Pull (Seaside #2)(12)

I wasn’t sure if I should be concerned or excited.

The TV was on in the background. I flipped open the can of soda and downed half of it before jumping onto the couch.

Bob was sitting there, his eyes trained on the TV like a man starved. Poor guy, because of his job he hardly got any TV time in, and I know he was just as bored as I was, considering he had to basically wait around while I worked at the taffy store.

“Tried blueberry pancakes yet?” I took another sip of soda.

“Yup.”

“Cherry Cola?”

“Yup.”

Damn. “Salted caramel corn?”

Bob fell silent then looked at me. “Nope.”

We played this every night. He was so far ahead in the taffy tasting that it was pathetic. It was my one goal to beat him and eat a piece of taffy he hadn’t yet eaten.

His eyes narrowed. “Seaside Taffy doesn’t have that flavor.”

“I know.” I smiled triumphantly. “I was flirting with the competition.”

“Whoring yourself out again?”

“Very funny, Bob.”

He shrugged. “I thought so.”

“Admit it, you want to try some now.”

“Maybe.” He rose from his seat and gave me the remote.

I shook my head. “It’s all yours tonight, man. I’m going to go write.”

“School’s out?” He leaned in as if to see if I was high.

I slapped his hand away. “I’m not high, I’m not drunk, and I know school’s out. Songs. I’m going to go write some songs.”

“You haven’t written since you and Nat…”

“Thank you for being so perceptive.” I slapped him on the back. “I’ll be upstairs writing and pouring out my feelings. Have fun watching the game.”

He nodded and sat back down.

****

My guitar was gathering dust in the corner. I hadn’t picked it up since that day last fall when I crashed Nat’s homecoming and played the song I wrote for her. I didn’t know it at the time, but she and my brother were already in love. Later that night, I tried to get her out of her clothes and into my bed before my brother beat me to it.

I hit a wall.

It was like, I couldn’t write anymore.

It was also part of the reason I didn’t feel bad that Alec was doing all our promo. We were supposed to go back on tour after my rehab stint this summer, and somehow we had to record our album in the next four months to do some tours in the fall.

It was the beginning of June, and I was still twiddling my thumbs about writing some stuff.

Before, all my songs had been about getting wasted and partying at the clubs. Then I wrote a song for Nat. It was my favorite song I’d ever written. It was a different sound than before and was going on our next album.

I wanted more songs like it, more songs that talked about important stuff, not just going to parties and living it up.

I strummed a few chords and sighed.

The view from my room was legit. I put the guitar down and pushed open the window. The sea breeze floated into the room.

Sitting back down, I grabbed my pencil and paper and strummed a few chords again.

“Good Taffy, strong taffy,” I sang, then laughed. Wow, the fans would love that one.

“Salted caramel corn makes me want to kiss her…” I crooned and snorted with disgust.

“Alyssa,” I said her name softly and then a little louder.

Something was up with that chick. Why wouldn’t she have friends? I didn’t for one second buy that crap about them all moving away. Besides, she was gorgeous. I mean, she didn’t dress the best, but still, those eyes, those lips? That face. I knew a hot girl when I saw one. At least the girl should have a boyfriend.

“Pretty girl.” I sighed, and then like it had happened thousands of times before, my fingers glided across the guitar, and I began to sing.

“You’re bad. Bad for me, bad to me, bad with me. I know it when I see your face, the way your smile tilts that way. But I can’t, can’t stop myself from staring, can’t stop myself from swearing. I’ll never be that way, with you.

Slowly, I catch myself from falling, faster. I want to be with you now, not after, after you heal from that pain. I’ll never be the same.

Trust. The word falls easy from my lips. Trust me, need me, use me. You call to me. Your eyes hide secrets I want to know. Yet I keep myself from asking, afraid that the answers are too close to home.

Slowly, I catch myself from falling, faster. I want to be with you now, not after, after you heal from that pain. I’ll never be the same.”

I played it in a minor key, giving it a folksy feel. I figured if I added some electronic sound effects, it would be amazing.

I looked over the words and cringed. I’d forgotten how emotional writing was, how it seemed to reflect exactly what was on my mind and damn the consequences. The words taunted me as I put the paper down and finished the song.

I set up GarageBand and recorded it, then attached it to an email for Alec.

My phone rang five minutes later.

“Dude,” Alec said on the other end. “What was that?”

“A song?” I swallowed. Crap, I thought he would like it.

“You made Nat cry.”

“It wasn’t about her!” I argued. “I just wrote it and —”