Interview with the Rock Star

by Rylee Swann

  “Kace, man. Talk to me.”

  I shake my head. “Just have some memories in Knoxville, man. Bad memories.”

  I also have some good ones. Many, many good ones.

  Red hair twisting between my fingers anytime she was near. Talk about addiction, I’d been addicted to her fucking hair and always had to have my hands in those wild curls whenever she was in my presence.

  Her laugh. It was as big as the Smoky Mountains, and you could just tell it came from her very core. Her entire face smiled when she smiled. The universe seemed to light up with just one of her grins.

  Her eyes. Green as grass with speckles of gold near the pupils. So guileless and trusting, so soft when she looked at me. The concern that had begun to live in them the last year we were together.

  Then the horror in their depths when she found me passed out naked with those two women that terrible morning. The morning I lost her for good.

  “Running from memories don’t make them go away,” Stephen says behind me.

  I snort and press a hand to my stomach, hoping to control the gurgling there. “Ah, have you been sitting on Dr. Gibson’s couch too?”

  I can see his reflection in the window. I can see the concern. The uncertainty of knowing what to do. I fucked up last night, and I need to assure him that it won’t happen again. That I’m serious about my job and I’ll do whatever it takes to be, if nothing else, a two-hit wonder.

  It’s that lost look that turns me around. “One song?”

  Hope brightens his eyes. “Yes. A few pictures, a couple of waves, probably some press questions, then we head on down to Atlanta.”

  Will the city be the same? The campus?

  Face the past.

  Last night is clear evidence that I haven’t faced it. Haven’t put it behind me. And I need to. Life has gone on. She has gone on. I’ve been stuck in a rut for years now.

  Face it, then move on.

  “Okay, I’ll do it.”

  Stephen smiles and rubs his hands together, relief clear in his every gesture. Not because of this one gig, I know that. He’s relieved that he’s got some sort of control again, and he thinks I’m back on my come-back trail.

  “Good. Let’s get this place cleaned up so housekeeping can’t take photos and sell them to the tabloids.”

  I look around at my shame. Bottles everywhere. Sheets a mess.

  Stephen’s right… I don’t need that kind of press.

  It doesn’t take long, and it’s time to go. Time to get on my bus and head to Knoxville.

  To my past.

  CHAPTER THREE

  Presley

  “What?”

  I blink rapidly at Earl Graves as he rubs his hands together, excitement clear on my editor’s face. “You heard me. Kace Rymer is coming back to Knoxville, and I want you to be at the press conference, see if you can get a more in-depth interview with him.” Earl lifts his hands as if he’s seeing the title of the article on a billboard. “We’ll call it… The Come-Back Kid Comes Back Home.”

  I stare at the man. Is he out of his mind? Goosebumps dance up my arms, even as sweat breaks out on my forehead. The world does a weird little tilting thing that makes me quite dizzy, and I place my hands on the large round table I’m sitting at, afraid I might topple over at any second.

  I look around at my colleagues, who are all looking at their phones, clearly disinterested in the conversation now that the article has been assigned to me. Except Phyllis. My friend. Her dark brown eyes are huge as she looks back at me. She knows my history.

  Assigned to me!

  Why?

  There are eight of us. What universal conspiracy forced Earl’s finger to point in my direction? Is my karma really so dirty that this is coming back to haunt me? This weekend of all times?

  “I’m not the right person for this, Earl,” I say, managing to keep my voice steady.

  He peers at me over his glasses. “And why not?”

  Because I loved him.

  Love him?

  Because I feel guilt and confusion and arousal and hurt and betrayed and pain and hope and devastation every time I hear his name.

  “It’s personal,” I manage, lifting my chin. In the four years I’ve worked at Sass & Frass, I’ve not once turned down an assignment, not once refused to work late or on weekends. Every single week, I’ve chugged out article after article, only releasing them to publication after I’d suffered over each word.

  But… one of Earl’s eyebrows quirks up, and I realize it’s the absolute worst thing I could have said. Earl is a journalist at heart, and I just gave him a story to sniff out. Shit.

