Maybe Someday(37)

clearly overactive imagination. Ridge closes his

eyes and turns to face the opposite direction. I

sigh, knowing he didn’t even hear the text, so

turning away was of his own accord. Which

means I’m feeling pretty awkward right now for

just having that rich internal dialogue sweep

through my mind. I reach behind my head and

feel around until I find my phone.

Hunter: Are you ready to talk yet?

I roll my eyes. Way to ruin the moment,

Hunter. I was hoping that after days of avoiding his texts and phone calls, he would finally get a

clue. I shake my head and text him back.

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Me: Your behavior is bordering on harass-

ment. Stop contacting me. We’re done.

Ridge

Stop with the guilt trip, Ridge. You didn’t do anything wrong. You aren’t doing anything wrong.

Your heart is beating like this simply because

you’ve never felt anyone sing before. It was overwhelming. You had a normal reaction to an over-

whelming event. That’s all.

My eyes are still closed, and my arm is still

underneath her. I should move it, but I’m still try-

ing to recover.

And I really want to hear another song.

This might be making her uncomfortable, but I

have to get her to push through her discomfort,

because I can’t think of any other situation where

I’ll be able to do this.

Me: Can I play another one?

She’s holding her phone, texting someone

who’s not me. I wonder if she’s texting Hunter,

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but I don’t peek at her phone, as much as I want

to.

Sydney: Okay. The first one didn’t do any-

thing for you?

I laugh. I think it did a little too much, in more

ways than I’d like to admit. I’m almost positive it

was also obvious to her by the end of the song,

with the way I was pressed against her. But feel-

ing her voice and what it was doing to all the oth-

er parts of me was way more important than what

she was doing to me.

Me: I’ve never “listened” to anyone like

that before. It was incredible. I don’t even

know how to describe it. I mean, you

were here, and you were the one singing,

so I guess you don’t really need me to de-

scribe it. But I don’t know. I wish you

could have felt that.

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Sydney: You’re welcome, I guess. I’m not

really doing anything profound here.

Me: I’ve always wanted to feel someone

sing one of my songs, but it would be a

little awkward doing this with one of the

guys in the band. Know what I mean?

She laughs, then nods.

Me: I’ll play the one we practiced last

night, and then I want to play this last

one again. Are you okay? If you’re tired of

singing, just tell me.

Sydney: I’m good.

She lays down her phone, and I reposition my-

self against her chest. My entire body is battling

itself. My left brain is telling me this is somehow

wrong, my right brain is wanting to hear her sing

again, my stomach is nowhere to be found, and

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my heart is punching itself in the face with one

arm and hugging itself with the other.

I might never have this opportunity again, so I

wrap my arm over her and begin playing. I close

my eyes and search for the beat of her heart,

which has slowed down some since the first

song. The vibration of her voice meets my cheek,

and I swear my heart flinches. She feels the way I

imagined a voice would feel during a song but

multiplied by a thousand. I focus on how her

voice blends with the vibration of the guitar, and

I’m in complete awe.

I want to feel the range of her voice, but it’s

hard without using my hands to feel it. I pull my

hand away from the guitar and stop playing. Just

like that, she stops singing. I shake my head no

and motion a circle in the air with my finger,

wanting her to keep singing even though I’m no

longer playing the chords.

Her voice picks back up, and I keep my ear

pressed firmly to her chest while I lay my palm

flat against her stomach. Her muscles clench

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beneath my hand, but she doesn’t stop singing. I

can feel her voice everywhere. I can feel it in my

head, in my chest, against my hand.

I relax against her and listen to the sound of a

voice for the very first time.

? ? ?

I wrap my arm around Maggie’s waist and pull
her in closer. I can feel her struggling beneath

me, so I pull her even tighter. I’m not ready for

her to go home yet. Her hand smacks my fore-

head, and she’s lifting me off her chest as she at-

tempts to wiggle out from beneath me.

I roll onto my back to let her off the bed, but

instead, she’s slapping my cheeks. I open my