He’s not the only one wishing that.

I want to be Tori right now so much it hurts. I want to be just like her and not give a shit about my self-respect or about Maggie for just a few minutes. Long enough to allow him to do everything his lyrics make clear he wants to do.

His eyes fall to my lips, and my mouth runs dry.

His eyes fall to my chest, and it begins to heave deeper than it already was.

His eyes fall to my legs, and I have to cross them, because the way his gaze penetrates my body makes it seem as though he can see right through this dress I’m wearing.

His eyes close tightly, and knowing the effect I’m having on him makes me feel as if there might be a lot more truth to his lyrics than he’d like there to be.

It’s making me feel like I want to be the only man that you ever see.

Ridge suddenly stands and drops his phone onto the bed, then walks straight into the bathroom and slams the door. I listen as the shower curtain slides open and the water kicks on.

I roll onto my back and release all my pent-up breaths. I’m flustered and confused and angry. I don’t like the situation we’ve put ourselves in, and I know for a fact that even though we haven’t acted on it again, nothing about this is innocent.

I sit up on the bed, then quickly stand. I need to get out of his room before it completely closes in on me. Just as I’m walking away from the bed, Ridge’s phone vibrates on the mattress. I look down at it.

Maggie: I’m missing you extra hard today. When you’re finished writing with Sydney, can we video chat? I need to see you. ;)

I stare at her text.

I hate her text.

I hate that she knows we were just writing together.

I hate that he tells her everything.

I want these moments to belong to me and Ridge and no one else.

* * *

It’s been two hours since he got out of the shower, and I can’t bring myself to leave my bedroom. I’m starving, though, and really want to go to the kitchen. I just don’t want to see him, because I hate how we left things. I don’t like that we both know we almost crossed a line tonight.

Actually, I don’t like that we did cross a line tonight. Although we aren’t verbalizing what we’re thinking and feeling, writing it in lyrics isn’t any less harmful.

There’s a knock on my door, and knowing that it’s more than likely Ridge causes my heart to betray me by dancing rapidly in my chest. I don’t bother getting up to open the door, because he nudges it open right after knocking. He holds up a set of headphones and his cell phone, indicating that he has something he wants me to hear. I nod, and he walks over to the bed and hands them to me. He hits play but takes a seat on the floor while I scoot back onto the bed. The song begins to play, and I spend the next three minutes barely breathing. Ridge and I never once break our stare throughout the duration of the song.


I’M IN TROUBLE

Why don’t we keep

Keep it simple

You talk to your friends

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

And I must confess

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

Whoa oh, oh, oh

I’m in trouble, trouble

Whoa oh, oh, oh

I’m in trouble, trouble

Whoa oh, oh, oh

I’m in trouble now

I see you some places

from time to time

You keep to your business

and I keep to mine

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

And I must confess

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

Whoa oh, oh, oh

I’m in trouble, trouble

Whoa oh, oh, oh

I’m in trouble, trouble

Whoa oh, oh, oh

I’m in trouble now


Ridge

Maggie: Guess who gets to see me tomorrow?

Me: Kurt Vonnegut?

Maggie: Guess again.

Me: Anderson Cooper?

Maggie: No, but close.

Me: Amanda Bynes?

Maggie: You’re so random. YOU get to see me tomorrow, and you get to spend a whole two days with me, and I know I’m trying to save money, but I bought you two new bras.

Me: How did I ever get so lucky to find the one and only girl who supports and encourages my transvestite tendencies?

Maggie: I ask myself that same question every day.

Me: What time do I get to see you?

Maggie: Well, it all depends on the dreaded T word again.

Me: Ah. Yes. Well, we shall discuss it no further. Try to be here by six, at least. Warren’s birthday party is tomorrow night, and I want to spend time with you before all his crazy friends get here.

Maggie: Thank you for reminding me! What should I get him?

Me: Nothing. Sydney and I are pulling the ultimate prank. We told everyone to donate to charity in lieu of gifts. He’ll be pissed when people start handing him all the donation cards in his honor.

Maggie: You two are evil. Should I bring something? A cake, maybe?

Me: Nope, we got it. We felt bad for the “no gifts” prank, so we’re about to bake him five different flavored cakes to make up for it.

Maggie: Make sure one of them is German chocolate.

Me: Already got you covered, babe. I love you.

Maggie: Love you, too.

I close out our texts and open up the unread one I have from Sydney.

Sydney: You forgot vanilla extract, dumbass. It was on the list. Item 5. Now you have to go back to the store.

Me: Maybe next time you should write more legibly and return my texts when I’m at the grocery store, attempting to decipher item 5. I’ll be back in 20. Preheat the oven, and text me if you think of anything else.

I laugh, put my phone into my pocket, grab my keys, and head to the store. Again.

* * *

We’re on cake number three. I’m beginning to believe that those who are musically gifted seriously lack talent in the kitchen-skills department. Sydney and I work really well together when it comes to writing music, but our lack of finesse and knowledge when it comes to mixing a few ingredients together is a little pathetic.

She insisted that we bake the cakes from scratch, whereas I would have grabbed the boxed mixes. But it’s been kind of fun, so I’m not complaining.

She places the third cake in the oven and sets the timer. She turns around and mouths “thirty minutes,” then pushes herself up onto the counter.

Sydney: Is your little brother coming tomorrow?

Me: They’re gonna try. They open for a band in San Antonio at seven tomorrow night, so as long as they get loaded up on time, they should be here by ten.

Sydney: The whole band? I get to meet the whole band?

Me: Yep. And I bet they’ll even sign your boobs.

Sydney: SQUEEEE!

Me: If those letters really make up a sound, I am so, so glad I can’t hear it.

She laughs.

Sydney: How did y’all come up with the band name Sounds of Cedar?

Any time anyone’s asked how I came up with the name of the band, I just say I thought it sounded cool. But I can’t lie to Sydney. There’s something about her that pulls stories about my childhood out of me that I’ve never told anyone. Not even Maggie.

Maggie has asked in the past why I never speak out loud and where I came up with the name of the band, but I don’t like to bring up anything negative that might cause her even the smallest amount of concern. She’s got enough to deal with in her own life. She doesn’t need to add my childhood issues to that. They’re in the past and there’s no need to bring them up.

However, Sydney’s a different story. She seems so curious about me, about life, about people in general. It’s easy to tell her things.

Sydney: Uh-oh. Looks like I need to prepare myself for a good story, because you look like you don’t want to answer that.

I turn around until my back is pressed against the counter-top she’s sitting on, and I lean against it.

Me: You just love the heart-wrenching stuff, huh?

Sydney: Yep. Give it to me.

Maggie, Maggie, Maggie.

I often find myself repeating Maggie’s name when I’m with Sydney. Especially when Sydney says things like “Give it to me.”

The last couple of weeks have been okay since our talk. We’ve definitely had our moments, but one of us is usually quick to begin pointing out flaws and repulsive personality traits to get us back on track.

Aside from a couple of weeks ago, when our writing session ended with me having to take a cold shower, two nights ago was probably the hardest time of all for me. I don’t know what it is about the way she sings. I can simply be watching her, and I get the same feeling I get when I press my ear to her chest or rest my hand against her throat. She closes her eyes and starts singing the words, and the passion and feelings that pour from her are so powerful I sometimes forget I can’t even hear her.