  “Tell me more.”

  Glancing around the table, I see that several heads have popped up from their phones, eyeing me with interest. I meet Earl’s gaze and give him a pleading look. Although I make a living with words, they fail me now.

  “Do you have a restraining order against him?” Earl asks.

  I nearly choke on my own spit. “Of course not.”

  He steeples his fingers in front of his face. “Does he have one against you?”

  My mouth sags open. “No. Absolutely not.”

  His fingers begin tapping together. “Do you fear for your life or well-being around him? And should he fear for his life and well-being around you?”

  Does the well-being of my heart count?

  “No and no.”

  All eyes are on me now, and I glance over at Phyllis, my very best friend in the world. She’s discreetly attempting to cut off this line of questioning by slicing her fingers across her throat.

  Earl isn’t paying an ounce of attention to her, every bit of his focus beamed in my direction. “Are you a professional, Miss Collins?”

  Shit. He only uses last names when he’s getting ready to prove a harsh and probably valid point.

  “Yes, sir, Mr. Graves, sir.” I sound like a petulant little girl, but my heart is pounding so hard and the emotion running so high that I’m afraid I’ll burst into tears at any second if I don’t turn into an ice-cold bitch.

  The old man looks amused. “As professional journalists, Miss Collins, we must find the fortitude to step outside of our comfort zone and—”

  I can’t take the lecture a moment longer. “Okay. Okay. Fine. When and where?” I’m not sure, but I think my curls have started to sag toward my shoulders.

  And something low and dangerous has begun to curl in my stomach, weaving its way down between my legs.

  Glancing over at Phyllis, I accept her “I’m so sorry” expression with a “me too” expression of my own.

  Earl looks down at his notes. “Says here that the press conference will take place at six o’clock. Game kickoff is at seven p.m., so I’m guessing you’ll only have about thirty minutes or so.

  Thirty minutes.

  I can do thirty minutes.

  Yet I can’t help but notice the irony in the timing. Our wedding was supposed to have taken place at six o’clock, ten years ago tomorrow.

  So… this weekend, I will be coming face to face with Kace Rymer after a ten-year separation. A separation he hasn’t once… not once… tried to bridge.

  Ignoring the pain that knowledge stirs up in me again, I touch the tiny wrinkles at the corners of my eyes and sigh.

  I don’t look the same as I did ten years ago. But why does that matter?

  I look down at my perfectly creased slacks, my perfectly ironed white blouse. The sensible heels on my feet. I don’t dress the same either.

  Will he even recognize me in the sea of reporters who will surely be at the conference? Will he be too stoned to care?

  I heard rumors that he’d cleaned up his act, that his fifth trip to rehab had done the trick and he’d remained sober. And still… he never reached out to me. Not a call. Not a text. Not a word.

  Maybe he’d scrubbed all of his past away, and I’d just been part of the dirt that swirled down the drain.

  I’m quiet through the rest of the meeting, and my idea for lea
rning why radio stations played new tunes into the ground is approved, so I have my next “I Wonder…” assignment. But I can’t stop looking at my pants. Can’t stop mentally sorting through my wardrobe. Can’t stop thinking it’s been too long since I’d had my hair trimmed. Too long since I’d had a facial or manicure. A wax.

  A hand comes down on my shoulder, and I look up to see Phyllis standing over me. I blink and look around the now empty table.

  “You okay?”

  The laugh that barks out of me is bitter and sad… and something else.

  I get to see him.

  It’s stupid to have that tiny thin slice of excitement stirring around my system. But I do.

  It’s been so long. After the first few years of our breakup, I’d forced myself to stop googling him. I’d forced myself to not look at his social media pages. Closed my ears to any news or any of his songs.

  That had been self-preservation, I know.

  “Yeah,” I finally answer her.

  Phyllis sits down, her hand still a warm comfort on my shoulder. She exhales a long breath, then smiles. “So, what are you going to wear?”

