Maybe Someday (Maybe 1)

I tilt my head and look at him. He’s watching me, but I can’t tell what his face is trying to convey. If I had to guess, I’d say he’s thinking, Oh, hey, Sydney. Our mouths sure are close together. Let’s do them a favor and close this gap.

His eyes drop to my mouth, and I’m incredibly impressed with my telepathic abilities. His full lips are slightly parted as he quietly takes in several slow, deep breaths.

I can actually hear him breathing, which surprises me, because that’s another of his sounds that he keeps complete and total control over. I like that he can’t seem to control it right now. As much as I claim to want to be unattached from guys and independent and strong, the only thing I’m thinking is how much I wish he would take complete and total control over me. I want him to dominate this situation by rolling on top of me and forcing that incredible mouth onto mine, rendering me completely dependent on him for breath.

My phone receives a text, interrupting my 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. Wh

ich 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.

Me: Your behavior is bordering on harassment. 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 overwhelming event. That’s all.

My eyes are still closed, and my arm is still underneath her. I should move it, but I’m still trying 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, but I don’t peek at her phone, as much as I want to.

Sydney: Okay. The first one didn’t do anything 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 feeling her voice and what it was doing to all the other 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 describe it. But I don’t know. I wish you could have felt that.

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 myself 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 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 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 forehead, and she’s lifting me off her chest as she attempts 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 eyes and look up to see Sydney hovering over me. Her mouth is moving, but my vision is too fogged over to see what she’s trying to say. Not to mention that the strobe light isn’t helping.

Wait. I don’t have a strobe light.

I sit straight up on the bed. Sydney hands me my phone and begins to text me, but my phone is dead. Did we fall asleep?

The lights. The lights are going on and off.

I grab Sydney’s phone out of her hand and check the time: 8:15 A.M. I also read the text she just tried to send me.

Sydney: Someone’s at your bedroom door.

Warren wouldn’t be up this early on a Friday. It’s his day off.

Friday.

Maggie.

SHIT!

I hurriedly jump off the bed and grab Sydney’s wrists, then swing her to her feet. She looks shocked that I’m panicking, but she needs to get the hell back to her room. I open the bathroom door and motion for her to take that route. She walks into the bathroom, then turns and heads back into my bedroom. I grab her by the shoulders and force her back into the bathroom. She slaps my hands away and points into my bedroom.

“I want my phone!” she says, pointing toward my bed. I retrieve her phone, but before I hand it to her, I type a text on it.

Me: I’m sorry, but I think that’s Maggie. You can’t be in here, or she’ll get the wrong idea.

I hand her the phone, and she reads the text, then looks back up at me. “Who’s Maggie?”

Who’s Maggie? How the hell can she not remember . . .

Oh.

Is it possible I’ve never mentioned Maggie to her before?

I grab her phone again.

Me: My girlfriend.

She looks at the text, and her jaw tightens. She slowly brings her eyes back to mine, and she snatches the phone out of my hand, grabs the doorknob, and steps back into the bathroom. The door closes in my face.

So was not expecting that reaction.

But I don’t have time to respond, because my light is still flickering. I head straight to the bedroom door and unlock it, then open it.

Warren is standing in the doorway with his arm pressed against the frame. There’s no sign of Maggie.

My panic instantly subsides as I walk backward and fall onto my bed. That could have been ugly. I glance up at Warren, because he’s obviously here for something.

“Why aren’t you answering my texts?” he signs from the doorway.

“My phone died.” I reach over to my phone and place it on the charging base on the nightstand.

“But you never let your phone die.”

“First time for everything,” I sign.

He nods his head, but it’s an annoying, suspicious, You’re hiding something kind of nod.

Or maybe I’m just being paranoid.

“You’re hiding something,” he signs.

Or maybe I’m not being paranoid.

“And I just checked Sydney’s room.” He arches a suspicious brow. “She