Maybe Someday (Maybe #1)(51)

I wish we could keep things simple, but I have no idea how to do that.

Ridge: Let’s go write an angry song about him. That might help.

He looks at me with a sly grin, and it makes my insides swirl and melt. Then I freeze just as fast from the guilt of those feelings.

For once, it would be nice not to be consumed with shame.

I nod and follow him to his room.

Ridge

I’m sitting on the floor again. It’s not the most comfortable place to play, but it’s much better than being on the bed next to her. I can never seem to focus on the actual music when I’m in her personal space and she’s in mine.

She requested that I play one of the songs I used to play when I sat out on my balcony to practice, so we’ve been working through it. She’s lying on her stomach, writing on her notepad. Erasing and writing, erasing and writing. I’m sitting here on the floor, not even playing. I’ve played the song enough for her to know the melody by now, so I’m just waiting while I watch her.

I love how she focuses so intently on the lyrics, as if she’s in her own world and I’m just a lucky observer. Every now and then, she’ll tuck the hair behind her ear that keeps spilling in front of her face. My favorite thing to watch her do is erase her words. Every time the eraser meets the paper, she pulls her top lip in with her bottom teeth and chews on it.

I hate that it’s my favorite thing to watch her do, because it shouldn’t be. It triggers all these what-ifs in my head, and my mind begins imagining things it shouldn’t be imagining. I begin to picture myself lying next to her on the bed while she writes. I imagine her lip being tucked in while I’m just inches from her, looking down on the words she’s written. I imagine her glancing up at me, noticing what she’s doing to me with her small, innocent gestures. I imagine her rolling onto her back, welcoming me to create secrets with her that’ll never leave this room.

I close my eyes, wanting to do whatever I can to stop the thoughts. They make me feel just as guilty as if I were to act on them. Sort of similar to how I felt a couple of hours ago when I thought there was a chance she was getting back together with Hunter.

I was pissed.

I was jealous.

I was having thoughts and feelings I knew I shouldn’t be having, and it was scaring the shit out of me. I’ve never had an issue with jealousy until now, and I don’t like the person it’s turning me into. Especially when the jealousy I’m feeling has nothing to do with the girl I’m in an actual relationship with.

I flinch when something hits me on the forehead. I immediately open my eyes and look at Sydney. She’s on the bed, laughing, pointing at my phone. I pick it up and read her text.

Sydney: Are you falling asleep? We aren’t finished.

Me: No. Just thinking.

She moves over on the bed to make more room and pats the spot next to her.

Sydney: Come think right here so you can read these. I have most of the lyrics down, but I’m hung up on the chorus. I’m not sure what you want.

We haven’t openly discussed the fact that we don’t write on the bed together anymore. She’s focused on the lyrics, though, so I need to pull my shit together and focus on them, too. I set my guitar down and pull myself up, then walk to the bed and lie beside her. I take the notebook out of her hands and pull it in front of me to read what she’s written so far.

She smells good.

Damn.

I try to block off my senses somehow, but I know it’s a wasted effort. Instead, I focus on the words she’s written, quickly impressed at how effortlessly they come to her.

Why don’t we keep, keep it simple

You talk to your friends, and I’ll be here to mingle

But you know that I, I want to be

Right by your side like I ought to be

And you know that I, I want to see

The way that your eyes seem to follow me

After reading what she’s written, I hand her back the notebook and pick up my phone. I’m confused about the lyrics, because they aren’t at all what I was expecting. I’m not sure I like them.

Me: I thought we were writing an angry song about Hunter.

She shrugs, then begins texting me back.

Sydney: I tried. The subject of Hunter doesn’t really inspire me anymore. You don’t have to use them if you don’t like them. I can try something different.

I stare at her text, not sure how to respond. I don’t like the lyrics, but not because they aren’t good. It’s because the words she’s written down make me think she’s somehow able to read my mind.

Me: I love them.

She smiles and says, “Thank you.” She flips onto her back, and I catch myself appreciating this moment and this night and her low-cut dress way more than I probably should. When my eyes make their way back to hers, she’s watching me, plainly aware of what’s going through my head. Eyes don’t lie, unfortunately.

When neither of us breaks our gaze, I’m forced to swallow the huge lump in my throat.

Don’t get yourself in trouble, Ridge.

Thank God she sits up when she does.

Sydney: I’m not sure where you want the chorus to come in. This song is a little more upbeat than the ones I’m used to. I’ve written three different ones, but I don’t like how any of them sound. I’m stuck.

Me: Let me watch you sing it one more time.