Page 18 of Dirty Like Zane
After the show, I didn’t approach him. I gave him space and time to cool off. I knew I should probably check on him. As management, it was pretty much my duty. I knew Brody had talked to him, but I should’ve made sure he wasalright.
The truth was, putting aside all our marriage bullshit… I felt for him. The show was fantastic, overall, and everyone else was happy—but Zane just wasn’t himself. Brody and I both saw it. We both heardit.
Ifeltit.
Zane was often a little tense before a show, right before he went onstage, and we all knewthat.
But once he took the stage, he owned it. He owned theroom.
I’d rarely seen a frontman do what Zane could do—which was saying a hell of a lot. Over the years I’d seen a lot of incredible bands play live. A lot of musicians who made magiconstage.
Zanewasthemagic.
Usually.
Last night… not so much. At least, not as much asusual.
And at the bar after the show… he was definitely on-edge. About the show, probably, and about me. I knew he was frustrated with me, and he was trying to push mybuttons.
Nothingnew.
Zane had always treateduslike some giant game; like chasing me was some sort of blood sport he’d just keep playing, no matter what it cost him, until hewon.
And maybe he could afford to just keep chasing me,indefinitely.
When we weren’t ontour.
But being in the spotlight all the time, under the media microscope? That was different than being at home, cutting an album and just generally livinglife.
I’d realized that lastnight.
And now I was worried about him. Worried that his performance would suffer on this tour. Thathewouldsuffer.
Because ofme.
Because of this fucked-up shit betweenus.
I really should’ve talked to him after the show, figured out if his tension onstage was in any way myfault.
But Ididn’t.
Instead I’d let him push my buttons at thebar.
Feed meshots.
Make me suck a shooter out of his lap in front of everyone—because he knew I wouldn’t say no. That I’d be afraid of making an even bigger scene if Irefused.
That I already felt bad about avoiding him at the show. He knew that,right?
Yeah, probably. And he’d only use it against me. See it as an opening to try to fuckme.
He’d definitely gotten the hard-on from hell right there in the bar, and didn’t even try to cover itup.
Obviously, I knew there was a danger in letting things go any farther. That if he kept watching me dance with that look on his face… If I had one more of those ridiculously delicious shooters… There was gonna be adisaster.
A naked, sweaty, orgasmicdisaster.
He’d try to get me alone and he’d try to get his dick in me, and he’dsucceed.
