Lucas calls down for room service and we talk easily for a bit while waiting for the food to arrive. In response to my endless questions, Lucas tells me stories from his various tours and albums, and I laugh and gasp and fawn all over him like the fangirl I am. I ask him about some of his more ambiguous lyrics, and he answers all my questions without a hint of impatience or annoyance. I ask him about his childhood, and he tells me about how he grew up with a single mother who worked as a grocery store clerk right up until “Shattered Hearts” hit number one all over the world.

“When I was growing up,” Lucas says, “my mom always used to say, ‘One day, Lukie, we’re going to live in a house near the beach—so close to the sand, we’ll swim in the ocean every day, if we want.’ So the minute I got my first big royalty check from ‘Shattered Hearts,’ I bought my mom a six-bedroom house in Malibu, right on the sand, and I told her, ‘Looks like it’s time to buy yourself a closetful of bathing suits, Mom. One day is finally here.’” His pride is unmistakable.

My heart is bursting at the look on Lucas’s face. “You’re close to your mom?” I ask.

“Very.”

“Was it your mom who got you into music?”

Lucas nods. “I used to stutter really badly when I was a kid. It was awful. I had all these amazing thoughts bouncing around in my head, but no way to get them out. I wrote poetry a lot, but that certainly wasn’t making me any friends. I became so withdrawn, kids at school started figuring I was just stupid or slow. And after a while, I started thinking it about myself, too. We didn’t have money for speech therapy or anything like that, so I didn’t really think there was any way out of the darkness for me.” He looks deep in thought for a moment. “And then, one day, my mom came home with a second-hand guitar she’d bought off some dude at work, plus a big ol’ stack of ‘Teach Yourself How to Play Guitar’ books. And she said, ‘You can say what you need to say this way, Lukie. Let it pour out of you.’ And, man, that was it. The minute I touched the strings of that beat-up guitar, it was like everything changed for me. I instantly knew exactly why I was put on this earth.”

I’m blown away. I’ve watched and read countless Lucas Ford interviews over the years and not once have I heard him tell this particular story to anyone. “Wow,” I whisper. “I just got chills, Lucas.”

He nods solemnly. “I swear I’d be dead by now if it weren’t for that first guitar from my mom. She literally saved my life.”

I’m dying to ask Lucas a thousand follow-up questions, but a loud knock on the door thwarts my plan.

“Room service!” a clipped voice shouts.

“Shit,” I whisper. I pop up and sprint into the bedroom to hide as Lucas gets up to answer the door, chuckling at my reaction.

After the room service guy has left, Lucas and I settle ourselves onto the couch with our plates.

“Enough about me,” Lucas says, chomping on a cheeseburger. “Tell me about you.”

“I already told you the basics the other night, right after you played ‘Assassin’ for me, remember?”

“You told me almost nothing the other night,” Lucas says.

I shrug. “There’s not much to say. If you’ve got a question, I’ll answer it.”

Lucas purses his lips. “When did you first discover your motor runs so damned hot?”

“I don’t know how to answer that.”

He considers. “Okay, how about this… Was there ever a time when you thought, ‘Hey, I think I might be way more sexual than other girls’?”

I feel my cheeks blaze. “Yes.”

“Tell me about it.”

“It’s embarrassing.”

“Why?”

“Because I’m, you know, abnormal. I’m ‘aberrant.’”

“Who says?”

I bite my lip, not wanting to get into it.

Lucas scoffs. “Whoever said that about you, fuck ’em, Abby. You’re not ‘aberrant,’ you’re awesome.” He eats a french fry. “But if it makes you feel any better, I’m ‘abnormal’ and ‘aberrant,’ too. Whatever you’ve done, I guarantee you, I’ve done ten times worse.”

I’ve never talked about my shameful past with anyone but Dr. Carlson, but all of a sudden, looking into Lucas’s eyes, I want to unburden myself with him. I test the waters by telling him the story of how, in ninth grade, right after sitting through a sex education class for the first time, it became clear to me the class had affected me differently than it did my friends. “They all thought the class was titillating and exciting, of course,” I say, “but after we all talked and giggled for like twenty minutes, my friends were ready to move on to other topics. But me? My brain literally couldn’t move on. I hadn’t even been kissed at that point yet, but I suddenly felt like a junkie in need of a fix.”

“So did you wind up fucking the entire football team at age fourteen, or what?”

