Maybe Someday(33)

Ridge: I’m kidding, too.

I kick him in the knee and glare at him.

Ridge: Well, sort of kidding. My father

really is a raging alcoholic, but I don’t give

a shit if you joke about it.

Me: I can’t now. You ruined the fun.

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He laughs, and it’s followed by an awkward

moment of silence. I grin and drop my eyes back

to my phone.

Me: OMG. Can I have your autograph?

He rolls his eyes.

Me: Please? And can I have my picture

taken with you? OMG, I’m in Ridge

Lawson’s bed!

I’m laughing, but Ridge isn’t finding me

amusing.

Me: Ridge Lawson, will you sign my

boobs?

He puts his laptop down beside him, leans over

to his nightstand and picks up a marker, then

turns back to me.

I don’t really want his autograph. Surely he knows I’m kidding.

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He pulls the lid off the marker, swiftly lunges

across the bed, and knocks me onto my back,

bringing the marker to my forehead.

He’s trying to sign my face?

I lift my legs and create a barrier with my

knees as I try to force his hands away.

Dammit, he’s strong.

He puts one of my hands under his knee and

locks my arm to the bed. His other arm grabs my

arm that’s pushing his face away, and he pushes

that hand to the bed, too. I’m screaming and

laughing and trying to turn my face away from

him, but every time I move, the marker moves

over my face while he tries to sign his name.

I’m unable to overpower him, so I eventually

sigh and hold my head still so he’ll stop drawing

all over my face.

He hops up, puts the lid back on the marker,

and smirks at me.

I reach over to my laptop.

Me: You are no longer my prank master.

This has officially turned into a three-way

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war. Excuse me while I go Google my

revenge.

I fold up my laptop and walk quietly out of the

room while he laughs at me. As I head through

the living room toward my bedroom, Warren

glances at me. Twice.

“Should have stayed in here and watched porn

with me,” he says, taking in the marker all over

my face.

I ignore his comment. “Ridge and I just fin-

ished discussing TV rules,” I lie. “I get

Thursdays.”

“No, you don’t,” Warren says. “Tomorrow is

Thursday. I watch Thursday-night porn on

Thursday.”

“Not anymore you don’t. Guess you should

have asked about my television habits when you

were interviewing me.”

He groans. “Fine. You can have Thursdays,

but only if you wear that dress you had on

earlier.”

I laugh. “I’m burning that dress.”

Ridge

“Why’d you give Sydney the TV tonight?” War-

ren signs. He drops onto the couch next to me.

“You know I love Thursday night. I’m off work

on Fridays.”

“I never talked to Sydney about TV nights.”

He glances toward Sydney’s bedroom door

with a scowl on his face. “What a little liar. How

did you meet her, anyway?”

“Music-related. She’s writing lyrics for the

band.”

Warren’s eyes bulge, and he straightens up on

the couch, turning to look at me as if I’ve just be-

trayed him.

“Don’t you think this is something your man-

ager should know about?”

I laugh and sign back to him. “Good point.

Hey, Warren, Sydney is officially writing lyrics

for us.”

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He frowns. “And don’t you think your man-

ager should have discussed a financial arrange-

ment with her? What percentage are we giving

her?”

“We’re not. She feels guilty taking a percent-

age while she’s not paying rent, so we’re good

for now.”

He’s standing now, glaring down at me. “How

do you know you can trust her? And what if

something happens with a song she helped write?

What if it makes the cut on the album and she

suddenly decides she wants a percentage? And

why the hell aren’t you writing the lyrics

anymore?”

I sigh. We’ve been over this so many times it’s

making my head hurt. “I can’t. You know I can’t.

It’s just for a little while, until I get over my

block. And calm down, she’s agreed to sign over

anything she helps with.”

He drops back onto the couch, frustrated. “Just

don’t add any more people to our band without

consulting me first, okay? I feel like I’m being

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shut out when you don’t include me.” He folds