Me: I tend to favor songs with lyrics, and I was tired of wondering what the lyrics to your songs were, so I guess I made up a few of my own.
He reads the text, then glances up at me without a hint of his infectious smile. I dont like his serious glances. I dont like what they do to my stomach. I also dont like what his smiley smile does to my stomach. I wish he would stick to a simple, unattractive, emotionless expression, but Im not sure hes capable of that.
Him: Will you send them to me?
Oh, God. Hell, no.
Me: Hell, no.
Him: Please?
Me: No.
Him: Pretty please?
Me: No, thank you.
Him: Whats your name?
Me: Sydney. Yours?
Him: Ridge.
Ridge. That fits him. Musical-artisty-moody type.
Me: Well, Ridge, Im sorry, but I dont write lyrics that anyone would want to hear. Do you not write lyrics to your own songs?
He begins to text, and its a really long text. His fingers move swiftly over his phone while he types. Im afraid Im about to receive an entire novel from him. He looks up at me just as my phone vibrates.
Ridge: I guess you could say Im having a bad case of writers block. Which is why I really, really wish you would just send me the lyrics you sing while Im playing. Even if you think theyre stupid, I want to read them. You somehow know every single song I play, even though Ive never played them for anyone except when I practice out here.
How does he know I know all his songs? I bring a hand up to my cheek when I feel it flush, knowing hes been watching me a lot longer than I initially thought. I swear, I have to be the most unintuitive person in this entire world. I glance up at him and hes continuing with another text, so I look back to my phone and wait for it.
Ridge: I can see it in the way your whole body responds to the guitar. You tap your feet, you move your head. And Ive even tried to test you by slowing down the song every once in a while to see if you would notice, and you always do. Your body stops responding when I change something up. So just by watching you, I can tell you have an ear for music. And since you sing in the shower, it probably means youre an okay singer. Which also means that maybe theres a chance you have a talent for writing lyrics. So, Sydney, I want to know what your lyrics are.
Im still reading when another text comes through.
Ridge: Please. Im desperate.
I inhale a deep breath, wishing more than anything that this conversation had never started. I dont know how in the hell he can come to all these conclusions without me ever having noticed him watching me. In a way, it eases my embarrassment over the fact that he saw me watching him. But now that he wants to know what lyrics I made up, Im embarrassed for an entirely different reason. I do sing, but not well enough to do anything with it professionally. My passion is mostly for music itself, not at all for performing it. And as much as I do love writing lyrics, Ive never shared anything Ive written. It seems too intimate. Id almost rather he had sent me a vulgar, flirtatious come-on.
I jump when my phone vibrates again.
Ridge: Okay, well make a deal. Pick one song of mine, and send me the lyrics to just that one song. Then Ill leave you alone. Especially if theyre stupid.
I laugh. And cringe. Hes not going to let up. Im going to have to change my number.
Ridge: I know your phone number now, Sydney. Im not giving up until you send me lyrics to at least one song.
Jesus. Hes not going away.
Ridge: And I also know where you live. Im not above begging on my knees at your front door.
Ugh!
Me: Fine. Stop with the creepy threats. One song. But Ill have to write the lyrics down while you play it first, because Ive never written them out before.
Ridge: Deal. Which song? Ill play it right now.
Me: How would I tell you which song, Ridge? I dont know the names of any of them.
Ridge: Yeah, me, neither. Hold up your hand when I get to the one you want me to play.
He puts down his phone and picks up his guitar, then begins playing one of the songs. Its not the one I want him to play, though, so I shake my head. He switches to another song, and I continue to shake my head until the familiar chords to one of my favorites meets my ears. I hold up my hand, and he grins, then starts the song over from the beginning. I pull my notebook in front of me and pick up my pen, then begin to write down the lyrics Ive put to it.
He has to play the song three times before I finally get them all out. Its almost dark now, and its hard to see, so I pick up my phone.
Me: Its too dark to read. Ill go inside and text them to you, but you have to promise youll never ask me to do this again.
The light from his phone illuminates his smile, and he nods at me, then picks up his guitar and walks back inside his apartment.
I go to my room and sit on the bed, wondering if its too late to change my mind. I feel as if this whole conversation just ruined my eight oclock patio time. I cant go back outside and listen to him ever again. I liked it better when I thought he didnt know I was there. It was like my own personal space with my own personal concert. Now Ill be way too aware of him to actually enjoy listening, and I curse him for ruining that.
I regretfully text him my lyrics, then turn my phone on silent and leave it on my bed as I go into the living room and try to forget this ever happened.
