue can be seen.

  I watch.

  I wait.

  I shiver as his hand travels down my spine.

  His eyes meet mine again and his hands curl around my hips to meet on my lower belly. He smiles, then it drains from his face and is replaced by a look so sensual it steals my breath. His face hardens further into a look that is so intent, goosebumps raise on my arms.

  Every cell in my body is singing, completely alive. He pushes me hard against the mirror, bending me over. His hands grip the cheeks of my ass, kneading them as he had my breasts earlier, spreading them apart. He licks his thumb, and I hold my breath as he touches that tight ring of muscle. When I begin to protest, he hushes me and circles that virgin place, over and over.

  This strange sensation feels so wrong. It’s also naughty… forbidden.

  “Hold still,” he growls, and our eyes reconnect in the mirror.

  With one hand busy behind me, the other begins scratching at the skin of my lower abdomen, his fingernails circling my navel.

  I close my eyes.

  “Open them.”

  I do as I’m told, and he smiles at me. When his fingers find my clitoris, I’m overwhelmed with everything he’s doing and collapse against the mirror, pressing my forehead to the cool glass.

  Round and around his fingers circle and my body quickens, tightens as he pushes me closer and closer to orgasm.

  “Look at me,” he demands, and I slowly lift my head to meet his eyes once again. “I want to watch your face when you come.”

  Those words send me over the edge and I cry out his name, grinding into his hand.

  “You’re so sexy when you come. It drives me crazy.” He kisses my shoulder. “You’ve got such a perfect ass. I’ve always wanted to do this.”

  I moan as his finger slips past the tight muscle and slips inside me. Even as I’m adjusting to this new sensation, his other hand moves lower and two fingers invade my throbbing wetness.

  I’m so full, and then even more so as the finger behind me slides further in.

  My breath fogs the mirror, and I lose sight of his eyes through the haze, then give up and lean my f
orehead against it again.

  My legs are shaking, my arms joining them from the effort of holding myself up.

  The fingers move faster, deeper, delving into the end of me. Teeth sink into my shoulder.

  Oh god! I’m going to come. I’m so close, so close.

  “That’s right, baby. Let go. Let me make you feel good.”

  And he does.

  I explode violently into his hand, a gush of liquid spilling out of me as I cry out, nearly weeping with the intensity of it. He removes his hands and holds me close as I tremble through the aftermath of what I’d just experienced.

  “So sweet,” he murmurs and lifts his hand to his lips to taste his dripping fingers. He shifts positions, bending his knees until his cock is pressed against my entrance.

  “Fuck me, Kace,” I beg, needing him inside me.

  He does, invading me in one sharp flex of his hips. I rock against the counter and push back, needing even more.

  It’s so good.

  “More. Harder.”

  He gives me what I want, what I need, with no hesitation.

  It’s wild and raw, his teeth on my shoulder as he pounds me toward the edge of another orgasm. There’s nothing I can do but survive the fall.

  “God, you feel so good. Tight. Wet.”

  I love when he talks to me.

  Kace increases his pace even more, and when my arms give out, I rest my cheek on the glass. His breathing grows fast and hot, desperate, and I know he’s close to his own orgasm.

  His hand comes around and finds my clit, and when it circles me, I’m lost.

  He shatters with me this time, his hot cum spilling deep inside of me.

  I touch myself as I remember that day, the water of my bath lapping against the sides of the tub as I push myself toward an orgasm that can never match what he used to give me.

  It’s no good.

  Even as I remember the way he’d carried me to bed so tenderly after fucking me so hard, I can’t make my body respond now.

  It’s one of the reasons I don’t date that much. I’ve been with other men in the past ten years, but none of them had taken me to the place Kace could take me. And I’d hated myself when I’d just end up shoving their hands away and finishing things for myself.