“No, having actual sex didn’t seem like an option to me at that point. I went to a conservative prep school, and my home life was really restrictive, so it was more that I was overwhelmed with obsessive sexual thoughts. Every man I saw, I imagined him, if only briefly, buck naked with a massive, straining hard-on. I wondered what their faces might look like when they had an orgasm, what noises they’d make when someone was giving them head. When men talked to me, I saw their lips moving but I zoned out on their words because I was too obsessed with the idea of their lips eating a pussy—not necessarily mine, you understand. It was more that I was having an epiphany that everyone in the world was having sex and oral sex all around me.”

Lucas chuckles. “I had the exact same epiphany as a teen. Totally normal, Abby.”

“No, no, this wasn’t within the range of normal. I started watching porn, which was a trick in and of itself, since the computers at my house had child restrictions on them. And once I saw actual women—and men—sucking dicks and getting fucked, and I got to see the looks of rapture on their faces, I was a goner. I started touching myself every night and imagining I was in the pornos I’d watched…all while staring at a certain rock star’s face on my wall for inspiration, by the way.”

He smiles.

“And then one night,” I continue, “out of nowhere, I gave myself my first orgasm—while looking at your face, of course. And that was it. I was addicted.”

“And then you did the entire football team?”

I laugh. “No. No football players were screwed during the making of this particular porno.”

He laughs.

“For me, once I finally started having sex at sixteen, it wasn’t about the quantity of my conquests, it was about the quality of them.” I pause and bite my lip. “The ‘forbidden fruit’ factor was very, very enticing to me.” I shrug like I’m done talking.

“Oh, hell no,” Lucas says. “Don’t stop now, baby. Things are just getting good.”

I swallow hard.

“Abby, there’s nothing to be embarrassed about. I’m a freak, too. Come on. I’m sure it’s no big deal.”

I take a deep breath and then just spit it out. “I got a rush from sleeping with unavailable or unattainable men. I liked conquering them. Making them obsessed with me and then leaving them to pick up the pieces after I was gone.”

He smiles broadly. “Assassin.”

I bite my lip.

“So how’d you do it? How’d you make men obsessed with you?” He smiles again like he finds that highly amusing.

“I’m not going to tell you if you’re just going to laugh at me.”

“I’m not gonna laugh at you. I’m smiling because you surprise me. Because you’re awesome.”

I take another deep breath. “I just always knew exactly how to do it. Don’t ask me how. Whoever the guy was that I wanted, I always knew the special thing that would seduce him. So that’s what I did. The rush was making the guy do things he otherwise wouldn’t. I liked knowing I’d broken down his good judgment. That I was a drug he couldn’t resist.”

Lucas’s face is on fire now. “Jesus, Abby. You’re sexy as hell. What the fuck did you do to those poor men? Did you make ’em rob a bank for you?”

I roll my eyes. “I was never motivated by money. It was all about the forbidden rush for me. Breaking them down and making myself feel powerful.” My cheeks flush. “I wanted to feel wanted—desperately wanted—if only briefly.”

“I take it you didn’t get too much of that growing up—feeling wanted?”

I swallow hard again, stuffing down the emotion threatening to rise up inside me. “Not a whole lot.”

“Tell me what happened. I won’t judge, I promise.”

I twist my mouth, considering. “Maybe later. I’ve got to get back to work and I’m dying to hear your new song.”

Lucas considers that for a moment. “Okay, then, fair enough. But we’re not done with this conversation. We’ll talk about this further tomorrow night.”

I nod.

Lucas grabs a box of cigarettes off the coffee table and pulls one out. “Just one quick question, though,” he says. “Why’d you ask me for thirteen grand? It’s such a weird number. Is that how much you owe on your car or something?”

“It’s not for me. This woman I work with—Danica—her mom was in a pretty bad car wreck last year and that’s how much she owes in medical bills.”

“You’re giving your fee to your friend’s mom?”

I nod.

“All of it?”

I nod again.

“But don’t you have a car payment or something?”

“Well, yeah, I’ve got student loans—loads of them—but I’m so far in the hole, thirteen grand won’t even make a dent. I figure it’s better to make someone else’s life immeasurably better than to make mine point-oh-five percent better.”

“How much debt are you in from law school?”

“It doesn’t matter. It’s insurmountable.”

“Fuck, you’re annoying. Just answer the question.”

“About one fifty. But it’s okay. I’ll be able to pay it off eventually after I graduate and get a job and work for ten years.”

“Shit, law school’s expensive. With a price tag like that, I hope you love it.”

I look at him like he’s nuts.

“You don’t love it?”

“I hate it.”

