Maybe Someday(66)

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 fore-

head. 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.

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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 ef-

fortlessly they come to her.

Why don’t we keep

Keep it simple

You talk to your friends

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And I’ll be here to mingle

But you know that I

I want to be

Right by your side

Where I ought to be

And you know that I

That I can 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 con-

fused 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.

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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.

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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.

I roll off the bed and grab the guitar, then take

it back to the bed but sit on the edge this time.

We turn to face each other, and I play while she

sings. When we make it to the chorus, she stops

singing and shrugs, letting me know this is where

she’s stuck. I take her notebook and read the lyr-

ics over a few times. I glance up at her without

being too obvious about it and write the first

thing that comes to mind.

And I must confess

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My interest

The way that you move

When you’re in that dress

It’s making me feel

Like I want to be

The only man

That you ever see

I pause from writing and look up at her again,

feeling every bit of the words in this chorus. I

think we both know the words we write have to

do with each other, but that doesn’t seem to stop

us at all. If we keep having moments like these

with words that are way too honest, we’ll both

end up in trouble. I quickly look back down at

the paper as more lyrics begin to enter my head.

Whoa, oh, oh, oh

I’m in trouble, trouble

Whoa, oh, oh, oh

I’m in trouble now

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I refuse to look up at her again while I write. I

keep my mind focused on the words that some-

how seem to flow from my fingertips every time