  CHAPTER FOUR

  Kace

  Interstate 40 is a damn long piece of highway, and it’s like my chest gets tighter with every mile we pass. I don’t know why. I probably won’t even see her in the couple of hours I’m in Knoxville. As Stephen told me… I’ll arrive, do a dog and pony show for the press, sing my song and jet out of there. Presley hates football, so it’s doubtful she’ll be anywhere close to the stadium.

  She works for some hoity-toity magazine with a stupid sounding name, after all. I doubt they’ll want the stink of a rocker smelling up their cultured pages.

  That had surprised me when I’d had a weak moment and googled Presley’s name a few years ago. She’d always wanted to be a travel journalist. She wanted to travel to different places, see the world. But from what I can tell, she’s never left K-ville.

  Is it because of a man?

  I can’t tell because her social media pages don’t offer anything social about herself. Instead, they focus on the articles she writes, or the sun setting over the river. Maybe a flower. Things she finds beautiful. There’s rarely even a glimpse of her beautiful self.

  I should have told Stephen no about coming here. Even as I’m still pissed at myself about my drunken night, I want to do it again. And again. And again. But I’m on my addiction-proof bus. I can probably slug back some mouth wash, but I won’t find anything harder than that.

  Closing my eyes, I will the longing for drug and alcohol induced oblivion to fade away. Presley’s face the last time I saw her springs to my mind, and I will it away too. Leaning my chair back as far as it will go, I beg sleep to take me away from all these thoughts.

  But a smiling Presley won’t go away…

  The water is ice cold, even on a warm spring day. The roar of the falls as it cascades from the mountainside makes it nearly impossible to talk as it hits the surface of the waiting pool, churning the water into foam near our feet.

  Presley laughs and clutches her arms around herself as she stands on the slippery rock at the base of Elrod Falls. “Brrr… it’s freezing. I don’t think I can go in there.”

  Circling my arms around her waist, I press my front to her back, lowering my nose until it’s in her hair. The curls spring up to tickle my face, and I inhale deeply of the coconut shampoo she favors.

  “I’ll keep you warm.”

  She pushes backwards, knowing me too well to have any doubt about my next move. She squeals, backpedaling but going nowhere as I grab onto her tighter. “No! Don’t you dare. I’ll—”

  Splash.

  My balls feel like an icicle has just been thrust through them. My ribs contract, squeezing my lungs and making it hard to breathe.

  Pushing to the surface, I find Presley’s head already sticking out of the water. Her teeth are chattering, and her lips are already blue. Okay, maybe this isn’t one of my brightest ideas.

  “I-I-I h-h-hate y-y-you,” she chatters, seeming to be frozen where she floats, her hair stuck flat to her head and face.

  I grab her and pull her toward me, giving her what little warmth I can offer as I swim us back toward the rocks. “No. You love me.” It’s a battle of wills to keep from chattering too, but I put all my focus on getting her out of the water, where she stands like one giant goose bump while I haul myself out.

  Sweeping her up into my arms, I carry her to one of the places where the sun shines down through the trees, grabbing a towel from our pile of things.

  Her teeth are still chattering a bit, but she doesn’t seem as blue when she finally decides to talk to me again. “It’s really beautiful here. So quiet and peaceful. I can’t believe we’re the only ones here.”

  “I know. It’s like we’re the only two people in the world.” I hope it stays that way. “Hungry?”

  Presley smiles at me and nods. “Starving. I didn’t eat breakfast, remember?”

  I smile back because I do indeed remember. Knowing it’s an hour and a half drive to the waterfall, and knowing I’d want us to get there when the sun was high enough to shine down through the trees, I’d woken her early. Well, if eleven o’clock is considered early. Considering we’d partied until four in the morning and then made love until six, yeah… eleven is officially early, but I’d gotten her ass up after I’d put together a picnic lunch.

  Today is special.

  It’s going to be one of the most special days of my life.

  Grabbing the picnic basket containing enough food for ten people, I haul it over to our sunny spot on the rock. Well, where our sunny spot had been. I look up and notice all the clouds that have gathered. Shit. I’d better hurry this up.