Ridge
Holy shit. Shes good. Really good. Brennan is going to love this. I know if he agrees to use them, well need her to sign a release, and well have to pay her something. But its worth it, especially if the rest of her lyrics are as good as these.
But the question is, will she be willing to help out? She obviously doesnt have much confidence in her talent, but thats the least of my worries. The biggest worry is how Ill persuade her to send me more lyrics. Or how to get her to write with me. I doubt her boyfriend would go for that. He has to be the biggest jerk Ive ever laid eyes on. I cant believe the balls of that guy, especially after watching him last night. He comes outside on the patio and kisses Sydney, cuddling up to her in the chair like the most attentive boyfriend in the world. Then, the second she turns her back, hes out on the patio with the other chick. Sydney must have been in the shower, because the two of them rushed outside as if they were on a timer, and the chick had her legs wrapped around his waist and her mouth on his faster than I could even blink. And it wasnt a first-time occurrence. Ive seen it happen so many times Ive lost count.
Its really not my place to inform Sydney that the guy shes dating is screwing her roommate. I especially cant tell her through a text. But if Maggie were cheating on me, Id sure as hell want to know about it. I just dont know Sydney well enough to tell her something like that. Usually, the person to break the news is the one to catch all the blame, anyway. Especially if the person being cheated on doesnt want to believe it. I could send her an anonymous note, but the douchebag boyfriend would more than likely be able to talk his way out of it.
I wont do anything for now. Its not my place, and until I get to know her better, Im not in a position for her to trust me. My phone vibrates in my pocket, and I pull it out, hoping Sydney decided to send me more lyrics, but the text is from Maggie.
Maggie: Almost home. See you in two weeks.
Me: I didnt say text me when youre almost home. I said text me when youre home. Now, stop texting and driving.
Maggie: Okay.
Me: Stop!
Maggie: Okay!
I toss the phone onto the bed and refuse to text her back. Im not giving her a reason to text me again until she makes it home. I walk to the kitchen for a beer, then take a seat next to a passed-out Warren on the couch. I grab the remote and hit info to see what hes watching.
Porn.
Figures. The guy cant watch anything without nudity. I start to change the channel, but he snatches the remote out of my hands. Its my night.
I dont know if it was Warren or Bridgette who decided we should divvy up the TV, but it was the worst idea ever. Especially since Im still not sure which night is actually mine, even though, technically, this is my apartment. Im lucky if either of them pays rent on a quarterly basis. I put up with it because Warren has been my best friend since high school, and Bridgette is . . . well, shes too mean for me to even want to strike up a conversation with her. Ive avoided that since Brennan let her move in six months ago. I really dont have to worry about money right now, thanks to my job and the cut Brennan gives me, so I just leave it alone. I still dont know how Brennan met Bridgette or how theyre involved, but even though their relationship isnt sexual, he obviously cares about her. I have no idea how or why, since she doesnt have any noticeable redeeming qualities other than how she looks in her Hooters uniform.
And of course, the second that thought passes through my head, so do the words Maggie said when she found out Bridgette was moving in with us.
I dont care if she moves in. The worst thing that could happen would be for you to cheat on me. Then Id have to break up with you, then your heart would shatter, and wed both be miserable for life, and you would be so depressed youd never be able to get it up again. So make sure if you do cheat, its the best sex you ever have, because itll also be the last sex you ever have.
She doesnt have to worry about me cheating on her, but the scenario she painted was enough to ensure that I dont even look at Bridgette in her uniform.
How in the hell did my thoughts wander this far?
This is why Im having writers block; I cant seem to focus on anything important lately. I go back to my room to transfer the lyrics Sydney sent onto paper, and I begin to work out how to add them to the music. I want to text Sydney to tell her what I think about them, but I dont. I should leave her hanging a little while longer. I know how nerve-racking it is to send someone a piece of yourself and then have to sit back and wait for it to be judged. If I make her wait long enough, maybe once I tell her how brilliant she is, shell have developed a craving to send me more.
It might be a little cruel, but she has no idea how much I need her. Now that Im pretty sure Ive found my muse, I have to work it just right so she doesnt slip away.
3.
Sydney
If he hated them, the least he could have done was send a thank you. I know it shouldnt bother me, but it does. Especially because I never wanted to send them to him in the first place. I wasnt expecting him to praise me, but the fact that he begged so hard for them and then just ignored them sort of irritates me.
And he hasnt been outside at his usual time in almost a week. Ive wanted to text him about it so many times, but if I do, then itll seem as if I care what he thinks of the lyrics. I dont want to care. But I can tell by how disappointed I feel that I do care. I hate that I want him to like my lyrics. But the thought of actually having a hand in a song is a little bit exciting.