Ridge
“Why’d you give Sydney the TV tonight?” Warren signs. He drops onto the couch next to me. “You know I love Thursday night. I’m off work on Fridays.”
“I never talked to Sydney about TV nights.”
He glances toward Sydney’s bedroom door with a scowl on his face. “What a little liar. How did you meet her, anyway?”
“Music-related. She’s writing lyrics for the band.”
Warren’s eyes bulge, and he straightens up on the couch, turning to look at me as if I’ve just betrayed him.
“Don’t you think this is something your manager should know about?”
I laugh and sign back to him. “Good point. Hey, Warren, Sydney is officially writing lyrics for us.”
He frowns. “And don’t you think your manager should have discussed a financial arrangement with her? What percentage are we giving her?”
“We’re not. She feels guilty taking a percentage while she’s not paying rent, so we’re good for now.”
He’s standing now, glaring down at me. “How do you know you can trust her? And what if something happens with a song she helped write? What if it makes the cut on the album and she suddenly decides she wants a percentage? And why the hell aren’t you writing the lyrics anymore?”
I sigh. We’ve been over this so many times it’s making my head hurt. “I can’t. You know I can’t. It’s just for a little while, until I get over my block. And calm down, she’s agreed to sign over anything she helps with.”
He drops back onto the couch, frustrated. “Just don’t add any more people to our band without consulting me first, okay? I feel like I’m being shut out when you don’t include me.” He folds his arms across his chest and pouts.
“Is sweet little Warren pouting?” I lean forward and wrap my arms around him, and he tries to shove me off. I climb on top of him and kiss his cheek, and he starts hitting me in the arm, trying to pull away from my grasp. I laugh and let go of his face, then look up at Sydney, who just walked into the room. She’s staring at us. Warren slides his hand up my thigh and lays his head on my shoulder. I reach up and pat his cheek while we both stare up at her, straight-faced. She shakes her head slowly and walks back into her bedroom.
As soon as her bedroom door closes, we separate.
“I wish I hated Bridgette a little more than I do at night, because Sydney definitely needs me,” Warren signs.
I laugh, knowing Sydney is more than likely swearing off guys based on the week she’s had. “That girl doesn’t need anything other than the opportunity to be alone for a while.”
Warren shakes his head. “No, that girl definitely needs me. I wonder how I can pull off an elaborate prank that involves her agreeing to have sex with me.”
“Bridgette,” I remind him. I don’t know why I remind him. I never remind him about Bridgette when he talks about other girls.
“You’re a dream crusher,” he signs, falling back against the couch at the same moment I receive a text.
Sydney: Can I ask you a question?
Me: As long as you promise never again to start a question off with whether or not you can propose a question.
Sydney: Okay, asshole. I know I shouldn’t be thinking about him at all, but I’m curious. What did he write on that paper when we went to get my purse? And what did you write back that made him hit you?
Me: I agree that you shouldn’t be thinking about him at all, but I’m honestly shocked it’s taken you this long to ask me about it.
Sydney: Well?
Ugh. I hate writing it verbatim, but she wants to know, so . . .
Me: He wrote, “Are you fucking her?”
Sydney: OMG! What a prick!
Me: Yep.
Sydney: So what did you say back to him that made him punch you?
Me: I wrote, “Why do you think I’m here for her purse? I gave her a hundred for tonight, and now she owes me change.”
I reread the text, and I’m not so sure it sounds as funny as I thought it did.
My eyes dart up to her bedroom door, which is now swinging open. She runs into the living room, directly toward the couch. I don’t know if it’s the look on her face or the hands that are coming at me, but I immediately cover my head and duck behind Warren. He doesn’t really like being used as a human shield, though, so he jumps off the couch. She continues slapping at my arms until I’m curled up in a fetal position on the couch. I’m trying not to laugh, but she hits like a girl. This is nothing compared to what I saw her do to Tori.
She backs away, and I reluctantly uncover my head. She marches back to her room, and I watch as she slams her door.
Warren is now standing next to the couch with his hands on his hips. He looks at me, then looks back at Sydney’s door. He puts his palms up and shakes his head, then retreats into his bedroom.
I should probably apologize to her. It was just a joke, but I guess I can see how it would piss her off. I knock on her door a couple of times. She doesn’t open it, so I text her.
Me: Can I come in?
Sydney: That depends. Do you have any bills smaller than a hundred this time?
Me: It seemed funny at the time. I’m sorry.
A few seconds pass, and then her door opens and she steps aside. I raise my eyebrows and smile, attempting to look innocent. She shoots me a dirty look and walks back to her bed.
Sydney: It wasn’t what I would have wanted you to say, but I can see why you said it. He’s a jerk, and I probably would have wanted to piss him off in that moment, too.
Me: He is a jerk, but I probably should have responded differently. I’m sorry.
Sydney: Yes, you should have. Maybe instead of insinuating that I was a whore, you could have gone with “If I could only be so lucky.”
I laugh at her comment, then offer up another alternative answer.
Me: I could have gone with “Only when you’re being faithful to her. Which is never.”
Sydney: Or you could have said, “No, I’m not. I’m madly in love with Warren.”
At least she’s making jokes about it. I really do feel sort of bad for saying that to him, but it felt oddly appropriate at the time.
Me: We didn’t really get any work done last night. Are you in the mood to make beautiful music together?