  Wine, cheese, a variety of breads and sandwich meats. Potato salad, an assortment of cut fruit, and chocolate cake for dessert.

  “Wow. Impressive,” she says as I pour her a glass of wine.

  I just smile and assemble our sandwiches, drinking long swallows straight from the bottle. After four years together, I know exactly what she likes.

  Offering her a strawberry, I lift it to her lips and watch her watch me as she sinks her teeth into it, taking the bottle from my hands. I don’t even care because… Damn. She’s so fucking hot.

  Leaning close, I lick a drop of stray juice from her bottom lip, then take its pillowy softness between my teeth… and suck.

  She moans.

  It amazes me that I never get tired of hearing that little sound. Never get tired of kissing these same lips. Loving the same girl. Fighting with the same girl. Making love to the same girl night after night.

  I don’t.

  Because I’m crazy about Presley Collins. Better still, she’s crazy about me too.

  I deepen the kiss, and she opens for me immediately, letting my tongue dance with hers. I feel her breathing grow shallow and I pull her onto my lap.

  Lunch forgotten, I slide my hand into the cup of the tiny triangle of cloth covering her breasts. “I like your new bikini,” I say before closing my mouth over her nipple.

  She keens, arching her back for more.

  My cock springs alive and she wiggles her bottom, knowing exactly what that does to me.

  A twig breaks and Presley stiffens, but I don’t take my lips from her skin. After a moment, she relaxes in my arms once again as I take the other nipple, rolling it between my teeth. She stiffens again, but this time from desire.

  Stroking a hand up her leg, she clamps her thighs together as I reach their juncture. “Ssshhh, it’s okay, baby. No one is here. We’re totally alone.”

  In the distance, there is a rumble. Thunder. But it’s still some distance away, I estimate. Then I feel drops of water on my skin, and look up. The clouds are thicker. Darker. Lower.

  My plans have just gone to shit.

  Or maybe not.

  Presley pulls my head back to hers just as another rumble fills the sky. Her eyes are open, the golden dots in their depth
s seeming to gleam at me from this close distance.

  “Pres—”

  “Make love to me. I’ve always imagined making love in the rain.”

  My cock grows harder, tighter, almost painfully so in my trunks.

  Moving to my knees, ignoring the hard rock beneath them, I push her back onto the towel. The rain grows heavier, and she closes her eyes and lifts her face to it as I move between her legs, pushing her thighs open. Pulling at the strings that hold her bikini bottom together, I watch the yellow material fall away to reveal her nearly bare pussy.

  Damn. So very pretty.

  Everything about her is so very pretty.

  She gasps when I find her with my tongue.

  I love going down on her. I love everything about it. The way she tastes. Her smell. The softness of her labia in contrast to the hard bead of her clit as I suck it into my mouth.

  More than any of that, I love her reaction. The little and not so little noises she makes. The way her body wiggles and arches, how she presses herself harder into my face. I even love the way she tugs at my hair, often pulling a few strands from the roots. It only makes me harder. Only makes me want to give her more.

  I’m iron hard now and want nothing more than to pound into her liquid heat. But I take my time, even as the rain comes down in sheets against my back.

  Sometimes, I wonder if she knows what goes through my mind while I’m eating her out like this. Does she know how much I need it… need her? At times, I feel like a carnivore eating its prey, devouring and taking her very essence. And the sick bastard that I am, I can never get enough.

  After I fuck her with my tongue, I follow with my fingers. Her clit is in my mouth while I twist and curl my knuckles against her internal walls, going straight to the rough patch I know will set her off. She likes it hard and fast. Primitive. I give it to her, feeling her growing tighter… tighter…

  She explodes, her orgasm gushing out onto my hand. I nearly roar in triumph as I wipe the fluid from my neck. I shouldn’t have bothered. The rain is cleaning us both.

  Crawling up her body, I push my trunks down just enough that my cock pops free. Then I’m inside her, her still spasming muscles sucking me in… hot, tight, and welcoming. I slam into her hard. Uncaring about the rock beneath us. Uncaring about the rain above us.