by A. m Madden
Jack and Leila are already here when I arrive. I move around the table and wordlessly take the empty chair closest to the door. Leila smiles at me and I smirk back.
Hunter and Scott arrive next.
“How is everyone today?” Jack asks in an annoying chipper voice.
“Fuck off,” Hunter responds, and Jack laughs at him.
Jen walks in wearing a smirk of her own. A woman follows her in. My breath instantly catches in my throat. She could be Taylor’s twin. The resemblance is fucking scary.
“Well, you are all on time. I’m proud of you boys,” Jen quips annoyingly.
“It’s practically the middle of the night. It’s a good thing you had coffee and donuts waiting,” Hunter gripes in his typical grumpy way.
The blonde giggles at Hunter and says, “I’m sorry. It’s kinda my fault you are all here so early today. I’m leaving town for a few weeks, and I wanted to meet you all and discuss our sessions before my flight. I know you guys had a really late night. I was at the show and it was phenomenal. I’m Tara Rodston, and I’ll be writing your biography pieces.”
She shakes hands with Hunter, and then Scott, Leila, and Jack. I’m the last person she offers her hand to. Even though I must look like shit, I remove my shades and smile while taking her hand.
“Mr. Trey Taylor. It’s an honor to meet you, I’m a huge fan.”
“That’s a coincidence, so am I.”
Huh? What the fuck am I saying?
God, she looks just like her. She has the same golden shade of hair. Her huge brown eyes look like pools of warm chocolate. From the curve of her lips to her upturned nose, I feel like I’m seeing a ghost. She stares straight into my soul as I continue to take her in. Neither of us realizes that our hands are still clasped in a handshake. Jen clears her throat, very loudly. Tara drops my hand, but continues to stare at me. I move to the empty chair to my immediate left and slide it out for her.
“Thank you very much,” she smiles and effectively knocks the wind out of me.
“My pleasure.” In my peripheral I see Jen glance from me to Tara and then back to me before she sits her own ass down.
“So, Tara will be setting up appointments with each of you. Each feature biography will span an issue, ending with a recap and the history of Devil’s Lair as the last feature. Jack and Leila will be the first interviewed and then the rest of you following. Tara, you can fill them in on how the sessions will run.”
Tara gives Jen a quick smile. “Using Jack and Leila as an example, I will meet with them initially just to have an open chat session, more so to get to know them. The second meeting will be to create an outline of what we all want covered in the feature and a list of questions I will be asking. The third will be the actual interview. The final will be a review of the written feature for approval. I’d like to span the four sessions over a two week period, leaving me two weeks for editing and publication.”
Her eyes find my face again and they remain there.
“Sounds great. When do we start?” Jack asks, but it takes a few seconds for her to respond to his question.
“I’d like to start as soon as I return.”
“Where are you going?” I ask. I can feel every pair of eyes in the room gawking at me. Screw them. I am quite aware my behavior is abnormal for me, but there’s something about this chick that gets to me.
“I’m going to London for two weeks for an exclusive interview.”
“Who?”
“If I tell you, I’d have to kill you,” she smiles, her eyes lingering on my lips.
“Sounds intriguing. I love a challenge,” I respond.
Flirting? I’m fucking flirting now? Holy shit, what the fuck is happening?
“Um, okay, anyone have any other questions for Tara?” Jen asks.
No one speaks. She’s leaving for two weeks. I need to speak to her more, but my brain can’t come up with a question. I can ask her if she could skip over my interview, or if a word count of fifty would be adequate, or for her phone number.
Silence.
“Okay, then we’ll touch base when Tara returns.” Jen walks to the door and turns asking, “Tara?”
“Yes?”
“Do you need a lift back to the office?”
“No, I’m fine. I have a cab picking me up. I’m heading directly to the airport.”
Jen leaves without a goodbye, and the others stand one by one.
“Ready, Babe?” Jack asks Leila.
