Rock N Soul by Lauren Sattersby Page A

really, that was too much. I snapped my eyes over to him and scowled. “You’re lying.”
    “Well, yeah,” he said, smirking obnoxiously now that he’d busted through my concentration. “Of course I’m lying. She wouldn’t give me the time of day. But! I’m not lying about having a lot of really impressive conquests.”
    “I’m sure,” I said, determinedly turning my eyes back to C-SPAN.
    But now that I’d broken my silent treatment, he just talked more . “I do have lots of conquests. Seriously. And I can prove it. I’ve got video.”
    “You have video of yourself boning famous chicks,” I repeated in a monotone.
    “Yes,” he said, beaming. “All totally legit too. I got permission and everything.”
    “Yeah, well, pics or it didn’t happen,” I said. “And since you can’t provide me with the pics, it didn’t happen.”
    “I saved them online.” You could practically see the canary feathers plastered to his face.
    I stared at him. “You’ve gotta be shitting me, man.”
    “Why?” He grinned. “You don’t believe me?”
    “How the hell do you have video saved to the cloud of yourself banging famous chicks and that’s never gotten out on TMZ?”
    He shrugged. “TMZ doesn’t know everything.”
    “Oh yes they do,” I said. “And they haven’t hacked your password to your secret porn stash?”
    “I don’t really advertise it,” he said. “I just like to have it for the memories.”
    “The memories,” I deadpanned. “Of you doing the horizontal tango with Scarlett Johansson.”
    He rolled his eyes. “If you keep throwing out names, you’ll probably hit on somebody I have done the horizontal tango with. But not Scarlett Johansson. Sadly enough.”
    “So tell me somebody you’ve boned. Somebody I’d know.”
    “Victoria Sinclair.”
    I waved my hand dismissively. “Doesn’t count.”
    “Why not? She’s hot.”
    “Because number one, she’s not that famous,” I started.
    “Yes, she is.” He crossed his arms. “Everybody in the music industry knows who she is.”
    I gave him a look. “Everybody in the music industry knows who her brother is. She’s just that chick who acts like his manager and who occasionally took a roll in the hay with you.”
    “Fine,” he said. “I still respectfully disagree, but whatever.”
    “And number two . . .”
    “There was a number two?”
    “Yes, you idiot,” I said, exasperated by the interruption. “If there’s a number one, there’s got to be a number two. It’s the rule.”
    “Fine. Number two?”
    “Number two is that she was your girlfriend, so she doesn’t count as a conquest,” I told him, folding my arms and smiling.
    “Um, that’s ridiculous,” he said. “To even get to girlfriend status means I conquested her.”
    “Conquested? Seriously?”
    “Shut up,” he snapped. “And anyway. You don’t get to exclude people from my ‘famous people I’ve slept with’ list because I actually dated them instead of just having a wild night of passion with them.”
    “Fair enough,” I said, using my best magnanimously condescending voice. “But still. You can do better than that, right? Because if not, then I call shenanigans on your whole ‘I’ve fucked a lot of famous people’ story.”
    “Well, now I don’t want to show you my stash anymore,” he said, pouting. “Because I’m sure that no matter who I say, you’ll assume I’m lying or you’ll argue that they don’t count, so forget it.”
    I sighed. He did seem pretty offended. “Sorry. I’m just an asshole.”
    “Well, me too,” he said, and his face relaxed a little back into his baseline douchey expression. “But anyway. How did Tori handle it? Me dying?”
    My first instinct was to lie and say she’d been devastated, but word on the street before Chris’s death had been that they weren’t getting along and that it was just a matter of time before they broke up. And from what Carmen had said, Chris hadn’t seemed too heartbroken about