I know what you’re saying.Why did you leave him? Why didn’t you break up with Kevin?!WHY?!I’ve asked myself that every day for the last four years… but I always come back to the same answer.On one hand was the only boyfriend I’d ever had. I’d lost my virginity to him. He was the only guy I’d ever gone all the way with… and until those last few days in Athens, he was the only one I’d ever kissed. He’d liked me back when I wasn’t pretty. We had three and a half years of history, and an entire future planned. We were going to go to college together, then we were going to go to New York City, and then to exotic countries, and write and get married and see the world.On the other hand was the hottest guy I’d ever met. But I knew he was a womanizer. No matter what he said to me, no matter how much I wanted to believe him, there was this lingering fear that I was just another conquest. He had slept with dozens and dozens of women – used them up and then tossed them aside. Or at least ne
It was the summer before my senior year. I was driving around Savannah doing some errands before heading back to school, listening to the local top 40 radio station, when a Bruno Mars song finished and the cheesy-ass announcer came on.“You’re gonna be hearing big things out of this next band, a rock group out of Athens, Georgia named Bigger. Bigger what, you might ask?” he asked with a suggestive smirk in his voice. “You be the judge… but I think they’ll be bigger stars than anybody out there, if their first single is any indication – it’s Bigger, with ‘Girl, Please Stay’!”The guitar intro was really good – a beautiful melody expertly played.For some reason, even though the songs didn’t sound anything alike, I thought of “Under The Bridge” and a day, long ago, spent in a basement singing along to Katie Perry and Beatles songs.And then, like a ghost appearing in the seat next to me, Derek’s voice – sexy, deep, seductive – filled the car.I met a girl who turned my head She took me
I was remembering all these things on the flight to LAX.I was replaying them all in my head as I got my bag from the luggage claim and hailed a taxi outside.And I was trembling with fear… and maybe something else… when the cabbie dropped me off outside of the hotel.It was a new place. Fancy shmancy. Called the Dubai.It looked like a fitting place for rock stars. Lamborghinis and Porsches out front… red velvet carpet… valets in white suits… a cavernous lobby of black and white marble trimmed with gold, trying hard to look like a fever dream out of 1001 Arabian Nights.I wheeled my crappy little rolling suitcase over to the front desk. A bellhop tried to take it from me, but I politely declined. Then I talked to the supermodel concierge about the cheapest room they had, which I’d only gotten because Rolling Stone was footing the bill and had to maintain appearances.I looked around the lobby, filled with men in Armani suits and women who had more silicone in them than body fat.Than
Derek Kane.Hottest guy I’ve ever seen. Not to mention charismatic, smart, and funny to boot.I met him when I was a college freshman and he was wannabe rock star.We had a sweet, ill-fated romance that lasted all of two weeks, whereupon I left to go reunite with my boyfriend of three years.Horrible, horrible mistake.Over the years, I’ve lain awake thinking about it for more nights than I care to admit.Should I have stayed? I should have stayed. I should have thrown out all my plans, broken up with Kevin and stayed with Derek, and then everything would have been perfect.Those sorts of thoughts just naturally drift into What if we met again? What would happen? Could we start again where we left off?If only we could have a second chance…But I never contacted him, for good and sufficient reasons. And he never contacted me.And that was that.Except I got a second chance.…sort of.The wannabe grew up into a bonafide Rock God who refused to talk to the press. I grew up into a strug
We walked out of the bar and through the lobby. I looked towards the bank of elevators passing by on our left. “Aren’t we going up?”“Yeah, but ours is over here,” he said, pointing past the check-in desk.“You have your own private elevator?”“Well, they didn’t build it just for me, you know.”“Where does it go?”He smirked at me. “The penthouse. We are rock stars, after all.”“The penthouse has its own private – ”“I haven’t seen you for four years, and you want to talk about elevators?” he teased me.“Fine,” I huffed. “What do you want to talk about?”He shrugged. “I dunno… you graduated, I’m assuming?”“Yes.”“Syracuse, wasn’t it?”Now it was my turn to be impressed. “Good memory.”“What else have you done?”“What do you mean?”“Like, what other big things have you written?”I thought he was making fun of me, so I said sarcastically, “The last Time magazine Person of the Year article.”He looked over at me, stunned. “What? Really?”I gave him a bitter look. “No, of course not. I d
We walked from the elevator into a luxurious hallway lined with works of art. Miles had already disappeared through an open doorway at the end; I could hear a young woman’s voice laughing and chatting loudly in the next room, along with a few thumps and crashes from a drum set. There was some sort of brief conversation, including a few explosive phrases in a British accent, and then a familiar face met us at the door.Ryan.Except radically different from how I remembered him.He was just as tall, but now he had longer, shaggier hair that was perfectly tousled and styled. His face was leaner, with more pronounced cheekbones, and he sported a couple days’ worth of fashionable stubble. He wore high-end jeans, pointed-toe leather shoes, a black t-shirt with the Union Jack and pictures of four band members on it, a fancy leather jacket, and a small rawhide necklace that looked like he’d picked it up surfing in South America or on some other exotic adventure.My first thought was, Damn, R
The elevator ride down was gross. Killian reeked of weed, Derek smelled like bourbon, and Riley just stank.I wasn’t the only one who thought so.“God, it’s like ridin’ the underground in Paris in the summertime,” Miles muttered.“What do you mean?” Ryan asked.“Buncha Frogs without any deodorant, and they still smelled better’n you lot. Come on, out, out!” he yelled as the elevator door dinged open.The walk through the lobby was fairly uneventful, but once we got out front, there were twenty paparazzi waiting, flashes going off. Derek smiled winningly for the cameras and hoisted up his bottle of scotch; Riley stuck out her tongue a là Miley Cyrus and flipped them off. Ryan, Killian, and Miles just ignored them.The photographers probably got plenty of shots of me in the background, goggling at them like I had never seen a camera before.Inside the black stretch limo, seating order was Killian, Derek, and me. Ryan sat opposite and facing me, and next to him were Riley and then Miles.
The Staples Center was a massive arena usually reserved for sports events and the biggest of the big music acts. It has room for 20,000 people; at the moment, there were only 100, and so it felt cavernously empty.The hundred in question were working getting the stage, lighting, and equipment ready for the show. There were teams futzing with the electronics, and others messing with the sound system. Feedback whined through the speakers and echoed in the empty spaces above the upper rafters.“Christ, never on time, never on schedule,” Miles spat, pronouncing ‘schedule’ as ‘shed-yull.’ Then he stomped down to the stage and started yelling at some long-haired sound guys.“What do we do now?” I asked.“We go eat,” Derek said, and led the way.We walked up onstage and passed through a bunch of scaffolding. Derek called out to and joked with almost everyone we passed. Ryan and Killian got a lot of enthusiastic hellos; Riley got a few shout-outs, but mostly everybody seemed scared of her.We