She nods, and she looks like the cat that swallowed the canary. Hunter and Scott are staring at me as if a horn grew out of my forehead.
“Tara, it was really nice meeting you. We look forward to working with you,” Jack breaks the silence, taking Leila by the elbow to shuffle her out.
“Thank you, same here.”
Leila stops to shake her hand. “Have a safe trip.”
“Thank you.”
Hunt and Scott say their goodbyes, but not before throwing me one more incredulous look. Fuck, this isn’t going to be good. I know these douchebags are going to rag on me because of this.
Once they all leave, I ask, “Do you mind if I wait with you until your cab comes?”
“No, I’d like that.”
She sits again, giving me a shy smile.
Now what?
“Um, so did you have good seats last night?”
Tara nods, smiling wider. She’s so gorgeous. Her face lights the room when she smiles. “Yes, a Rolling Stone perk. I was in the fifth row, left side of the stage.”
She was practically sitting directly in front of me. If I had known, would I have summoned for her last night instead of the roommates?
“What’da think?” I ask, hoping she liked my performance. Suddenly wanting her approval is very important to me.
“You blew me away. Where did you learn to play like that?”
“Lots of practice.” I shrug indifferently, but she has no idea what her words do to my insides.
The conference room phone rings, and she glances at me before she picks it up. “Hello? Yes, I’ll be right out.” She shrugs and says, “My cab is here.”
She stands first, and I follow. “So, who are you interviewing in England again?” I pathetically try to joke around, because nothing else is coming to my mind.
She giggles and says, “Nice try.”
The sound of her laugh, her mannerisms, and her face transport me to the night I made love to Taylor at our creek. I push the thoughts out of my head, refusing to go there.
“Thanks. I look forward to our session when I get back.” She reaches her hand out, and I take it in mine. “It was great meeting you.”
I nod, quietly. When she walks out of the room, she turns one last time and gives me a dazzling smile. Once I’m alone, I sit heavily, reeling from what just happened. My heart is confusing her for someone else. Now that she isn’t sharing the same air as I am, clarity sets in. She’s hot, and she looks like someone I knew.
Big fucking deal.
The upside is I can easily control what gets printed about me now. It seems I charm her, and I plan on banking on it.
I haven’t seen Tara since she came back from her trip, but I’ve thought of her often. The others have all met with her and have all grown attached. Leila adores her. Jack said the two have gotten very close and an unexpected friendship has developed. Leila has made the “Trey/Tara project” her priority. Jack said it’s because everyone else is now paired off, but me. Plus, she’s bored. I feel bad for Little Lair. First, they found out they’re having twins, and then she had a scare with the babies. She was put on complete bed rest and is climbing the walls. My love life, or lack of, has become an unexpected distraction to her.
Which means, Leila Lair has been a royal pain in my ass!
She has been relentless in bothering me. I kind of expected to get some shit from them after my ridiculous behavior the day we all met. Leila has been over the top annoying about it. I’ve denied her claims that I was “struck dumb with
emotion”…her words, not mine. I responded that the only thing struck was my cock and seeing a hot blonde caused a raging hard-on in my pants.
Every time she brings up Tara, I throw her a tasteless joke, or a comment insinuating what I’d like to do to Tara. It may be an immature deterrent, but it seems to be working for now. Leila called last night to see how I was. She claimed she totally forgot that today was my interview. I said she was interrupting a stellar blow job, and I’d have to call her back. I could practically see the blush creeping on her cheeks through the phone line. Again, my tactics worked.
With every week that passed, I knew I was getting closer to Tara interviewing me…and me seeing her. She’s interviewed them all. I’m the last one left. I’ve stalled and stalled, and I’m now out of time.
When I answer the door, my shades hide my eyes as they undress her from head to toe. Fuck, her face is even more beautiful than I remember. She hasn’t a clue of the turmoil that’s currently occurring in my chest. My heart is beating like Hunter’s fucking drums. I feel it vibrating my chest walls. I worry she can hear it from where she stands.
