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103
Austin City Limits was only too glad to push back the performance from the first weekend to the second. News of Riley’s brush with death had lit up the tabloids. Occurring so quickly after Derek’s near self-destruction and rehab, it made Bigger’s planned performance at Austin the hottest ticket of the last several years.
“See them play before somebody dies,” as one tasteless blogger put it.
But Riley wasn’t about to die, that much was certain. She was too busy telling Death – and everybody else – to fuck off. When she recorded her parts, Miles and Avi told her just to do a temp track until she recovered, but she gave it everything she had. She was usually exhausted after one take, but the one take was perfect. She would recover in the control booth afterwards, sipping apple juice out of box drinks and Skyping with Megan when she wasn’t in classes.
Not to mention sneaking in the occasional tiny airplane bottle of Jack Daniels her Athens cronies would slip her in the studio parking lot.
But Riley was right about one thing: the
kumbaya
atmosphere didn’t hold. Once they were back in the studio, Ryan and Derek tried to keep the peace, but tempers began to fray. The first day was alright, and they got a lot of work done… but the quality suffered. Avi remarked on it, and that immediately threw Derek into a state of defensiveness and blame, which triggered Ryan, which started the whole downward spiral once again.
Interestingly enough, the antagonism improved the recordings… even if it slowed their progress to a snail’s pace.
Derek started hitting on me again. Not often, and not in the presence of anyone else, but occasionally.
“I thought you were going to leave me alone,” I snapped.
“Only if you could convince me you don’t love me. And you didn’t,” he said with a wink.
It was business as usual, the same as before Riley’s incident.
That was the energy we took with us as we boarded the private plane for Austin.
104
We arrived the night before the concert. The band booked a luxurious suite of rooms at the W Austin (one of the other mega-acts had already taken the penthouse). As Ryan and I unpacked in our room, he told me he had to go meet Miles and discuss sound check with the concert organizers.
“I shouldn’t be more than thirty minutes or so,” he said, and gave me a quick kiss before leaving.
I had just settled down into a leather chair and started going through my notes for the ‘maybe one day’ Rolling Stone article when there was a knock at the door.
“Who is it?” I called.
“I forgot my keycard,” a muffled voice said.
I walked over and opened it up. “I don’t see it on the dresser – ”
My heart stopped in my chest.
It was Derek.
I started to close the door, but he planted his boot and blocked it.
“Get out,” I hissed.
“You and I need to talk, and this might be our last chance to do it alone.”
“You
lied
– you even tried to imitate Ryan’s voice – ”
“Because I knew you wouldn’t even agree to talk to me otherwise. Can I come in?”
My heart was thudding against my ribs. “You’re supposed to be at that meeting.”
“I’m sure they can handle it without me.” He looked at me with puppy dog eyes. “Please, can I come in?”
I held my breath. It would be stupid of me to let him in.
Unfortunately, I was about to do a very stupid thing.
“…five minutes.”
“That’s all I need.”
“And don’t try anything.”
“If you say so,” he said, and walked into the room as I shut the door behind him.
105
“Okay,” I said as I turned towards him, “what’s so important you have to – ”
I didn’t have time to think before he was on me, his mouth on mine, slamming me against the wall.
It was like Los Angeles when he did it at the Dubai – the adrenaline rush, his hard body against my curves.
It was crazy back then, but now it was overpowering.
His
taste
– his lips, his tongue, his mouth – had been a memory, an insatiable craving I had denied I even had.
Now I was plunged into that sweetness, that overwhelming sensuality. I was tasting him, smelling him, feeling him, hearing him. There wasn’t any sense I had that wasn’t overwhelmed.
And every nerve in my body suddenly felt
alive.
I was like an addict who had tried
so hard
to be good – who had stayed sober for days, weeks, months – but every waking minute was spent struggling against the addiction.
Then, without warning, I mainlined a dose of the best stuff I’d ever had.
I’ve heard that recovering heroin addicts get a far-off, wistful look in their eyes when they talk about doing smack. Even though it ruined their lives, even though it nearly killed them, they still have an ache for it deep in their soul.
I had an ache, a hunger, a fever, and suddenly my drug of choice was washing over me in an uncontrollable wave of pulse-pounding, spine-tingling desire.
I tried to fight back. Just like at the Dubai, I tried to push him away, but he gripped my arms, pinning them against the wall. It excited me, made my skin flush and my nipples harden because it recalled every sense memory of all the times he had done the same when he fucked me. Whether in bed or standing up, he had pinned me numerous times, and I could feel myself get instantly soaked, ready for his cock to fill me and make me come.
I knew I shouldn’t – I knew this was bad – I knew
I
was bad –
But please… please… just one… more… second…
And then I remembered Ryan.
A jolt of shame and anger ripped through me.
I turned my head.
Didn’t matter – he kissed the side of my mouth, sought out my lips like a hungry animal.
“Stop,” I whispered.
“No,” he whispered back hoarsely.
I strained with my arms, but he was far too powerful.
So I did the only thing I could: I brought my knee up,
hard.
He felt it coming and twisted away right at the last second. I jabbed him in the thigh rather than the crotch, but it was enough to make him break his hold on my arms – and his hold on my emotions, too.
“You fucking asshole,” I hissed, “you said you wouldn’t try anything.”
He wiped his mouth with his fingers, tasted what he found there with his tongue. Tasted
me.
“I love you. I
want
you. And you want me. I can feel it.
