And shoot, is it ever good.
I haven’t put music to it yet, but when I try to, my mind keeps jumping back to one of my favorite songs of Connor’s,Panic. It’s from his first album, and like most of the songs on that album, it played with rhyming schemes in a way I’d never considered.
I wonder if Patty and Connor took a class together at NECM about lyrics. Is that even a thing?
With a sigh, I cue up my inspiration playlist and letPanicplay. The melody swells, the cleverness of the lyrics hooking into something deep inside me. My muse strikes, and suddenly, I’m scribbling again. The first few lines flow effortlessly, but then my rhythm stumbles, and the words start feeling forced.
I need a break.
Pushing away from my desk, I step out of my room, leaving the door open. As I walk into the lounge, Alicia glances up from her laptop, her lips quirking into a smile. “I love this song.”
Patty, sitting on the couch watching a hockey game, snorts. “Of course you do.”
I arch a brow. “Care to share with the class?”
He shakes his head. “It’s nothing.”
“It’s a great song.” I fold my arms. “You don’t listen to much of Nash’s stuff?”
“Not really.”
“Like you didn’t listen to mine?” I challenge, my voice sharpening.
“No.” His jaw tightens. “Not like that.”
I roll my eyes. “If you’re gonna be enigmatic, just stop. I’m not interested.”
“I’m not trying to be enigmatic.”
“Right, let me guess—you’re too busy trolling Reddit forums like a music snob to listen to something as basic as Nash or me?” I throw up my hands. “But wait, that can’t work—Nash went to the same school you did. He has the same education?—”
“He does NOT have the same education.”
I blink. “How does that work? Wasn’t he there? You took classes together! Although he graduated while you dropped out, so I guess you’re right—youdon’thave the same education.”
“That’s not what happened,” he says through gritted teeth.
“That’s what Wikipedia tells me.”
His expression hardens. “Have you checkedyourWiki page lately? Your parents’? Wikipedia reports whatever people want it to report. It can be changed. The past can’t be.”
I don’t miss the way his eyes slam shut at his own words. My instincts prickle. “You reacted to that. Why?”
“I’m not on trial.”
“Maybe you should be!” My voice rises, frustration bubbling over. “You’re so hot and cold with me, I have no idea how to even talk to you! I don’t know where I stand with you! Do you think I don’t notice the way you look at me? Do you think I don’t hear the way your tone changes when I’m on stage, when you’re the only person in my ear? I can’t take your head games anymore!”
“Myhead games?” He lets out a sharp laugh and stands up. “I’m not the one kissing someone else on stage minutes after almost—” He stops himself, his fists clenching as if he’s physically holding back his words.
My breath catches. “So it bugged you.”
“Of course it bugged me!”
“Then why didn’t you say something?”
He runs a hand through his hair, exhaling roughly. “We both have rules, and yours couldn’t be clearer: no distractions, remember?”
“Is that all you are?”