“Then why the fuck do you go?”

“Because I don’t happen to be a rock star. Now sing me your song before I’ve got to go back downstairs. I’m sure Danica’s freaking out about how long I’ve been gone.”

“I’ll throw her another grand for her inconvenience. Just explain it to me. Why the hell are you going to law school if you hate it so much?”

I throw up my hands, exasperated. “Lucas. Come on. Play me your song.”

“Tell me why you’re going to law school or no song.”

I roll my eyes. “My dad is the founding partner of an international corporate law firm and he’s made it clear he expects me to work for him. Luckily, the firm’s got offices all over the world, including in Manhattan, where I’ve always dreamed of living, so I figure with my parents living in D.C., I’ll still feel like I’m relatively free, even if I work for my father’s firm.”

Lucas takes a long drag off his cigarette. “Baby, take it from me, there’s no such thing as ‘relative freedom.’ You’re either free or you’re not.”

I flash him a look of pure annoyance. Why the heck is he probing me about all this?

“So lemme see if I accurately understand this cluster fuck you call your life,” Lucas says, apparently deciding to disregard the look of annoyance I’m flashing him. “Your father owns a huge-ass law firm with offices all over the world and yet you’re in debt up to your eyeballs to go to law school so you can work in a job you don’t even want?”

I smash my lips together.

“Abby, do you have any idea how fucked up this is? If your dad’s loaded, he should foot the bill for his daughter’s education, especially if he expects her to work for him at his swanky law firm. I mean, shit, there should be some perks to having a rich daddy. Not that I’d personally know.”

“My family doesn’t work that way. My parents haven’t helped me financially since I graduated from high school. That’s why I’m in so much debt. I’ve been completely on my own for a very long time.”

“Well, if that’s the case, then even more reason why you should get to do whatever the hell you want. Fuck your father. It’s your life, bought and paid for by you.”

“Lucas, you don’t understand.”

“Then explain it.”

“I’ve put my parents through hell. This life is my penance.”

“Your penance for what? You were young and curious and slightly fucked up. Who’d you fuck? Your daddy?”

I’m aghast. “No! Of course, not!”

“Your daddy’s best friend?”

“No! It was nothing like that.”

“Then whatever you did, you don’t owe them your life. I can’t imagine these past ten years of me being on tour I haven’t done ten times more shit than you did at your worst and I don’t consider myself ‘aberrant’ or ‘abnormal’ or owing penance to anyone.” He puts down his cigarette, scoots closer to me on the couch, and takes my face in his hands. “Abby, your dad’s no different than the cocksuckers at my label. He’s holding you hostage. Well, I say, fuck him and the Mercedes he drove in on. It’s your life. Set yourself free, baby.”

Tears prick my eyes. “I can’t. No more than you can.”

Lucas looks at me sympathetically for a very long beat. And then he shocks me by leaning in and kissing me gently.

When we disengage from our sweet kiss, I look into his eyes, feeling like I’m about to melt into a puddle.

“Quit school,” Lucas whispers. “Do whatever you want with your life. Please.”

My cheeks are blazing. My heart is racing. I truly feel like I’ve just fallen in love. “I just can’t,” I say weakly, emotion threatening to well up inside me. I swallow hard and stuff it down. “I’m in too deep now. The only way I could possibly earn enough money to pay for all the student loans I’ve racked up over the years is getting a job at a top-tier law firm like my father’s. I figure I’ll work at my dad’s firm after graduation for however many years to get myself out from under my debt and then, hopefully, one day I’ll…”

Lucas strokes my hair. “One day you’ll what?”

I shake my head. I’ve never said this out loud to anyone. It’s preposterous, really. Completely ridiculous.

“One day you’ll what, Abby?” Lucas asks. “What’s your dream for that magical one day in the sky?”

“It doesn’t matter.” I wipe my eyes and look into his beautiful face. “Just play me your song, Lucas,” I say, my voice quavering. “One day doesn’t exist for me. It just can’t. So please, play me your song and help me forget my fucked-up life for a little while.”

He scrutinizes my face. “Abby, I’m contractually obligated to the cocksuckers. I have no choice. But you? You’re letting the cocksuckers hold you hostage by choice.”

I wipe my eyes again. “Play me the song, Lucas. Please.”

He sighs and reaches for his guitar. “I’m not done with you yet, just so you know. I’m going to play the song for you because I’m a weak bastard and I can’t resist you when you look at me like that. But trust me, Angel, I’m not even close to being done with you yet.”