The Mighty Storm

by Samantha Towle

Page 67

 

  “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 werent 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.

  Oh yes, this is a good idea. A very good idea. It relaxes me for sure.

  Tru Bennett isn‘t going anywhere. Well not without me anyway, especially with what I have in mind for her.

  “Oh yeah, and why’s that?” she asks interested.

  Enjoying my new found relaxed state, I run my hand through my hair. “I’ve just had a recent addition to my team and I know for sure she’ll make things different, interesting … better. ”

  I see hint of what I think is jealousy in her eyes.

  Nothing to be jealous of Tru. But I like that you are.

  “And this new addition,” she questions. “I’m taking it she’s not new a band member?”

  Lips pressed together, I shake my head.

  “So she’s part of the team putting the tour together?”

  Yep, she’s definitely jealous. “I put the tour together,” I assert.

  “Right. So she’s…?”

  “Let’s say she does … PR. ” I hold back the smug grin I feel.

  “So tell me about your personal favorites on the album and where the inspiration for them came from?”

  Ah this is more like it. Talking music with Tru, I can get on board with this.

  We go through the next half-hour talking music. It feels like old times, and it passes far too quickly.

  I like the fact that she doesn’t ask me a single question about Jonny, as I know for sure the next bunch of idiot interviewers will try to do just that.

  And it’s for reasons like this I love her. Because she has compassion, she cares about people.

  She cared about me once. I want that back.

  I watch her as she finishes scribbling down my answer to her last question.

  Then she closes up her notebook and puts it in her bag.

  Fuck, she’s done. Time’s up.

  I don’t want her to go.

  Even though I’m sure my little plan will work, I have this odd sense of loss creeping up on me.

  I need to know when I’m going to see her again.

  “Thank you,” she says.

  “It’s been really good to see you, Tru. ”

  “You too. ” She smiles at me and it almost cracks me wide open.

  She picks her bag up and gets to her feet. I stand too.

  “Did you bring a coat?” I ask.

  “It’s in my bag. ” She turns to me, looking up at me with those beautiful brown eyes of hers and my heart starts to fucking hurt. “Thank you again for the interview,” she says. “It was great. ”

  “You don’t have to thank me; I’d do an interview for you anytime. ” I’ll give you my whole world if you’ll let me.

  “I might hold you to that,” she laughs.

  “Do. ”

  “Thanks again for your time. ” She’s making for the door.

  “So you’re heading back to work now?” I ask, following behind her like a lost fucking puppy dog.

  I want her to stay. More than anything I want her to stay, but I can’t think up one reason to make that happen.

  “Yes,” she answers.

  “Do you need a ride? I can get Stuart to drive you,” I offer.

  I see a flicker of disappointment cross her face.

  Stupid fucker, why didn’t you offer to drive her? It would have given you more time with her you dickwad.

  “It’s okay, thank you,” she says softly. “I’ll walk, it’s not far. ”

  Maybe I could offer to drive her now? No, it’ll sound too lame and desperate, dumbass.

  “You’re sure?” I ask, just for the sake of something to say. Anythin
g to keep her here for a second longer.

  “I’m sure. ” She smiles and glances at the door.

  She wants to leave. Fuck.

  I reach for the door handle, then stop.

  Dinner. Ask her out for dinner.

  “Do you have plans tonight … because I was wondering if you would have dinner with me?”

  She looks a little stunned. Good thing or not?

  It seems like forever before she answers. “No I don’t have plans, I’m free. Completely free. ”

  A good thing.

  I nearly sigh with relief.

  “Great. Cool. So we can catch up properly without the threat of an interview hanging over us. ” I give her a cheeky smile.

  “Yes,” she says, her voice has gone all pitchy. She clears her throat and adds, “Sounds like plan. ”

  “Eight o’clock okay?” I ask smiling again. It’s hard not to around her.

  “Eight o’clock is great. ”

  “Write me down your address and I’ll come pick you up. ”

  She pulls her notebook out and writes down her address for me.

  She hands it over. We touch in the exchange. My body heats again, heading straight to my groin.

  I notice her hand is trembling slightly and her skin flushes.

  Do I have the same effect on her as she has me? Maybe, just maybe.

  I hold in the huge smile I feel.

  A quick glance at her address, then I fold this piece of gold up and put it in my pocket.

  I open the door for her, letting her through first. I’m a gentleman for no one but her.

  When we reach the main door, I stop and face her.

  This is it. Now or never. I need her to leave here thinking of me.

  Taking the plunge, I lift my hand to her face, skimming her soft skin, I tuck her beautiful, thick hair behind her ear; I would love to get my fingers tangled up in it.

  Leaning down, I press my lips to her cheek, kissing her.

  She feels amazing.

  Her breathing hitches.

  Good sign, Wethers.

  I literally have to stop myself from punching the air like the jerk-off I am.

  Lingering the kiss for as long as I can without it getting weird, I resist the urge to pull a move that will fuck everything up, and I move back away from her.

  I need to take things slow with Tru if I’m going to get her to be mine.

  I want her, but I want her in the right way.

  I give her a warm smile. “So I’ll see you tonight then. ” I open the door.

  “Yes, tonight. At eight. ”

  She walks through the door, stumbling slightly.

  I hold in the laugh I feel. She’s so goddam cute.

  “Bye, Jake. ”

  She’s lingering. A great sign.

  “Bye, Trudy Bennett. ”

  She turns and walks down the hall. Yep, she still has an amazing ass.

  I watch her walking away down the hall.

  The phone in the suite rings so I reluctantly close the door.

  Hearing Stuart talking, I figure the next interviewer is here. I groan inwardly.

  The last thing I want to do is sit and talk to some fucktard.

  What I really want to do is go rub one out and get this ‘Tru hard-on’ out of my system so I don’t try and jump her when I see her tonight.

  Actually, that might take a few dates with my hand for that not to happen.

  With a sigh, I walk back in to the living room, heading for my cigarettes, hating that she’s not here anymore, and wondering just what the fuck I can pull out of my sleeve to impress her tonight.