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"I'm stuck in my head all day."
I let my knee brush against hers again. Fuck, the way she shudders… It's inviting. I keep my thigh pressed against hers. I let my fingers brush against her arm. It's not enough. I need to touch her. I need to see her shudder like that as she comes.
My eyes meet hers. "I know every fucking word of these songs. I know every feeling in them."
"They're your feelings. You should know them."
"They started as my feelings. But once they're a song, they take on a life of their own. I start changing shit so it's true even if it's not accurate."
Finally, the frown fades from her expression. Her lips curl into a smile. Her brown eyes brighten. "Please, please, please, do not start with that what is truth, what is art bullshit."
"I thought you went to USC."
"I did."
"I thought the sellout kids went to USC and the true artists went to NYU."
"Fuck you." Her laugh lights up her dark eyes. Her entire face is luminous. She flips me off and waves her hand. "You're lucky you're beautiful. Or else I wouldn't let you get away with this stuff."
"Beautiful, and the face of the band."
"You do have a brother. Similar face."
"True." I laugh. "You should talk to Ethan, Joel, and Kit. Overthrow me. They'd probably be on board."
She raises a brow. You really think so?
Not most of the time. But sometimes I'm not sure. I do issue a lot of orders.
Someone has to be the one in charge.
I'm good at it.
And I don't care that it means I'm not adored.
She looks up at me with a smile. "You're making me forget my point."
"Why'd you leave your boyfriend?"
No more smile. She shifts back in her seat. Crosses her legs. Takes a long sip of her tea. "I haven't told anyone that."
"Anyone?"
"Not even Carrie." She stares into her drink. "I… I know I'm asking you to tear your heart out, but the video is about your song, your words. It's about you. It would be nice of me to reciprocate, but—"
"You don't have to so you won't?"
"Kinda." Her eyes meet mine. She searches for something, but she doesn't seem to find it. "Why do you want to know?"
"You're interesting."
"Interesting how?"
"You interest me."
She stares back at me, unblinking. "That's not an explanation."
"What's to explain? I want to know more about you. About your life and your feelings and your thoughts."
