Page 19 of Rock Bottom

“I will.”

I wasn’t sure which emotion hit me harder: rage or disappointment. I’d thought Sunny—Lee, or Presley, or whatever the hell her name was—was different. Apparently, she was like everyone else who’d just wanted something from me.

Normally, I didn’t give a shit, but for some reason this one hurt.

I was still standing there outside the door when she came out, wearing glasses with her hair in a ponytail. And then it all came back.

The shy, awkward girl standing outside the dressing room. I’d only caught a glimpse but now I saw her clear as day.

Sunny was Lee—I’d known that—but Lee was actually Presley.

Fuck.

“Zeke.” She stared at me, wide-eyed.

“Are you kidding me right now?” I demanded. “That’s what last night was about? You traded your cherry for a goddamn interview?”

“N-no!” She shook her head. “I didn’t—”

“I heard you. Presley. You said you were working on it.”

“But I didn’t mean it that way! I just—”

“You know what? I don’t even care. You’re just like everyone else.” I ran a hand through my hair. “But you know what? You’ve made a grave tactical error. Because you’ve only got one cherry, sweetheart. What are you going to trade next time?”

Her mouth fell open, her hazel eyes filling with tears. “Zeke, I wasn’t—I slept with you because I wanted to.”

“Well, that was your second mistake. Because there isn’t going to be an interview. Not with me, not with anyone else in my band, and not with any other bands either. I’ll make sure of that.”

She stared at me, a single tear tricking down her cheek.

Damn, she was good.

I almost felt bad.

Almost.

But just about everyone in my life used me. For money, fame, favors, whatever it was they could get from me. I’d be damned if I let some college journalist do it with her motherfucking virginity. It wasn’t that special. And neither was she.

“Zeke, please. Let me explain.” Her voice was a shaky whisper.

“I’m pretty sure I know everything I need to know.

With that, I turned on my heel and strode back toward the elevators. I had a plane to catch and a tour to meet up with.

There wasn’t a damn thing keeping me in Minnesota.

* * *

I caught up to the band at the arena just before soundcheck. I’d drank on the flight to Chicago, in the limo that picked me up at the airport, and had a bottle of Jack Daniels in my hand now.

“Whoa.” Kingston gave me an amused look. “I thought you went to that resort to detox and rejuvenate?”

I snorted. “Yeah, well, you know what they say about the best laid plans.”

He cocked his head. “You okay?”

“Yup.” I grabbed my guitar and strode on stage. I was itching to play, to do something familiar. Something that didn’t remind me of freakin’ Sunny.

---