I once heard a question that both unnerved me and made things startlingly clear: is it more important to love someone with all your heart… …or to be loved by someone with all of theirs?We all want to fall head-over-heels in love, and we all want the other person to love us back exactly the same. But that’s not usually the way it turns out.In fact, I think that’s rarely the way it turns out. Both people may be in love, but it always seems one person is more in love than the other.So… if you had to choose, which would it be?Love someone else passionately and completely, even if they don’t feel as powerfully as you?Or be loved passionately and completely, even if you don’t feel exactly the same towards them?I thought I knew the answer when I heard the question.Then I found out years later that no… I didn’t know the answer at all.

I stared at the editor. My smile was still in place, but it was more like a waxworks expression, it was so fake. “Um… what is it that you want, exactly? Because I’m not doing some kiss-and-tell piece.”Glen waved his hands as though to ward off bad mojo. “Oh, no no no no no. Nothing like that.”“…what, then?”“Well, as you know, Kane is notoriously averse to the press.”Actually, I did know that. Just because I hadn’t talked to him since our final day together didn’t mean I hadn’t been keeping tabs on him.‘Notoriously averse to the press’ was kind of like saying ‘The Pope isn’t tremendously fond of gay marriage.’Derek hated the press. Hated them. With a vengeance bordering on lunacy. He’d go on shows to perform, no problem – Letterman, Conan, Jimmy Fallon, Jimmy Kimmel. He’d go on Ellen and banter with her.But what he would not do was talk to the press. Not Rolling Stone, not Spin, not The New York Times, not the Anytown USA Herald. He hadn’t for years.Which had the curious effec

I heard the key fumble and scrape noisily across the lock. It was the sound I called ‘the Drunk Doorbell’ – a sure sign that Shanna was blasted.It was usually accompanied by ‘the Drunk Disclaimer.’“Shhhh,” she giggled out in the hallway. “We gotta be quiet cuz I got a roommate…”Ah, there it was.“I’m awake,” I called out. “You don’t have to be quiet.”The lock clicked and the door crashed open, and Shanna stumbled into the room. “Oh, thas’ good…”I turned around from my desk to look at her. She was cute – not gorgeous, but she had a great smile and knew how to work a push-up bra. And she was very outgoing. I’d had a lot of practice in fending off guys – most of them assholes, some of them charming – but I never, ever flirted with anybody. Shanna didn’t just flirt, she manhandled.“I didn’t wake you up, did I?”“No.”“It’s okay, right?” she asked, her eyes defocused, her body weaving slightly. “I haven’t had a Shanna Night in… awhile… right?”That’s what we called the ‘one night a w

The answer sent thrills through my belly.It was obvious that he was flirting with me… and brazenly, at that.But I struggled to keep the upper hand. “It’s the wrong question,” I said.“Oh? What’s the right question?”“What does an individual woman want? Women aren’t all the same. They don’t want the same things.”“Well… what do you want?”Oh my God.His voice…I was melting at the sound of it.And then my roommate spoke up.“I know what Shanna wants,” Shanna slurred from her bed. “Shanna wants to get laid.”Then it hit me how much of a bitch I was being. She’d gotten this guy; she’d brought him back; and here I was, stealing him away from her. Me, with a boyfriend.Well, an ex-boyfriend… who would probably be my boyfriend again within 24 hours.Time to bail.“I should leave you two,” I said, and moved to go.Derek put out his hand. “No – stay. We’re having a very interesting conversation here.”“About the Wife of Bath,” I gently mocked him, totally not believing him.“And the Wife

Glen stared at me like I’d just turned down a million dollars for doing nothing more than writing a book report.“What?” he asked, stunned.“No,” I croaked, fully aware I was throwing away the best opportunity of my career thus far. Maybe even the best opportunity of my entire career, even if it lasted four decades. “Sorry.”“You do understand what I’m offering you, right?”“To write an article on Derek Kane.”“And the band,” Glen stressed, as though that might be the piece of information I had overlooked.“Yeah. No thank you.”“Not just a half-page fluff piece – I’m talking a full-on, six-page spread. I mean, if you turn in a good enough story, we’re potentially talking the cover.”“Yeah. Thank you, but no.”The longer he stared at me, the more his disbelief turned to anger. “You do realize that is a one in a million offer, right? You don’t just get handed the cover of Rolling Stone – not when you’re some unknown writer a year out of college. I mean, you realize that, right?”“Yes, a