I can smell her perfume. I can see the outline of her tits beneath her T-shirt, and the curve of her pussy in her tight jeans. None of these things have ever, ever stirred my heart. My cock, yes…never my heart.
“Hey, how’ve ya’ been?” I ask trying not to sound winded. I’ve never felt like this before. I’m breathless. Even with Taylor, and I loved her with all my heart, I didn’t have these crushing reactions from just looking into her eyes.
“I’m good. How are you?”
“Can’t complain.” I move aside to let her in. I actually cleaned up for her. This is the nicest apartment I’ve ever had. I’ve always lived in pretty dumpy places. This place is in a great location and is fairly new. Leila helped me decorate after a visit had us all sitting on the floor due to lack of furniture.
She takes a good look around. “This is really nice. How long have you been here? It all looks so new.”
“Not long.” I lead her to the couch and motion for her to sit. “Is this okay? Or do you prefer sitting at the table?”
“This is great.” She pulls out a tiny recorder and pushes record. She then pulls out her laptop and powers it up. I sit in the chair adjacent to her, not wanting to sit too close.
“Can I get you something to drink?”
“Water would be great.”
I leave her on the couch to get her a bottle of water and myself a beer and return to see her all set up, ready to go.
“So, let’s get started,” she announces with a smile.
“What’s that for?” I motion toward the recorder.
“Just in case I miss something. I type notes as I go. It helps me plan an outline in my head. I also like to get it all on recording.” She starts typing frantically and at the same time asks, “Tell me about yourself, Trey Taylor.”
I sat down last night and came up with a mental outline for the fictional story that I’m willing to tell. It’s boring as fuck, totally believable. Small town boy who was raised in the sticks of upstate New York and orphaned as a teen, left looking for his chance at fame, hitchhiked to LA, blah, blah, blah. It’s not all lies. I tell her of my brief career with Top Shelf, leaving out the band name. I’m not giving that prick Zane Zaslo any free publicity.
Its five minutes later, I’m done. She types frantically, getting it all down. When I stop speaking, she looks up expectantly. I know damn well that I’m about ninety percent short of a full sized article.
“That’s all you’re going to tell me?” she asks, quirking up her eyebrows adorably. God, she truly is beautiful. Her lips are full and pink. Her hair is up, exposing her neck. I can’t stop staring at a spot I’d love to attach my lips to.
“That’s all of it. I’m boring as fuck,” I respond, forcing my gaze back up to her eyes.
“Um…” She stares at the screen blankly. “Tell me about joining Devil’s Lair.”
“L.A. didn’t work out, as I said. I was only back in New York one week. I played at an open mic night at a bar in SoHo. I won. After my set, Hunter and Jack approached me. They were in the audience, they were in need of a new bass player, and the rest is history.”
Again her typing ends and she pins me with her expectant stare. Over the course of the next hour, she asks me some questions she had prepared for our session. Most of the info was already covered in my brief synopsis of my life. I was able to fill in some of the blanks, but not many. I throw in some jokes, some snide comments. When she’s all out of questions, she looks up lost.
“Um…I’m not sure I have enough here.”
“I don’t mind my section being the shortest,” I diplomatically volunteer.
“Well, I have a word count requirement. I’ll see what I can come up with.” Her eyes dance over the laptop screen as she skims some of the notes she typed in. “I may have to meet with you again. Is that okay?”
“Sure.” Crap…
“Great.” She glances between her laptop and me a few times and adds, “I guess we’re done for the day.”
“It was fun.” Fun? Ugh…I need to shut the fuck up.
“Yes, it was.” As she packs her stuff up, I want to spend more time with her. Like take her to dinner, or dancing just to feel her body against mine.
What. The. Fuck?
Now I’m thinking of dancing?
“Have you eaten?” I blurt out, without thinking.
My question surprises her as much as it does me. “No, I haven’t.”
“Leo’s is a few blocks away. It’s a greasy diner that looks like a dump, but it’s very good.”
