Holy crap! This is too cool.
I compose myself, ignoring Ridge’s laughter, then sit up straight again and grab my laptop.
Me: So you wrote most of those songs?
He nods.
Me: Did you write the lyrics to the song “Something?”
He nods again. I seriously can’t believe this is happening right now. Knowing he wrote those lyrics and now I’m sitting here next to him is exciting me way too much.
Me: I’m about to listen to your song. Since you get to decipher my lyrics, it’s my turn to decipher yours.
Ridge: I wrote that song two years ago.
Me: Still. It came from you. From somewhere inside you, Ridge. ;)
He picks up a pillow and throws it at my head. I laugh and scroll through the music folder on my phone until I find the song, and I hit play.
SOMETHING
I keep on wondering why I can’t say ’bye to you
And the only thing I can think of is the truth
It’s hard to start over, keep checkin’ that rearview, too
But something’s coming
Something right for you
Just wait a bit longer
You’ll find something you wanted
Something you needed
Something you want to have repeated
Oh, that feeling’s all right
You’ll find that if you listen
Between all the kissing
What made it work
Wound up messing
That seems about right
I guess I thought that we would always stay the same
And I can tell that you find somebody to blame
And I know in my heart, in my mind, it’s all a game
Our hopes and wishes won’t relight the flame
Just wait a bit longer
You’ll find something you wanted
Something you needed
Something you want to have repeated
Oh, that feeling’s all right.
When the song ends, I sit back up on the bed. I would ask him about the lyrics and the meaning behind them right now, but I’m not sure I want to. I want to listen to it again without him watching me, because it’s really hard to concentrate when he’s staring at me. He’s resting his chin in his hands, casually watching me. I try to hide my grin, but it’s hard. I see a smile spread across his lips before he looks down at his phone.
Ridge: Why do I feel like you’re fangirling right now?
Probably because I am.
Me: I’m not fangirling. Don’t flatter yourself. I’ve witnessed how evil you can be with your revenge schemes, and I’ve been exposed to your severe alcoholism, so I’m not as enamored with you as I could be.
Ridge: My father was a severe alcoholic. Your jokes are a little off-putting.
I look up at him apologetically and with a hint of embarrassment. “I’m sorry. I was kidding.”
Ridge: I’m kidding, too.
I kick him in the knee and glare at him.
Ridge: Well, sort of kidding. My father really is a raging alcoholic, but I don’t give a shit if you joke about it.
Me: I can’t now. You ruined the fun.
He laughs, and it’s followed by an awkward moment of silence. I grin and drop my eyes back to my phone.
Me: OMG. Can I have your autograph?
He rolls his eyes.
Me: Please? And can I have my picture taken with you? OMG, I’m in Ridge Lawson’s bed!
I’m laughing, but Ridge isn’t finding me amusing.
Me: Ridge Lawson, will you sign my boobs?
He puts his laptop down beside him, leans over to his nightstand and picks up a marker, then turns back to me.
I don’t really want his autograph. Surely he knows I’m kidding.
He pulls the lid off the marker, swiftly lunges across the bed, and knocks me onto my back, bringing the marker to my forehead.
He’s trying to sign my face?
I lift my legs and create a barrier with my knees as I try to force his hands away.
Dammit, he’s strong.
He puts one of my hands under his knee and locks my arm to the bed. His other arm grabs my arm that’s pushing his face away, and he pushes that hand to the bed, too. I’m screaming and laughing and trying to turn my face away from him, but every time I move, the marker moves over my face while he tries to sign his name.
I’m unable to overpower him, so I eventually sigh and hold my head still so he’ll stop drawing all over my face.
He hops up, puts the lid back on the marker, and smirks at me.
I reach over to my laptop.
Sydney: You are no longer my prank master. This has officially turned into a three-way war. Excuse me while I go Google my revenge.
I fold up my laptop and walk quietly out of the room while he laughs at me. As I head through the living room toward my bedroom, Warren glances at me. Twice.
“Should have stayed in here and watched porn with me,” he says, taking in the marker all over my face.
I ignore his comment. “Ridge and I just finished discussing TV rules,” I lie. “I get Thursdays.”