My name is shouted on rooftops. It’s written on bras, on the inside of bathroom stalls – hell, my name is everywhere. To say my name is to experience an orgasm without ever leaving your damn house. My name is Zane Saint Andrews. I’m sex. I’m a rock god. I’m also a virgin. What they don’t know won’t kill them, right? Give the people what they want. And what they want is the idea of me; the pleasure they gain by listening to my song and knowing without a doubt that I’m talking about them and only them. It worked for a while. Until a nerdy girl with glasses falls at my feet, literally, and suddenly I don’t want to be Saint anymore. What I want? What I really need? Is to be kept. By her.