“Sounds great.”
She hoists her bag on her shoulder and smiles warmly. “Let’s go.”
“You can leave your bag here, its close enough we can come back later to get it.” This will ensure I see more of her. Maybe I can get to know her better…maybe even sneak a kiss to get a taste of her lips.
What. The. Fuck?
She hesitates briefly before nodding, “Okay, thank you.”
“Super…let’s go.”
Super?
I’m literally having an outer body experience. Somehow an alien or maybe a ghost has taken over the control of my mouth. I am saying shit that I’ve never said in my life. I lead her out of my apartment. The silence stretches between us in the elevator. I’m never at a loss for words, willingly that is. I can’t think straight when I’m near her. Outside the air is cool, and it feels great against my overheated body. After a block or so, she looks at me and says, “I have a confession to make.”
“Please don’t tell me you’re a dude,” I tease.
“Wow, that hurts. Do I look like a dude?”
Fuck.
“Definitely not,” I back-peddle pathetically. “You’re beautiful. It’s just a joke. Our opening band once went to a club and there were girls there that were dudes, and most of them had no idea... ” I look over apologetically, feeling all sorts of awkward.
She touches my arm and smiles. “I’m teasing you. No, I’m not a dude. My confession is that I Googled you.”
Shit.
“Yeah, and?”
“You’re boring.”
I laugh at her accusation. “I’ve been trying to tell you that.” My heart catches up to my brain. Of course there wouldn’t be anything on me. This chick has me all discombobulated. “I also have a confession to make,” I admit.
She smiles. “You’re not a dude?”
“No, I’m all dude. I Googled you, too.”
“Yeah, and?” she repeats my words back to me.
“I’m impressed.” Her credentials are impressive. “You studied at Boston University and earned your Master’s Degree in Journalism. You’ve mostly written freelance upon graduating for local newspapers in the New England area. This is your first assignment for Rolling Stone, but you’ve written for The New York Times and Newsday.”
“Wow,” she smiles warmly.
It’s m
ortifying that I just rambled off these facts. I’m acting like a fucking dork.
“So I’m at a complete disadvantage. You know all about me, but I know hardly anything about you.”
I shrug and slip back into prick mode. “You know all there is to know.”
“Do you want to know what I think?” she looks up at me and asks.
“Do I have a choice?”
“No.” She laughs and adds, “Well, I think there’s a lot more than what you’re tellin’.”
“You have a vivid imagination.”
I open the door to Leo’s and usher her in. Once we sit and order, she reaches across the table and takes my hand. “Did I upset you?”
“Why would you think I was upset?” Maybe because I’ve suddenly clammed up.
She leans up and removes my shades. “Much better. I like your eyes. They’re gorgeous. Now, did I upset you?” she repeats.
“No, you didn’t upset me,” I clarify, meeting her gaze.
She has the curiosity of a good reporter. It’s not a nosiness most would assume. It’s a thirst for knowledge. She truly wants to know about me. This is the one time I want someone to know about me. I want to tell her my likes and dislikes. I want to confide in her. What I want and what I will do are on separate ends of the spectrum.
We both awkwardly attempt small talk, neither of us good at it. Our food comes, and she dives in. The rest of our meal is mostly silent with interspersed questions thrown in.
“I still feel like you’re interviewing me,” I chastise.
“I am, kind of. I’m also just curious so I can get to know you better.” She puts down her fork and measures me up. Her eyes sweep over my face, stopping at my lips. She then looks at my arms, my hands, and my neck. A woman has never looked at me like that, slowly studying me. I feel vulnerable from her gaze. I feel exposed.
“How long has it taken to get all your tats?”
“Years.”
She leans closer, studying my right arm intently. “They’re fascinating. It’s like a story unfolding on your skin. I’m sure each one has a story, a meaning behind them. I would love to really look at them.” She looks up, blushing from her admission. “If you wouldn’t mind.”
